by Jon Sharpe
‘‘Indians,’’ Fargo confirmed.
‘‘They be after us?’’
‘‘After us and Vassily, both,’’ Fargo said. He refrained from adding that Gray Fox would not rest until they were all dead. It was the only way for Gray Fox to ensure there were no reprisals against his people.
‘‘Fargo, you like me?’’
Fargo looked at her. ‘‘You ask the damnedest questions.’’
‘‘Please. Do you? I like you much. But I think maybe you not like me much.’’ Kira fluffed at her hair. ‘‘Is it I be not much pretty?’’
Sinking to one knee, Fargo pulled her to him and kissed her full on the mouth. Kira uttered a tiny sigh and melted against him. Her lips were exquisitely soft. She was a far better kisser than Sabina. At length he drew back and asked, ‘‘Does that answer your question?’’
‘‘Thank you. I very need that.’’
Fargo chuckled. ‘‘You women. Here we are running for our lives and all you can think of is fooling around.’’ Suddenly her grip on him tightened and her eyes grew wide. He spun, raising the Henry.
Something was coming through the grass toward them.
19
The thing was almost on them when Fargo saw it clearly. Lowering the Henry, he grimly smiled.
A small doe, coming to the stream to drink, veered aside and bounded off into the dark.
Kira uttered a nervous laugh. ‘‘I think maybe Indians.’’ She placed a hand on his leg. ‘‘I also think of what be in your pants.’’
Fargo did something he had rarely done before ‘‘No. Not here. Not now. We are asking for trouble.’’
‘‘But it be dark hours yet,’’ Kira said. ‘‘And we alone.’’
‘‘It’s dark, all right,’’ Fargo said. ‘‘Dark enough that the Tlingits or your friends could sneak up on us without us seeing.’’ He grasped her hand and said more firmly, ‘‘No, and that’s that.’’
Her shoulders slumping, Kira stood. ‘‘As say you, but I still want.’’
‘‘We will rest until daylight and then push on,’’ Fargo proposed as he led her into the forest. They had gone a short way when they had to climb over a downed tree. Fargo went first and helped her. He went to move on, then whispered, ‘‘Wait.’’ When trees were uprooted, whether by a storm or age, they sometimes ripped out a lot of earth when they fell. He moved along the downed spruce until he came to the roots. Where the tree had once stood was a bowl-shaped depression about three feet deep and six feet wide. ‘‘This will do nicely.’’
‘‘We rest in dirt?’’
‘‘No one can see us,’’ Fargo pointed out, ‘‘and we will be out of the wind.’’
‘‘Wind is important?’’
‘‘You don’t want every meat eater for a mile around to pick up our scent, do you?’’ Fargo hopped down, held up his arms, and carefully lowered her beside him.
‘‘Cozily spot,’’ Kira said.
‘‘I’ve slept in worse places,’’ Fargo said, thinking of the time he was stranded high on a mountain during a blizzard and had to sleep in a snowbank, and another time when he was on foot in the desert and had to sleep in the open under the burning sun.
‘‘Me well as.’’ Kira sat with her back to the side of the bowl and her arms across her legs. ‘‘My dress be mess.’’
‘‘You look just fine,’’ Fargo said. Without thinking, he sat next to her. He propped the Henry beside him and leaned back. Until that moment he had not realized how worn out he was. He closed his eyes and stifled a yawn. ‘‘I will wake you at sunrise.’’ No matter how tired he might be, he always woke up at the crack of dawn.
‘‘As you wish.’’ Kira leaned against him, her cheek on his arm, her hand on his hip.
Fargo had a knack for being able to sleep anywhere, anytime, under just about any circumstances. He started to doze off. The night sounds faded and a black veil shrouded his senses. Then suddenly he was awake again, and unsure what had awakened him until he felt pressure where there should not be any. Soft pressure, a gentle stroking, that had done what it always did, whether he was awake or asleep. ‘‘What do you think you’re doing?’’
Kira did not stop. ‘‘What it feel like?’’
‘‘I told you no.’’
‘‘Your manly thing say yes.’’
