Romancing the Wilderness: American Wilderness Series Boxed Bundle Books 1 - 3

by Dorothy Wiley

  “Colonel, do you think Boonesborough is in danger of a similar attack?” William asked.

  “No. We have Colonel Boone to thank for that. He and his men fought valiantly for our fort and the local natives respect him and honor the peace accord they made with Boone,” Byrd explained. “Merrill’s daughter was undoubtedly kidnapped by a renegade band.”

  For a moment, William considered trying to enlist the help of some of the men who had come into the fort with the child’s father. But, with the twenty members of the militia gone, he was concerned about leaving Boonesborough with even fewer men to defend her. Most of these men were unarmed shopkeepers anyway. No, with Merrill’s help, he was certain he could take care of this himself.

  “Then Mister Merrill and I will set out without delay to rescue his daughter,” William said.

  “We wish you God’s speed,” Byrd said, his expression tight with strain.

  “And to you as well, Sir,” William said, reaching up to press his tricorne on snugly.

  William and Merrill took off at a gallop. As soon as they exited the fort and crossed the town’s busy main street, he nudged Smoke to an even faster run. At this pace, they should reach the cabin in less than twenty minutes.

  William felt the seconds of every one of those minutes despite their grueling pace. The muscles of his shoulders and back tightened as Smoke’s strong legs pummeled the hard ground mile after mile, the hooves of both horses throwing up clumps of mud and frost moistened fall leaves.

  They were riding too fast and too hard to talk and the silence between them grew tight with tension. William pitied the man. To have a daughter stolen by Indians might mean he would never see her again. But if William could do anything to prevent that, he would.

  The poor girl was undoubtedly beyond terrified. He just hoped they could reach her before the Indians disappeared into the hills with the child, her life forfeited to slavery.

  As concerned as he was for the little girl, his own uneasiness for Kelly’s safety grew with every mile. If natives appeared while she was inside, she could bar the door, and stood a good chance of staying safe. But if they came while she was out and about, as she often was, then…he squeezed Smoke with his legs and leaned forward, encouraging the stallion to run even faster.

  Why would Indians go toward Whispering Hills? Perhaps they thought Boone still lived there. What would they do when they found Kelly there instead? His face twitched at the question.

  A warning cloud, filled with foreboding, settled in his mind.

  Chapter 25

  Kelly flung the door open and let Riley inside.

  He jumped up on her apron, whimpered, and studied her with his big brown eyes, tail wagging again just a little.

  She could tell he was checking to be sure she was all right. Except for her heart, still pounding furiously in her chest, she was fine. Relief that the Indians did not attack her home more forcefully filled her and she let out a long breath.

  She fell down on her knees, hugged Riley, and patted his sides, overjoyed that he wasn’t hurt. She was so thankful that they were both okay she started to weep. “Riley, Riley, you brave foolish boy,” she said stroking the top of his head and sniffling. “You could have been hurt. Next time listen to me.”

  Tail wagging more vigorously now, he licked the salt and tears from her face and put a big golden paw reassuringly on her arm.

  “I love you too,” she said and kissed his wet black nose.

  Kelly wanted to keep loving him, but she needed to get going.

  She had to help that little girl. What if the child were her little girl? She would want someone to help her. For this child, that someone could only be her. She couldn’t wait for William and risk losing the Indians’ trail. She had to go now.

  She swiped the remaining tears from her eyes and prepared to leave. She quickly changed into her riding habit, found her jacket, threw it on, and then retrieved her paper, ink, and goose quill.

  William,

  Indians came this morning. Stole our hams, apples, and a chicken. Almost killed Riley. Worse, they have a little girl captive. I am going to track them. Forgive me, but I must try to help her. Follow me. I’ll leave an apple trail starting at the big Sycamore tree. The apples should be easy to spot. There are five Indians.

  Don’t worry, I have all my weapons, and God by my side.

  Lovingly, Kelly

  She stared at the first note she’d ever written William and prayed it would not be her last. She pressed her lips against the paper, wanting to leave him a little of her love, before placing it back on the table in plain view.

  Kelly looked down at the note, fear gripping her for a moment. A shiver of dread swept through her. She paced back and forth beside the table. Was she doing the right thing? Could she do this? Her brows drew tighter and her face tightened. She picked up the note. Her courage started to flutter away on the wings of doubt.

  No! She would not lose her nerve. She would not panic and give in to fear. She would use that fear to make her stronger. She would feel the fear and do this anyway because that child needed her. She slapped the note down on the table again and patted it firmly with her palm.

  Marshaling every bit of courage she possessed, she filled her canteen, attached her knife to a leather band, and tied it diagonally across her chest. She tossed the long straps to the powder horn and shot flask over her neck, letting one hang off each hip. She tucked her pistol securely into a wide belt and grabbed her rifle, and then decided that she needed to organize her jumbled thoughts and hastily made plans before she took another step.

  She knew how to track and handle a rifle. She’d done it for years hunting her own food. And five horses would leave a distinct trail—unless the natives took steps to hide their tracks. Since they had stolen a child that was a definite possibility.

