Born of Proud Blood

by Roberta C. M. DeCaprio

  Within the few years he has lived in England, Gabriel managed to pick up certain lingo. Rogered was the British word meaning to compromise a woman. “Does it matter greatly if that be the case?”

  Oliver shrugged. “The thought is disturbin’.”

  “Is it your manly pride that is disturbed, should you decide to win her heart, or the thought Leah has been abused?” he asked.

  Oliver cleared his throat. “I would say a bit o’ both.”

  For a moment his thoughts flashed to the women in his tribe who were rogered by the white agents. Desperately they kept such exploitation from the men, for fear they would retaliate, fight with the white agents, and end up dead. But also in part their silence was out of worry their men would feel ashamed and offended by their situation, much like Oliver. It was Golden Lady who spoke to the tribe, calmed the men’s anger, and returned respect and honor to the women. Gabriel now relayed his mother’s wise words to his young companion. “If Leah has been taken against her will, it is not her shame or yours, but that of those who took what did not belong to them. Why should she suffer, live without the love and respect of a good man or that of her family and friends, when the fault of her situation is not hers?”

  Often he had the suspicion his sister Raven had been one of the maidens in his tribe to be compromised. He always felt it was the main reason Golden Lady implored Proud Eagle to make arrangements for their daughters to leave Arizona. Then she insisted he escort his sisters to England, adding the hope that he could one day return a man of wealth and means to help his people. He did not question his mother’s true motive, not because he was a coward, but because he did not want to see his father die for their honor. And Proud Eagle would have done just that. So would he, leaving the women grief-stricken and vulnerable to further abuse. And so with that in mind he complied, brought them far from America where they would be safe. But it seems a woman is not safe anywhere, especially one without means, like Leah.

  Oliver frowned. “When ye put it that way, I see things differently.”

  He arched a brow. “Differently or clearly?”

  “Again I would ’ave to say a bit o’ both,” Oliver admitted.

  “Then keep your new revelation first and foremost in your mind so it will never intrude upon your feelings for that young woman again. And if you cannot do that, then distance yourself from her right now because once she begins to care in return, all you will do is hurt her,” he warned. “And I think Leah has been hurt far too much already.”

  Oliver’s frown deepened. “I would never ’urt ’er.”

  “Then see her for who she is and not what she has been made to endure,” he said. “We have all accepted things we do not like in order to survive.”

  “Aye, that’s the truth o’ it,” Oliver agreed.

  He placed a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Now, clear your thoughts from all things female and come. We must assess the enemy before they discover us.”

  Gabriel and Oliver crept into the brush to the back of the enemy’s encampment, which was nothing more than a small wood-framed hut. The makeshift dwelling, less than a bowshot away, appeared spacious enough to only accommodate a couple of men. Fortunately, those with living arrangements on shore fell right into his plan. It was much easier to create a diversion on land than on the steamer, and much more effectively as well.

  Even if Leah had not set the scene for him earlier, the enemy’s plan was obvious. With the crates of contraband stacked behind the small compound, it was plain to see these men were instructed to guard the illegal shipment until another vessel arrived to take them to their destiny. And Gabriel had no doubts that the same ship would also include the transport of the kidnapped women.

  A lone man, thin as a withered stick, sat on a stool beside the fire, whittling a piece of wood. After yawning and stretching, he placed his creation aside, pocketed the knife, and stood with slumped shoulders to stoke the campfire with a stick.

  A moment later a second man emerged from the hut. His large, rounded belly hung over his pants and out from beneath a soiled shirt. Yawning and scratching his crotch, he moved slowly to the other side of the camp, where he stood in front of a clump of bushes. There he opened his britches and relieved himself, while burping and passing a loud and long rumble of gas.

  “Well, ain’t ye just the refined one,” the man by the fire teased.

  “Hey, when ye gotta fart, ye gotta fart,” the other man boasted, making his point clear by expelling a second stream of bodily wind.

  The first man chuckled. “Next time ye might think twice about takin’ such a big ’elpin’ o’ beans.”

