Wilderness Double Edition 27

by David Robbins

  Laughing, Severn and Meldon strutted toward a fire.

  Time passed. The Kilravens, their niece, and the maids retired to their respective tents. Everyone except the sentries turned in. The constellations crawled across the night sky, and by their positions it was pressing two in the morning and Zach was twisting and turning his wrists in a determined bid to gain his freedom, when a hand touched his arm.

  ‘It’s me.’ Simon Ward whispered. ‘Don’t move. I’ll cut you free.’

  Zach checked on the sentries. None were looking in his direction. The instant the ropes were severed, he started to lower his arms and immediately regretted it. Sheer anguish spiked along both arms to his shoulders.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Simon whispered.

  ‘Worry about them, if you must worry about anyone,’ Zach whispered, and motioned with a sweep of his head at the sleepers. ‘They are all going to die.’

  Seventeen

  Felicity Ward paced back and forth. She was too worried, too upset, to stay still. Simon had been gone much longer than she thought he would. She had seen no trace of him since dark fell, not so much as a glimpse, and she had strained her eyes until they ached.

  Peter was asleep in her arms. It was the middle of the night, and stars sparkled in the firmament. From out of the inky veil of the wilderness came constant cries and shrieks and howls and occasional roars. The meat eaters were abroad, filling the air with their bedlam and the distress of their prey.

  Twice Felicity had heard growls much too near the hill. She imagined a mountain lion or some other predator stalking them or their horses, and the dark became alive with moving shadows. Shadows that might only be her imagination. She could not say for sure, and that was the worst part. The uncertainty. Dreading a snarl and a rush that never came. Her nerves were frayed. She was a wreck.

  So when Felicity heard something coming up the hill toward her, heard it breathing heavily and the patter of what she took to be heavy paws, she whirled, and raised her club, the only weapon she had, and a pitiful defense against fangs and claws.

  Felicity steeled herself to go down fighting. She would protect Peter with her dying breath; if she had to, she would sacrifice herself to save him. Love for him filled her heart to near bursting, and she planted herself in grim resolve.

  A shape heaved out of the night. It stopped, and gasping for breath, wheezed, ‘Felicity? What are you doing?’

  Tears moistening her eyes, Felicity threw herself at Simon. She almost forgot about Peter, almost crushed him between them. She had to settle for dropping the club and wrapping her free arm around Simon’s neck and carefully pulling him close. ‘Thank you, God,’ she breathed in his ear. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you.’

  ‘I’m worn out from running,’ Simon said. ‘Zach said we must hurry.’

  Felicity looked past him. ‘Where is he? Weren’t you able to free him?’

  ‘I cut him loose,’ Simon said, ‘and we snuck out of their camp. Then he had me wait while he snuck back in and got me these.’

  It was then that Felicity realized he had pistols wedged under his belt and was holding two rifles. ‘But where is Zach? Why isn’t he with you?’

  ‘He wouldn’t come,’ Simon revealed. ‘He’s going to, and I quote, ‘make war.’ ’

  ‘But he is one and they are many.’

  ‘I pointed that out to him but he says it doesn’t matter. After what they did to him, he intends to count coup until they are all dead, or he is.’ Simon handed her a rifle.

  ‘This is awful.’

  ‘I suppose I can’t blame him,’ Simon said. ‘You should have seen his back. The scourging, what it did to him. I don’t think I could have taken it.’ He shuddered. ‘Zach will have scars for the rest of his life.’

  ‘I could tend his wounds,’ Felicity said, and stared forlornly down into the dark.

  ‘We must leave,’ Simon said. ‘Zach wants us to head for the cabin, lock ourselves in, and stay there until we hear from him. If he doesn’t show up in ten days we are to go to Bent’s Fort and get word to his father.’

  ‘Ten days?’ Felicity said. ‘Why so long?’

  Simon gazed at the crown of the flat-topped hill. ‘I don’t know. He refused to tell me what he’s up to.’ Simon frowned. ‘God, how I wish Nate were here. He’s the only one who could stop Zach from doing something he might regret later on.’

  ‘I don’t like the idea of riding off and leaving him.’ Felicity would rather stay where they were and await developments.

  ‘Zach says if we don’t, we are at risk,’ Simon relayed. ‘I don’t like it any better than you, but we will do as he wants. I trust him. For all his wildness, for all his savagery, he is our friend. Our true and dear friend.’

  ‘What about our other horses?’

  ‘We will fetch them. He instructed us to give Kilraven’s camp a wide berth and make a beeline for home. He was quite insistent we swing to the south and not the north.’

  ‘Why?’ Felicity regarded the flickering campfires. All was still and quiet, or appeared to be.

  ‘I asked Zach and all he did was smile. A smile that chilled me to the bone,’ Simon said. ‘I almost feel sorry for them. Almost,’ he repeated softly.

  ‘I feel sorry for Zach,’ Felicity said. ‘He has taken so many lives already. How can his soul bear the burden of taking more?’

  ‘He is a warrior. That is what warriors do.’

  ‘But it still has to have some effect. There must come a time when every warrior feels regret.’

  ‘Not Zach.’

  ‘What does he feel, then?’ Felicity asked.

  Simon did not reply.

  Cadena Taylor was sleeping peacefully when a hand was clamped over her mouth. She awoke with a start and started to sit up. Then the tip of a sharp blade was pressed against her throat just hard enough to break the skin, and Cadena froze.

  Lips brushed her ear.

  ‘Make a sound and I’ll slit your throat.’