‘‘Damn it,’’ Fargo said. But he did not push her hand away. Damn him, but it felt good. So good, he did not want her to stop. He closed his eyes and drifted on the surface of a sea of pleasure until he felt her fingers pry at his buckle. Gripping her hand, he looked at her and said, ‘‘My pants stay on.’’ That was all he needed—to be literally caught by Vassily or the Tlingits with his pants down.
Kira smiled. ‘‘Can stay on and still fun make, yes?’’
‘‘Yes, but—’’ Fargo got no further. She had taken his hand and placed it on her left breast. Almost of their own accord his fingers closed and squeezed.
A low moan escaped Kira. Shifting, she pressed her body to his, her breath warm on his neck. ‘‘You I like much.’’
‘‘We are loco, the both of us,’’ Fargo said. But he did not stop fondling her globes.
‘‘What be loco?’’ Kira asked.
‘‘It means plumb crazy,’’ Fargo enlightened her. ‘‘And only a crazy person would do what we are doing.’’
‘‘People do all time,’’ Kira teased, and nipped his chin with her teeth. ‘‘In Russia. In country you from. In queen country, England. In far Australia. In Norway.’’
‘‘Norway?’’
‘‘I there once. Pretty men. Handsome women.’’
‘‘You really need to work on your English.’’
Kira licked his ear. ‘‘Me work your something.’’ She had his pants undone. ‘‘My, my. You like musk ox.’’
‘‘That’s a new one.’’ Fargo shut her up by fusing his mouth to hers in a kiss that went on and on. He had to admit, he was suddenly not nearly as tired as he had been a short while ago.
‘‘Mmmmmm,’’ Kira cooed when they broke. ‘‘You great kiss man. I be much fond your tongue.’’
‘‘I’m rather fond of it myself,’’ Fargo admitted while tugging at her dress. She rose up to make it easier and the hem rose as high as her knees. He ran his fingers from her ankle to her thigh and felt her skin quiver. ‘‘Like that, do you?’’
‘‘I always like the touching,’’ Kira whispered. ‘‘It best of anything.’’
She had something there, Fargo reflected as his hand slid higher. Her inner thigh was silken smooth and wonderfully warm. He slid his palm higher still, and was astounded to discover she did not wear undergarments. ‘‘All you have on is a dress?’’
‘‘I never care much for lot of clothes,’’ Kira said. ‘‘If it be me, I wear only skin.’’
‘‘That would be something to see.’’ Fargo grinned and cupped her nether mount. At the contact, she gasped.
‘‘Yes! Yes! There.’’
‘‘Not so loud,’’ Fargo said gruffly. It was bad enough they were doing it. If he had any sense he would stop and make her go to sleep. Instead, he ran the tip of his finger along her slit and found it moist and yielding.
‘‘Ohhhhhhhhh,’’ Kira breathed. ‘‘Do many times. Please.’’
‘‘Hussy,’’ Fargo said.
‘‘What be that?’’
‘‘A woman who likes it many times,’’ Fargo explained while lightly moving his finger.
‘‘Then me much big hussy,’’ Kira said. ‘‘Me biggest hussy ever.’’
‘‘Shush,’’ Fargo said, and thrust his finger up into her. She bit his shoulder; then her hot mouth rose to his. Their tongues entwined. Her inner walls were wet and grew wetter still as he pumped his finger in and out.
Fargo tried to focus on the night around them. He tried to stay alert for stealthy sounds, tried to listen for the cries of night birds that were not night birds. But the dirt hole and the woods and the night itself became a vague mist at the borders
of his awareness. All he could feel was Kira’s soft, luscious body, all he could hear were her coos and intakes of breaths. The sensation that he could never get enough of rose up within him. She had unleashed the need that he had earlier denied, and he had no desire to deny it now even if he could.
For once, though, Fargo did not want to prolong the sensation. His dulled senses made them vulnerable. They must get it over with quickly. To that end, he shifted, parted her thighs, and eased her onto his lap. She came willingly, even eagerly, and when he raised her up and aligned his iron pole, she grinned.
‘‘Good stuff now.’’
Fargo put a finger to her lips. Kira placed her hands on his shoulders, and nodded. Tensing, Fargo drove up into her as if seeking to impale her. Her reaction was to throw back her head and part her red lips. Fortunately, she had the presence of mind not to cry out or moan.