  The second man secured his britches and moved to the fire. “Speakin’ o’ food, where’s Cook?”

  The first man shrugged. “Ain’t seen the prig since dinner. Most likely he’s got that little blonde twit dancin’ without ’er bloomers again.”

  Oliver stiffened, but this time remained hidden behind the brush. “In the name o’ decency,” he muttered in a tone of deep disgust.

  Gabriel placed a hand on the younger man’s shoulder, feeling the rage trembling within him. “There will be time enough for revenge, my friend,” he whispered, feeling confident he and Oliver could overpower these two in a matter of moments.

  The second man cast a glance to the sky. “’Twill be dawn in an hour, so he better be sendin’ the twit down with somethin’ to eat soon. I ain’t loadin’ all this cargo without food in my gut.”

  Gabriel quickly summed up the situation playing out before him. One man was frail; the other appeared fat, lazy, and complacent. The obvious fact that both men believed they were safe at the moment from any altercations was in his favor. If the others in this band of scoundrels were like these two buffoons, and the dead cook whose husk was now rotting in the bushes, it might not matter so that they were outnumbered.

  He leaned closer to Oliver. “These men are only hardened by their circumstance, not honed warriors of strategy for battle. Their cleverness comes in who they can con more so than actually winning a fight. Unless, of course, you were female,” he added.

  “Aye, it doesn’t take great physical ability to overcome a woman,” Oliver whispered.

  The thinner man made his way to the hut’s door, entered the dwelling, and moments later returned holding a carafe of spirits. After gulping down a swig of the white man’s firewater, he handed the flask to the other man. “Lace yer gullet with some o’ this, and ye will feel better.”

  “If Langley catches ye stealin’ ’is whiskey, ’e’ll skin ye alive,” the second man warned, before taking his own guzzle.

  “Well, ’e ain’t gonna know if ye don’t tell ’im.” The first man chuckled. “And by the time anyone finds out some o’ those bottles are filled with tea instead o’ spirits, they’ll be too far away to do anythin’ about it.”

  “And so will we,” the heavier man agreed.

  Both men broke out in hardy laughter and finished off the bottle of whiskey.

  Gabriel was sure any fighting ability they had was dulled when he decided to strike their camp and cripple whatever power remained. In one fluid motion, he sprung like a feline from where he hid, dropping into a crouch within the clearing.

  Oliver followed, not with as much grace and speed, but still ever-ready to take his stand.

  Stunned by the unexpected intruders, the heavier man stepped back and lost his balance over uneven ground. The thinner man’s reflexes were better, as he reached for the whittling knife. But they were not as quick as Gabriel’s. Before the enemy’s hand could pull free from his pocket with the weapon, Gabriel tackled him to the ground. Knuckle bones met jaw bone as he landed a hard blow to the frail man’s jowl. Blood and spittle flew from his mouth, and a grunt of air escaped his lungs before he was rendered unconscious.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Oliver lunge for the whiskey bottle and break it over the heavy man’s head, also knocking the second scoundrel out cold before he ever managed to regain his foo
ting.

  “Find something to bind them with,” he instructed Oliver.

  His young companion rushed into the wooden hut and returned in seconds with rope. Together they bound the two villain’s hands and feet, gagged them, dragged them thirty feet into the woods, and tied them to separate trees.

  “This should hold them until Simon arrives with help,” he said, flexing the hand he used to throw a punch...knuckles now sore and bloody, his flesh stinging.

  “Aye, they should stand trial for their crimes,” Oliver added.

  “Come, now we create the diversion,” he said, walking back into the clearing. He made his way to the fire, stirred the dying ambers, but had no luck resurrecting the flame in the pre-dawn dampness. “This fire has gone out.” He then reached into his pocket for Leah’s matches, handed one to Oliver and scanned his surroundings. “Help to find something to use as a torch.”

  The younger man frowned. “Why do ye waste time rebuldin’ the fire?”

  “I am not rebuilding this one, but starting another,” he said.

  Oliver’s frown deepened. “And what do ye plan on settin’ ablaze now?”

