‘Simon?’
‘Yes, dear,’ Simon heard himself mumble.
‘It is almost noon. You really should get out of those damp clothes and have some of the soup I’ve made.’
Simon opened his eyes and was stunned to see the sun almost directly overhead. ‘I passed out!’
Felicity smiled and tenderly placed a hand on his forehead. ‘You were sleeping so peacefully, I didn’t have the heart to disturb you.’ Most of the time she had sat watching him sleep, grateful he was alive.
The aroma of the coffee brought Simon up on his elbows. His stomach rumbled, reminding him of how hungry he was. Peter was over by the fire, drawing in the dirt with a stick. ‘Zach?’
‘There has been no sign of him. I am worried.’ Felicity almost said, “very worried.”
Simon moved his right hand and bumped a neatly folded pile of clothes she had set next to him. It was only then that he discovered he was still clutching the butcher knife in his right hand. He let it drop and flexed his stiff fingers.
‘We have another problem,’ Felicity said, and indicated the spring.
Simon regarded the red water and the body floating in the middle, and nodded his understanding.
‘We have one half-full water skin and that is it,’ Felicity said. ‘The horses will be thirsty before too long. What do we do?’
The nearest water that Simon knew of was the stream that nurtured their valley. ‘I’ll have some of that coffee now.’
‘I added sugar the way you like it.’
Simon sipped, savoring the warmth that spread down his throat and into his stomach. He took his time, mulling their options, and after draining the last drop, voiced his opinion. ‘We cannot stay here.’
‘I agree.’
‘We have to go back. It was wrong of us to let Zach do our fighting for us. We should never have let him go off alone.’
‘Again, I agree.’
‘We’ll find a spot where Peter and you can hide, and I will sneak as close as I can get to Kilraven’s camp.’
‘This time I don’t agree,’ Felicity said.
‘Why not?’
‘We are a family. We should stick together. We’ll hide the horses, and I will go with you.’
‘And Peter?’
‘He goes with us. I’ll watch over him.’ Felicity took the tin cup and stepped to the coffeepot to refill it. As she brought it back she said, ‘No argument?’
‘I have been pondering,’ Simon said. ‘The reason we have been driven from our home, the reason we’re hiding here like hunted animals, is due to Lord Kilraven.’
‘I’m not sure I follow you.’ To Felicity, he was merely stating the obvious.
‘Kilraven is the key. The hunting preserve is his idea. Driving us from our valley is his idea. His wife and his niece and all those others are here because of him.’
‘So?’
‘So if he dies, the rest will pack up and go back to England.’
Felicity let the full implication sink in. ‘You intend to kill him?’
‘I do,’ Simon said. It was the solution, the only solution, to their ordeal. ‘With him gone things will go back to being as they were.’
‘Killing a wolf is one thing,’ Felicity commented. ‘Killing a human being is another.’
‘It has to be done,’ Simon insisted. ‘God knows, I did not ask for this. Kilraven has brought it down on his own head.’
‘How will you kill him without a rifle or a pistol?’ Felicity asked. ‘I doubt he would let you get close enough to use the knife.’
‘I’ll think of something,’ Simon assured her. He clasped her hand. ‘Are we agreed in this, too? For the sake of our family, for the sake of our future, Lord Kilraven must die?’
‘We are agreed,’ Felicity Ward said.
The sun burned hot on Zach King’s back. His ribs throbbed with pain. His wrists were rubbed raw, and blood dripped from the ropes that dug into his flesh. He licked his dry lips and squinted up at the blazing orb. ‘A pox on all suns.’
Zach was naked from the waist up, his wrists lashed to thick posts imbedded firmly in the earth. Beads of sweat dotted his brow and were trickling down his face. One of those drops trickled into his right eye, stinging terribly.
Zach glared at the nearest fire and the people ringing it. They were talking and joking and laughing. Whenever one of them was thirsty, they held out their glass and a servant was ready with a pitcher.
Zach sensed rather than heard someone come up next to him. Her perfume told him who it was. ‘You again.’
‘Enjoying yourself?’ Saxona Kilraven asked. She wore a long dress with frills and tiny buttons. Her hair was perfectly in place. Her teeth, when her lips curled in a mocking smile, were dazzling white.