Their lips locked. Their hips rocked. Two bodies, moving as one, the tempo increasing as their passion climbed. They were breathing heavily but it could not be helped, any more than the inevitable result of their coupling could be helped.
Kira gushed first. She had wanted it badly, she had needed it badly, and her release tossed her on waves of rapture.
Cause and effect. Fargo’s explosion rivaled hers. Raw pleasure engulfed him, the sublime pounding and the sweet sensual savor that obliterated all else. Afterward, he coasted to a stop, his skin cool with sweat.
Kira sagged against him, her head on his shoulder. ‘‘Thank you,’’ she said softly. ‘‘I much needed that.’’
Stroking her hair, Fargo tilted his head back to listen. He heard only the wind and far to the north a lonesome wolf. Soon her breathing told him she was asleep, and he shut his eyes and settled back. He started to drift off. Another few moments and he would join her in slumber.
Somewhere nearby a twig snapped.
Instantly, Fargo was awake, the Henry in his hands. With Kira in his lap, he had to loop his arms around her to hold it, which proved awkward, but he did not shake her to wake her up. She might give a start and say something, and whoever or whatever broke the twig might hear her.
Fargo heard whispers, then the rustle of undergrowth. So it was a who and not a what and there was more than one of them. The language they were speaking left no doubt as to which who they were: Tlingits. By craning his neck, Fargo could see over the edge of the bowl. Warriors were on both sides. Seven or eight, all told. For a moment he thought they knew Kira and he were there but they crept past and moved off toward the stream.
Fargo sank back against the dank earth. That it was not the entire war party told him the Tlingits had split into groups. The other groups could be anywhere. He closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep but seeing the Tlingits had his nerves on edge. He fidgeted. He shifted from side to side. His left leg developed a cramp, and try as he might, he could not get it to go away. He had no recourse but to gently ease Kira off his lap and lay her on her side. She mumbled and stirred but did not wake up. By vigorously rubbing his leg he soon relieved the cramp but his calf hurt for a while afterward.
Easing back, Fargo pulled his hat over his eyes. If he couldn’t fall asleep he could at least sit there and rest quietly until the new day dawned. He listened to a coyote, he listened to the wind. The next thing he knew, a bird chirped, and he sat up in alarm, thinking it was not a bird but a Tlingit. The sparrow perched in a nearby hemlock set his worry to rest.
Dawn was breaking. The sky to the east had brightened and a pink band framed the horizon. The sparrow he had heard was not the only bird greeting the new day with song.
Fargo stretched and froze. He had heard a footstep. Grabbing the Henry, he pushed onto his knees and rose for a look-see. He could not help grinning. He had heard a step, all right. Several elk had been to the stream to slake their thirst and were now moving back into the heavy timber.
‘‘What is it?’’ Kira fearfully asked. Her hair was a mess and her dress was worse but she looked terribly inviting lying there with her dress up around her thighs and her bosom straining against her bodice.
‘‘Morning, sleepyhead,’’ Fargo said. ‘‘Some elk are paying their regards.’’
‘‘Sleepy-what?’’ Kira said. She rose to see, and smiled. ‘‘For so big make quiet steps.’’
When the elk were out of sight, Fargo stood. He had not wanted to spook them. He climbed out of the hole and lowered his arm for Kira to grab hold. For a full-bodied woman she was surprisingly light. He brushed dirt from his buckskins and she smoothed her dress, and together they cautiously moved toward the stream.
‘‘What we do after drink and wash?’’ Kira whispered.
‘‘We need horses,’’ Fargo said. But the Tlingits had all of them, and they were not about to part with them willingly.
‘‘How we find some?’’ Kira inquired.
‘‘Leave that to me.’’
They came on a small pool. Fargo stood guard while she bathed. She did not care if he turned his back, so he didn’t. Removing her dress, she gingerly stepped into the water, shivering from the cold. She could stand to be in for only a minute; then out she came, shaking and grinning. The sight of her naked body dripping with glistening drops was enough to start him stirring. He turned his back to her so she wouldn’t notice.
With a female’s instincts for such things, Kira teased him as she picked up her dress. ‘‘Why you not look, pretty man?’’
‘‘Once you’ve seen one naked woman, you’ve seen them all,’’ Fargo said.