  Gabriel started over to the where the cargo was stacked. “These crates, Oliver,” he said, running a hand over one piece of cargo. “We are going to burn them all. Every last one of them.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Riley sniffed...smelled smoke. Halting her attempt to put pressure on her injured leg, she turned to face Suzanna. “The fighting has commenced.”

  “God save the Queen and all her children.” Suzanna also sniffed the air. Her blue eyes rounded with fright. “What do you think burns?”

  She shook her head. “I haven’t a clue, but I know it can’t be the steamer because Leah was instructed to return to it.”

  “Aye, that’s the truth of it,” Suzanna agreed.

  “A diversion. Gabriel’s set something ablaze to divert these rogues from finding us gone.”

  “Well, whoever this Gabriel is, he didn’t do a very good job, because I found you,” a voice came from behind.

  Riley spun around to find Lieutenant Martin Beck’s pear-shaped form standing in the doorframe, his nose still bandaged from where she bit him. She cast a glance Suzanna’s way. The other woman’s features were stark, as though she’d been awakened to face a real nightmare.

  “The fact that little twit thought she could get you two away from me is a laugh I intend to enjoy well into my golden years,” Beck said, stepping closer.

  “So much for secret places,” Suzanna mumbled.

  Beck cackled, moving even nearer. “Though there’s not much between the bitch’s ears, her hindquarters are perfect for a birching now and then.” He shrugged. “All women are brainless, only understand their place after getting a good beaten.”

  Riley’s gaze darted around the room for something to use as a weapon. She might not cause the lieutenant great harm, but perhaps she could injure him enough to stop his advances or knock insensible long enough so the two of them could bind, gag, and secure him to a wooden column until Gabriel returned. In her quick surveillance, she noticed Suzanna moving slowly off the cot. Could it be she shared the same idea?

  “Soon you’ll be lacking brains of your own, Beck,” another voice rasped.

  Beck’s lips curved into a cocky sneer. “Well now, Lieutenant Gray, have you been following me?” he retorted, turning slowly to face Gray then stepping back in surprise when he met with a gun aimed at his head.

  Gray’s eyes, filled with raw hatred, bore into Beck’s, his expression hard and unyielding like it was chiseled out of granite. “This is for Naomi,” he ground out with gritted teeth before he pulled the trigger.

  The blast echoed through the underground chamber.

  Beck’s face exploded, flesh and blood splattering the wall. His body fell to the floor with a thud. Suzanna screamed. Riley’s vision swam as she fought the urge to retch.

  Gray kicked the dead man in the side as he fully entered the chamber, the gun he held now aimed at her. “’Tis time for you both to return to the cave.”

  She swallowed hard the bile rising to choke her. “You said yourself Naomi asked that I not be harmed.”

  “And you won’t as long as you cooperate,” he said, near enough now to grab her by the arm.

  “Please, let us go,” she begged.

  Gray shook his head. “I can’t do that without being in harm’s way myself.”

  The blood rushed to her head, heart beating wildly. “Nay a soul needs to know you’ve found us hiding here.”

  “I can’t take that chance,” Gray said, digging his nails deeper into her arm as he pulled her toward him.

  She was just about to raise a foot and kick him in the shins when her plan was upset by Suzanna plummeting him in the back with a wine jug. Dazed for seconds, he waivered but didn’t fall. Again Suzanna hit him, harder this time, the blow striking him in the back of the head. Riley followed through with a kick to the shins, and then she stomped down hard upon his foot. He hollered with pain and staggered back, falling into the table that held the lantern. The lamp flew from its spot and landed in the center of the mattress she had laid upon, immediately igniting it in flames.

  Still gripping his gun, Gray got up on one knee. Before he commenced to regain his footing, Nellie, Leah’s injured dog, bounced upon him, sinking her teeth deep into his throat. When Gray tossed the dog from him, she yelped, lying motionless where she landed.

  Dropping the gun, Gray clutched his throat. Blood seeped through his fingers, streamed down his arms, staining his red jacket with a darker shade. He stumbled toward the doorframe and tripped over Beck’s body. That move sent him crashing into a cloth-covered statue that stood in the corner. It toppled over, crushing Gray between it and Beck’s body.