  The braves probably intended to sell the girl as a slave to another tribe. Sam once said that Indians preferred those captured young because they made better slaves. They were too young to fight back and most would forget their own lives in time and adopt the ways of the tribe.

  She would leave a good trail for William to follow. He would find her, she was sure of it. But if he didn’t, she would find the Indians’ camp, wait until late in the night, then quietly grab the girl, keeping the child’s mouth covered to keep her quiet, and carry her away to safety. It could work, but it would take a great deal of luck and answered prayers. She hoped the Indians were sound sleepers.

  If it didn’t work, she had four weapons. Then she remembered the old Indian tomahawk Captain Sam had given her. He said a person living in the wild needed an abundance of weapons because they all served different purposes. She found the hatchet in the drawer where she’d stored it after William had sharpened it. She gripped it tightly in her hand, measuring its weight, feeling its power.

  Five weapons. Five Indians. She hoped she wouldn’t have to use any of them. Then, feeling the need for more than hope, she prayed in earnest.

  God, please let William swiftly find me and keep that poor little girl unharmed until we reach her. But if I have to do this alone, grant me courage and the ability to use my weapons skillfully so that I may bring that sweet girl safely back to her family. And I beseech you with all my heart to keep my unborn child and me secured from danger. Amen.

  As she finished the prayer, a sense of purpose filled her, and she gathered her renewed strength as well as her weapons.

  She could do this!

  “Riley, you must stay here and guard our home.”

  The dog’s big brown eyes gazed up at her and then he sat down, as though readily accepting his assignment.

  She patted him on the head before shutting the door behind her. She wished she could take Riley with her. But with her on horseback, the young dog would not be able to keep up and there were too many wolves, coyotes, bears, mountain cats, and other possible threats. She couldn’t risk him falling behind and being attacked by something.

  She grabbed her l
arge sack of fresh fall apples from the cellar, hurried to the horse pen, and saddled Ginger. Then she tied her rifle on and hung the apple sack from the saddle. She hated to waste the good apples, they would have made excellent pies. But they would be easy for her to toss and large enough for William to readily spot.

  The mare was fresh and slightly high-headed, but Kelly managed to keep the horse under her control as she started out at a brisk pace toward the enormous Sycamore tree on the other side of the stream.

  Her pulse began to beat erratically as the realization of what she was about to do fully hit her. She passed the Sycamore and urged Ginger into the dim light of the forest.

  Hurry, William!

  Chapter 26

  William and Merrill wrenched their lathered mounts to a stop in front of the cabin. William flew off Smoke’s side and barged through the door. Riley raced out of the cabin as soon as he opened it. But Kelly was nowhere in sight.

  He ran outside and yelled, “Kelly,” several times. The silence following her name each time he yelled it made his heart sink lower and lower.

  As he turned, he glimpsed Riley running toward the tree line but William’s focus remained on finding Kelly. He quickly scanned all around the area but found nothing unusual except that Ginger was not in her pen and the door to the smokehouse was open. He hurriedly poked his head inside to be sure she wasn’t hiding in there. As he suspected, their hams weren’t there.

  Neither was Kelly.

  Merrill’s eyes searched over the ground around the cabin. “Horses. Looks like five of them. The same number of braves that came to my house. I suspect they have stolen your wife as well. I pity the poor woman.” The man wisely left the reason for his pity unsaid.

  William took a deep calming breath. He refused to accept the possibility that she’d been stolen again. He decided to take a closer look inside to see if he could see any indications of a struggle. Merrill followed him into the cabin. There were no signs of a scuffle, but a note lay on the table. The handwriting appeared hastily scribbled. He read the message aloud as Merrill listened.

  “Your wife is incredibly brave,” Merrill said, following William as he charged out the door.

  A pain squeezed William’s insides as he thought of the danger Kelly had put herself in. Her big heart may have led her to danger of the worst kind. At least she couldn’t be too far ahead of him and she was well-armed. And, with luck, he would catch up to her before she reached the Indians. He swallowed the knot in his throat that threatened to choke him.

  Before taking off, they took a minute to fill their canteens and let the horses drink at the stream.

  As they remounted, Riley reappeared at the tree line, near the big Sycamore, holding an apple in his mouth. That was one smart dog.

  “We’re coming, Riley,” William yelled. He guided Smoke across the stream to the opposite bank, remembering their first night at the cabin. “Keep your eyes open for those apples,” he reminded Merrill and took off at a gallop.

  William soon noticed Riley falling behind and his tongue hanging out. He quickly dismounted and called to the big pup. Riley came running with what had to be all the energy he had left. He reached down, picked the dog up, and then remounted, laying Riley across the saddle in front of him. He kept one hand on Riley’s back to keep him from sliding off. He would keep their puppy safe.

  Content lying next to him, and lulled by the trot of the horse, Riley soon drifted off to sleep.

  They followed the trail Kelly wisely left for some miles. He had never heard of leaving a trail using apples, but it made a lot of sense. Easy to drop and easy to spot. Leave it to his clever wife to think of something so ingenious.

  The woods became thick and dark in places. The shrewd Indians didn’t seem to be following any sort of trail. Their path wove through the forest, sometimes heading due north, sometimes east, and then north again, making their route difficult for anyone to follow.