‘‘I think you—what is word?—big fibber.’’
‘‘I think you’re right.’’
Fargo gave her the Henry and had her stand on the bank while he stripped off his buckskin shirt and washed his chest and face. The water was liquid ice. He broke out in goose bumps and heard Kira giggle. Quickly finishing, he shook his shirt out, donned it, placed his hat back on his head, reclaimed the Henry, and was ready. Almost. ‘‘You have a decision to make.’’
‘‘Sorry?’’
‘‘You can come with me or you can hide in the hole until I get back,’’ Fargo said. ‘‘You will be safer in the hole,’’ he added.
‘‘Where you go?’’ Kira asked.
‘‘I told you. We need horses.’’
‘‘Why you not want me go? You think maybe they catch you? You think maybe you not come back?’’
All Fargo did was shrug.
Kira smiled and reached out and tenderly caressed his cheek. ‘‘You sweet, musk ox American.’’
Fargo laughed.
‘‘What?’’
‘‘Nothing. What will it be?’’
‘‘The hole or go for you? You I pick.’’ Kira hooked her arm in his and beamed like a girl going on a romantic stroll. ‘‘When you ready, I ready.’’
The sun was a golden crown on the rim of the world. Stubborn patches of darkness clung to the forest floor and would not be dispelled until the sun was fully risen.
Fargo headed up the valley. He figured the horses might be at the hollow the Tlingits had taken him to after they caught him. It would not take more than an hour to get there. He told Kira.
‘‘That be good.’’ Kira grinned happily and pecked his cheek.
Suddenly they both heard it. The whinny of one of the horses they were looking for.
Fargo glanced up and swore.
The horse was not alone. There were five of them, and on each was a painted warrior.
20
‘‘Oh, hell,’’ Fargo said. He did not want more trouble. The Tlingits’ fight was with the Russians, not with him. Smiling, he raised his hand in friendly greeting.
One of the Tlingits pointed at Kira and said something that caused all of them to heft their weapons.
Fargo snapped the Henry to his shoulder. He had forgotten. He was with a Russian. In their eyes, that made him as much an enemy as Kira. ‘‘Run,’’ he said to her. ‘‘Get to cover.’’
The Tlingits whooped and slapped their legs against their moun
ts. All five bore down at a gallop. Two had bows, and they were the first two Fargo shot. Two more had spears that looked more suitable for spearing fish than spearing people but that did not make them any less dangerous. Fargo squeezed the trigger and a slug smashed into the chest of the first. He swiveled to shoot the second and slipped on the dew-slick grass. He did not fall but it threw off his aim. Instantly, he jacked the Henry’s lever to feed another cartridge into the chamber.
The warrior’s arm whipped in an arc. He made an incredible throw. The spear cleaved the bright morning air in a high arc.
Fargo had plenty of time to sidestep, and did so as the spear was descending. He would never know why Kira did what she did next. Maybe she thought he was glued in shock. Whatever her reason, she cried, ‘‘No!’’ and pushed him. In doing so, she threw herself off balance. Before she could recover, the spear caught her under her arm and sheared through her body like a hot brand through wax. The iron tip burst out the other side, below her ribs.
‘‘Oh!’’ Kira looked down in amazement. ‘‘I think I be dead,’’ she said softly, and pitched to her knees.
A red haze fell before Fargo’s eyes. He shot the warrior who had thrown the spear, worked the lever, shifted, and shot the last warrior.
Kira’s chin was on her bosom, her arms limp. She did not stir when Fargo placed a hand on her arm and sank to a knee. Her eyes were open but unseeing. He felt her neck for a pulse but there was none.
Fargo bowed his head. He had not wanted any part of this. He had tried, truly tried, to avoid spilling blood, and what had it gotten him? All those he halfway liked were dead.
A whinny brought Fargo out of himself. Several of the horses had not run off. He walked to a sorrel and swung up. He did not mind the lack of a saddle. He had ridden bareback plenty of times. A jab of his heels, and he brought the sorrel to a gallop. He did not head down the valley and toward distant Sitka, but up it, toward the Tlingits and the Russians.
It was not ten minutes before Fargo came on three more warriors. At the sight of him, one yipped and all three rushed to be the first to the kill. He shot them dead, one after the other.