  The chamber filled with smoke, flames dancing high and fierce burning books, wall-hangings, and cloth-covered pews in its fury. Between the two slain men’s bodies, the felled statue, and the roaring fire, the doorway was blocked.

  “We’re trapped,” Suzanna choked out, hands shielding her mouth and nose.

  Frantically, Riley’s gaze darted around the chamber as smoke filled the air. “There has to be another way out of here.”

  Suzanna’s voice spiked the chaos, her eyes watering. “I don’t see one.”

  A hopeless panic seized her as her own throat constricted. Scorched wood and floating ash swelled her nostrils. Is this how her life will end? Will she never know the love of a man? Nay, she only cared to know one man—Gabriel. If she lived through this, she would somehow taste his lips, feel the warmth of his kiss, even if it were for only a moment and just one time. This was a vow she made to herself, and one she intended on keeping.

  Rufus, Leah’s cat, chose that moment to make his own escape. Jumping from his perch upon a beam, he ran to the west side of the chamber and squeezed himself through a broken plank at the base of a bookcase.

  “There,” she pointed with a shaking hand. “That must be a doorway, like the one we used to enter this chamber.”

  The two women hurried to that end of the underground room, Riley feeling around for a latch. To her good fortune she found the handle, camouflaged as the arrow of a carved cherub, and pulled it. The bookcase slid aside, revealing a tunnel.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Suzanna said, reaching for Riley’s hand.

  She pulled back. “I must get Nellie.”

  “Leave her!” Suzanna gripped her hand tighter.

  “Nay, she saved our lives,” she said, pushing Suzanna and breaking free.

  “If you want to risk your own life for a sick, mangy dog that’s not worth the air she breaths, then carry on, but I’m getting out of here.”

  “That sick, mangy dog is all the family Leah has. But I don’t expect you to understand, my dear Lady Wellington,” she ground out sardonically. “You who have had everything you’ve always wanted and more.”

  Limping, Riley made her way to where Nellie lay. Fear stabbed ben
eath the joining of her ribs, as the dog lay very still. It had to have taken every last bit of Nellie’s strength to attack Gray. Had his backhand of abuse killed her?

  “And how will you carry her with that gimpy leg of yours?” Suzanna called out to her.

  “I will manage somehow,” she stated plainly, pulling off the covering of another statue that hadn’t yet gone up in flames. Gently, she rolled Nellie onto the sheet. The dog whimpered. Relief washed over her. Nellie lived, but not for long if she didn’t make a move. “All is well, girl,” she whispered, her eyes stinging with smoke. Putting full pressure upon her injured leg brought her great pain. Biting her bottom lip until she tasted blood, she bore the agony as she dragged Nellie to the tunnel entrance.

  “She will slow us down,” Suzanna argued, lines of worry cutting deep into her delicate features.

  “Go then, save yourself as you want, but I refuse to leave this animal behind,” she said, struggling to get through the passageway.

  “Then you will die,” Suzanna screeched.

  Riley’s lungs ached, her leg throbbed, and she fought to balance her footing. “Then I will die, but it will be while trying to save a life worth saving, a life someone good and kind loves. A life I love as well,” she added.

  “God save the Queen and all her children,” Suzanna grumbled. “Now that you’ve said that, I shan’t be able to live with myself.”

  “Then help me,” she pleaded, raising a prompting brow. “Between us both, we can do this.”

  With a huff Suzanna took the other end of the sheet. “There, does this set with you better?”

  “Much,” she said, able now to lift the makeshift stretcher.

  “Bloody hell. Let’s get out of here,” Suzanna said, pulling Nellie along behind her as she led the way down the tunnel.

  Riley welcomed the cool causeway, her lungs clearing the farther and farther they walked from the raging inferno. A damp, musty order filled her senses as she stepped with caution through the pitch darkness.

  “I’m walking as a blind man,” Suzanna griped. “Anything, anything at all could be ahead of us...a deep descent, rats, mice,” she said, her voice rising with the panic that obviously welled within her.