  “If your wife hadn’t left this trail for us, this band would have disappeared. We’d never find them,” Merrill said. “Where did she learn to track like this?”

  “She had to hunt her own food for many years,” William said. “I think she used to track turkeys and other small game.” He could usually see the tracks of the Indian’s five horses himself, but now and then, their trail disappeared completely, especially when the path crossed rock covered ground. Merrill was right. The Indians would have been difficult to track without Kelly’s bright red signals.

  “I pray we reach your wife before she reaches those savages and that my little darling is still safe,” Merrill said, his tone strained.

  William just sat in lonely silence, peering ahead, gripping Smoke’s reins tightly in his clenched fist.

  Kelly rode as swiftly as she could without losing sight of the trail the Indians left. Sometimes she would have to pause to study the ground carefully until she picked up the tracks again. Then she continued on, stoically, ignoring the heaviness in her chest. She recognized that she was putting herself in danger, but it couldn’t be helped. It was up to her to find the little girl. She didn’t know if she could rescue the child, and it would take all of the courage she could muster, but by God, she would try. Please, Lord, give me the strength I’ll need. Even if she couldn’t manage a rescue when the time came, at least she left a trail leading to the child.

  As Kelly rode, she realized the little girl reminded her of herself. Maybe it was because she was blonde. Or that the child was alone and frightened, no doubt hoping her father would come and rescue her. Or maybe it was just because she desperately needed someone to help her. As William had helped when those men attacked her.

  She was glad she had thought of a way for William to follow her. How desperately she needed him. It would be noon before he left Boonesborough to come home. If only she could reach out and touch him somehow. She closed her eyes and willed her love to connect her to him. In her mind’s eye, she could see him clearly. His sparkling blue eyes looked back at her with a caressing warmth. She longed for the protectiveness of his strong arms.

  She opened her eyes and brushed away the sudden tears filling them. She loved William so dearly. She didn’t want to risk losing his love or their unborn baby. Or leaving William alone. But what choice did she have? None. She would not leave that poor little girl at the mercy of those braves. She would help the child and God would help her. She had to stay strong.

  It would all be over soon, one way or another.

  Ginger suddenly pulled up and raised her head high, her ears pinned back.

  Kelly took a firmer grip on the reins. What was it? Her heart thumped uncomfortably within her.

  Horses have a keen sense of smell. Did the mare smell something? “Whoa, now, whoa girl,” she soothed. Kelly patted the horse’s shoulder and ran her hand calmingly down Ginger’s neck to keep her still while she listened.

  She sensed someone was behind her even before she heard a horse walking. She turned to look behind her. An Indian brave, garbed and adorned like the band she trailed, kicked his horse hard and rode toward her.

  Her heart hammered against her ribs as she urged Ginger to a swift run. She wove through the trees, dangerously fast.

  Nevertheless, the Indian managed to catch up with her. She couldn’t miss the musky smell of him as he pressed his mount close.

  She quickly glanced over her right shoulder. It was the brave who hurt Riley! Her anger at him rose up again.

  She yanked the pistol from her coat, aimed as best she could on the galloping horse, and fired. The ball missed.

  He reached for her, his face mean and threatening, intending to pull her off her horse.

  She couldn’t let him. If she fell, she would almost certainly lose her baby. She leaned away and kicked Ginger even harder.

  Her entire body, but especially her exposed back, started to tremble. She had to do something and quick. With her right hand, she took a firm grip on the tomahawk she’d stuck in her belt. Simultaneously, she tugged hard on G
inger’s reins and turned the mare to the right while flinging the tomahawk backward with all her strength.

  Unable to stop his mount in time, the blade slammed into the Indian’s chest. He howled in pain, slid off his mount, and tumbled to the ground.

  Kelly pulled her horse to a stop and cautiously rode back to the Indian. Breathing hard, she looked down at the brave, amazed, and shaken. As her nervous mare, quavered beneath her, a quiver of triumph surged through her veins. She had done it!

  Then an involuntary chill swept through her and a soft gasp escaped her lips.

  She had just killed a man.

  Chapter 27

  William heard a shot echoing deep in the forest. “Kelly!” he cried out.

  Tucking Riley securely under his left arm, he bent forward and urged Smoke to a full-out run. Merrill followed closely behind him. Keeping his head down to avoid low hanging branches, William rode hunched over the stallion’s mane. The shot’s report sounded as though someone fired a weapon from no more than a mile away. He would be there in a couple of minutes.

  William noticed a horse’s track that came from the woods and joined the trail they were following. Had someone come up behind Kelly? Caught her unawares?

  His temper flared. Clenching his teeth, he shook with impotent rage, wanting to find her now. His heart ached with his fear for her. Desperately, he needed her to be all right. What would he do if she weren’t?

  No, he wouldn’t think like that. She would be okay.

  His thoughts raced. He needed to prepare. First, he would do something Sam taught him. He tied a knot in his reins in case he needed to drop them to fight with both hands. Then, holding the reins with the same arm holding Riley, he pulled his pistol. Merrill did the same.