‘Go to hell.’
‘Is that any way to talk to a lady?’ Saxona asked, sounding genuinely offended.
‘My wife is a lady. My mother is a lady. You are a conniving bitch with a whoreson for a husband. You are both going to die.’
Saxona laughed. ‘Bold words for one so helpless. Before this day is out, it is very likely you are the one who will be dead.’
Zach looked at her. ‘Why do you keep coming over here? Does it amuse you?’
‘Very much,’ Saxona admitted. ‘We do not have your kind in my country. I find you fascinating. You possess an animal quality that is quite unique.’
‘I am no different from anyone else,’ Zach said harshly. Being branded a breed was bad enough; being called an animal rankled.
‘On the contrary,’ Saxona said. ‘But then, you have not seen as much of the world as I have. The true Indians of India, the natives of Africa, the countries of the Mediterranean, such a marvelous diversity of people.’
Zach did not see what she was getting at and did not care. ‘How long is your husband going to keep me tied to these posts?’
‘Why don’t you ask him? Here he comes now.’
Lord Kilraven was strolling toward them, a full glass of water in his hand. ‘How are the two of you getting along?’ he asked congenially. ‘Are you the best of friends by now?’
‘Oh, husband,’ Saxona said, and laughed.
Kilraven made a show of slowly raising the glass to his mouth and taking a sip. He sighed in contentment and remarked, ‘There is nothing like water on a hot day like today.’ He extended the glass toward Zach. ‘Would you care for some?’
Saxona tittered merrily.
Zach contained his fury with an effort. He looked away from them, only to see Edwin Ryker and Cadena approaching. The girl had spent a lot of time in Ryker’s company since their return.
‘Still just hanging there, I see,’ the frontiersman said to Zach, and turned to Kilraven. ‘When does the whipping commence? The sooner you make him talk, the sooner I bring the Wards to heel.’
‘You must learn to be more patient,’ Lord Kilraven said. ‘The anticipation of pain is almost as exquisite a torment as the actual inflicting of pain itself. I have given our young friend these past few hours to think about what is in store for him. Trust me when I say it will make the whipping that much worse.’
‘Not with the breed it won’t,’ Ryker said. ‘He’s as tough as rawhide, this one. You may not get a peep out of him.’
‘Nonsense. You will see for yourself shortly.’ Kilraven switched his attention to his niece. ‘And how are you, my dear? We have not seen much of you since you were rescued.’
‘I went on a walk with Edwin,’ Cadena said. ‘He is teaching me about America.’
‘Is he, indeed?’ Saxona said.
Lord Kilraven’s features hardened. ‘Be advised, young lady, that when in Rome, we do not do as the Romans do.’
Cadena blushed. Ryker glanced from her to her uncle and said, ‘Care to explain that for those of us who don’t know Romans from Russians?’
‘I refer to the fact that although we are not in Britain, we do not forsake British customs. Class distinctions hold as true here as they do over there. More so,
if one is to preserve her dignity.’ Kilraven gave his niece a pointed stare, and she averted her eyes.
‘I’m not so sure I like what you’re saying,’ Ryker said.
‘My dear fellow,’ Kilraven said suavely, ‘your likes and dislikes are of no relevance whatsoever. You were hired to do a job and that is the extent of your influence. The rest of the time you mean no more to me than, say, our pack horses.’
Now it was Ryker who turned the same hue as a beet. ‘I don’t like being insulted, mister. I don’t care who you are.’
‘What does it take to make myself clear?’ Kilraven responded. ‘You are a hireling. Nothing more. Your cares are of absolutely no consequence.’
Ryker balled his fists. ‘If you weren’t paying me so much extra, I’d teach you a thing or two.’
‘I am not paying you a cent more than we initially agreed,’ Lord Kilraven informed him.
‘What? You promised me five thousand dollars if I went after King and the Wards.’
‘Correction,’ Kilraven said. ‘I promised you five thousand if you eliminated them. But the Wards are still out there somewhere, and Zach King is still breathing.’
‘I brought him back for you!’ Ryker fumed, and jabbed a thumb at Cadena. ‘It was her idea. She said you would want me to so you could have some fun with him.’
‘Ah, well,’ Kilraven said. ‘Even so, I can hardly justify paying you the extra money when you have clearly not earned it.’
‘You don’t want to do this,’ Ryker warned.
‘Sure I do.’ Lord Kilraven motioned at where Severn and Bromley and several others were watching and listening, all armed with rifles. ‘And I have the means to enforce my decision.’
Without another word, Edwin Ryker spun and stormed off.
‘Now then,’ Lord Kilraven said, facing Zach. ‘Shall we get to it?’ He raised his voice. ‘Mr. Severn, bring my whip, if you please. And Mr. Meldon, fetch a tumbler of salt.’
Fifteen
Zach King thought he knew pain. Over the years he had suffered a number of wounds and injuries. He had been bitten, clawed, nearly torn to pieces by a wolverine. He had been cut. He had been clubbed. Pain, in all its guises. But he was mistaken. He did not really know pain. He did not know pain at all.
The first bite of the leather whip seared his body with molten fire. He had steeled himself, but he still arched his back and had to grit his teeth to keep from crying out.
Mirth greeted his torment. Everyone except the sentries had gathered to witness the whipping. The maids pointed and giggled. Cadena Taylor grinned. Saxona Kilraven smiled. Many of the men laughed. Only one person did not share their delight, only one person was scowling, and that, ironically enough, was Edwin Ryker.
Zach sucked air into his lungs and calmed himself. He had endured one blow, he could endure fifty. But thinking he could and doing it proved to be a case of wishful thinking.
The second stroke seared Zach much like the first. The third hurt more. The sixth was agony. The tenth, excruciating. By the twentieth he was barely conscious. He did not realize the whipping had stopped until a hand cupped his chin and lifted his head.
‘Are you still alive?’ Lord Kilraven grinned. ‘Good. It would not do to kill you too soon. For the inconvenience you have caused me, you must take a long time dying. A very long time, indeed.’ He stepped back. ‘Mr. Bromley, if you please.’
To Zach’s amazement, a glass was pressed to his lips. He gulped reflexively, and coughed.
‘Not too much, Mr. Bromley,’ Kilraven commanded. ‘Just enough to restore him.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Mr. Severn, it is your turn. Be liberal with your sprinkling.’
Zach yearned for more water. He paid no attention as Severn walked behind him. But he did when a strange sensation spread across his back. The only thing he could compare it to was the time his family traveled to Oregon Country, and the Pacific coast. One day on the beach his sister had poured sand on his back while he lay sunning himself and watching seals frolic. The sensation was the same.
Then the pain hit him. Zach remembered Kilraven mentioning something about a tumbler of salt. Severn was sprinkling salt on his wounds! He tried to draw away but the ropes held him fast. Racked by the most acute anguish he had ever experienced, he writhed and twisted from side to side, the whole while he bit his lower lip so as not to scream.
Many of the onlookers laughed. Lord Kilraven was happily smiling. Saxona’s eyes glittered, and her bosom rose and fell.
Pain, pain, and more pain. Pain that would not stop. Pain so potent, it filled every fiber of Zach’s being. He no longer saw the people watching or the sky or the ground. He saw a white haze of pain. He wanted to shriek his head off. God, how he wanted to! He clamped his teeth on his lip until blood flowed and then gnashed his teeth until they were fit to break in half, and not once did he let out a sound.
Eventually, sweet unconsciousness claimed him. Zach’s body sagged. Mentally, he drifted in a limbo of agony.
Again, it was a hand on his chin that brought Zach back to the world of the living. He thought it must be Kilraven. As sluggish as molasses, he raised his head. The sun was well on its westward arc. Most of the afternoon was gone. ‘Come to gloat?’ he croaked after five tries.
‘No,’ Edwin Ryker said, glancing about them. ‘Keep your voice down. If his highness sees me talking to you without his say-so, he is liable to throw a fit.’
Zach swallowed a few times to moisten his parched throat. ‘What do you want?’
Ryker leaned closer. ‘If you were free would you kill me?’
‘So fast your head would swim,’ Zach vowed.
‘But what if it was me who set you free?’ Ryker asked. ‘Would you still want me dead?’
Zach forced his mind to function. The frontiersman was serious. ‘What are you up to? You are the one who brought me here.’
Suddenly Ryker stepped back. Several servants walked past and he smiled and said, ‘How do you do?’ They did not acknowledge his greeting but treated him as if he were not there. When they were out of earshot, he came close to Zach again. ‘Does that answer your question?’
‘Not really.’
‘I’m tired of how they treat me. I’m tired of Mr. High-and-Mighty acting as if I’m not fit to lick his boots. As much as I’d like to carve on him with my knife, it would buy me too much trouble. So I’ll do the next best thing. I’ll cut you loose.’
‘That’s only part of it,’ Zach guessed. ‘You want to get back at Kilraven for not paying you the five thousand dollars.’
‘What difference does it make why I help you so long as I do? But I need your word that you won’t come after me. I want your solemn oath you will not kill me.’
Zach glanced at the ropes binding his wrists. All he had to do was agree and he would be free. It entailed swallowing his pride, though. It entailed doing something he had never done before: letting someone who had done him wrong live. He turned to answer and discovered that Ryker had backed away a couple of steps and was gazing off to the east. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
A shadow fell between them.
‘That is what I would like to know,’ Lord Kilraven said. ‘Why are you over here, Mr. Ryker? I gave specific instructions no one was to come anywhere near my guest without my express permission.’
‘Guest?’ Zach spat. ‘Captive is more like it.’
‘If it helps,’ Kilraven said sarcastically, ‘think of yourself as a sacrifice on the road to progress. A year from now, when my hunting lodge has been built and hunters flock from all over the world to test the fabled bounty of these mountains, I will drink a toast to your health.’
‘You will be bleached bones by then,’ Zach said.
Kilraven turned to Ryker. ‘I still await your reply. What are you doing here?’ Behind him appeared Severn, Owen, and others.
Ryker hooked his thumbs in his belt. ‘I was rubbing the breed’s nose in the fact his time on this earth is about up. What is wrong with that?’
/> ‘You have not been listening,’ Kilraven responded. ‘You did not ask my consent. See that in the future you do exactly as I say or you will not like the consequences.’
Shrugging, Ryker walked off.
Lord Kilraven gestured toward Severn. ‘My whip, if you please. Our captive, as he prefers to call himself, has revived sufficiently. It is time for his next whipping.’
Simon and Felicity left the pack animals in pines half a mile from the flat-topped hill. It went against every dictate of logic Simon possessed for him to leave the horses untended. Most Indian tribes considered stealing a horse high on their list of feats worthy of counting coup. But it would be impossible for Felicity and him to get anywhere near the hill unless they went in quick and quiet, and that meant taking their mounts and leaving the rest.
‘I don’t suppose you would consider staying with the horses?’ Simon had asked.
‘You know better,’ Felicity said.
Simon had sighed. ‘Very well. But I am taking you under duress. I do not think it wise.’
‘We stick together,’ Felicity reiterated.
With Peter straddling the saddle in front of her, they rode side by side to the hill due west of the one on which Kilraven was camped. Well below the crown they dismounted and climbed the rest of the way on foot, flattening when they reached the top. The hill they were on was higher than the other one. Peter giggled as they crawled to a spot where they could look down on the encampment. ‘This is fun, Ma.’ Then his grin faded. ‘Look! They’re hurting Zach?’
Felicity shifted so she was in front of him, and he could not see what was taking place. Shock settled in as she watched the horrid spectacle. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Peter open his mouth as if to cry out, and she quickly covered it with her hand. ‘We can’t let them hear us, son’ she whispered into his ear.
Simon wanted to look away but could not bring himself to do so. Zach was their friend. Zach was trying to help them. And there he was, strung between posts, being whipped by Lord Kilraven. Each stroke of the lash made Simon flinch as if he were the one being whipped. Zach never once cried out. That amazed Simon. Had it been him, he would have screamed himself hoarse. But Zach took it, and while his body arched and he thrashed wildly, he never gave voice to the torment Simon was sure he was feeling.
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