  Cadena gulped. She was bodily lifted and hauled to the back of her makeshift tent. The blanket had been cut from about waist height to the bottom. She was forced to get down on all fours and crawl through, the knife always at her neck. Once out, she was yanked to her feet and propelled around the perimeter of the camp to where several horses were saddled and waiting. Along the way they passed a slain sentry. He lay on his back, his limbs askew, his head hanging at an unnatural angle. Her stomach did flip-flops and she smothered a whimper.

  Near the horses lay another body. Or so Cadena thought until she was roughly shoved to her knees. She was shocked to discover Lady Kilraven, bound and gagged.

  Zach King squatted in front of her. He had found a brown shirt somewhere, and it was partially buttoned. He also had his weapons, all of them, including his bowie and his tomahawk. He did not say anything as he began to tie her wrists in front of her.

  Cadena opened her mouth to say something. The instant she did, he looked at her. He just looked, but something in his gaze, in the set of his features, stilled her tongue. She had never seen anyone look at her in quite that way. It scared her. She remained docile as she was gagged and then swung onto one of the horses. A lead rope was looped about its neck, and the neck of another horse. Onto that one Lady Kilraven was thrown and tied down so she would not fall off. From the way she sagged when he picked her up, Cadena knew Saxona was unconscious.

  Zach climbed onto his sorrel, took the end of the lead rope, and jabbed his heels. Shifting in the saddle, he watched behind them. There were no outcries. No shots rang out. Soon they were at the bottom of the hill, and once there, out of earshot of the camp, Zach rode faster.

  Fear gnawed at Cadena like so many ravening ants. She was being abducted yet again! Part of her refused to believe this was happening. Part of her insisted she must be dreaming. But the thud of hooves, the creak of the saddle under her, the wind in her hair, the pain in her wrists and the uncomfortable gag in her mouth, were proof it was all too real.

  Cade
na was a terrible judge of distances. They might have gone half a mile or less when they came to another hill and climbed to its bare summit. She was surprised when Zach stopped and climbed down, even more surprised when he came over and removed the gag from her mouth. Lady Kilraven was a limp bundle of white.

  ‘May I speak?’ Cadena asked.

  ‘So long as you do it quietly.’

  ‘What have you done to my aunt?’

  Zach patted his tomahawk. ‘A rap on the noggin with this. Not with the edge, though. I don’t want her dead. I don’t want either of you dead.’

  ‘Then why take us?’ Cadena wanted to know.

  ‘To use as bait.’

  Cadena did not like the sound of that. She liked it even less that he was in no hurry to go anywhere. He pulled her off her horse and roughly sat her down, then did the same with Lady Kilraven, leaving her sprawled on her back. ‘How did you get free? How did you saddle those horses without anyone noticing?’

  ‘Dead sentries can’t notice much.’

  Cadena thought of the one she had seen, his head nearly severed. ‘How many of them did you kill?’

  Zach looked at her in that way again.

  ‘All of them? Dear God.’ Cadena was trying to put on a brave show, but she was more scared than she had ever been in her entire life. She was in the clutches of a savage with no regard for human life. ‘You want my uncle to come after you? Is that what this is about? You intend to lure him into the mountains. But what good will it do you? You are still greatly outnumbered.’

  Zach King said a strange thing. ‘You would think so, wouldn’t you?’

  Severn could not say what awakened him. He lay in the dark listening but heard only snores and the wind and the distant bark of coyotes. He closed his eyes to go back to sleep and then snapped them open again. It was dark, completely dark, and it shouldn’t be. The sentries were supposed to keep the campfires going all night.

  Severn sat up, his blanket falling around his waist. The fire nearest to him had gone out. Of the other fires, only two feebly glowed. He pushed to his feet, mad enough to cudgel someone. ‘If his lordship finds out, there will be hell to pay,’ he said to himself.

  Gathering up his pistols and rifle, Severn stalked to the east side of the hill. A sentry was supposed to be roving back and forth at all times, but there was no sign of him. ‘Owen?’ he called, but not too loudly. ‘Where the bloody hell are you?’

  When there was no response, Severn conducted a hurried search. He had gone a short way when his foot bumped something in his path. Glancing down, he was dumfounded to behold a prone form.

  ‘Who—?’ Severn began. Then he saw the face bathed by pale starlight, saw that the head was connected by only a few shreds of flesh.

  The contents of Severn’s stomach tried to come out his mouth. Swallowing bitter bile, he turned away. ‘Who could have done this?’ The explanation hit him with the force of a thunderclap. ‘Hostiles!’ he blurted, and sped toward the blanket tents to warn his lordship.

  That was when Severn saw the posts. He ran over and gaped at the dangling ropes. Examining one, he swore. They had been cut. Hostiles were not to blame for the sentry. ‘It was the half-breed!’ Severn exclaimed. Bringing up his rifle, he spun in a circle, but all he saw were sleeping figures and picketed horses.

  In swift order, Severn woke up Bromley, Meldon, and York. He had Bromley and Meldon go check on the other sentries while he and York hurried from fire to fire, stirring the embers and adding firewood. In short order the encampment was again lit from end to end.

  Severn was making for the tents when the other three fell into step on either side of him. ‘Well?’

  ‘Dead,’ Bromley reported. ‘All the sentries are dead.’

  ‘How could he kill them all?’ Meldon marveled. ‘Without making a sound? I couldn’t do that. Could you do that?’

  ‘Four horses are missing,’ Bromley reported. ‘That’s not all. We made a head count, as you wanted. Our guide is missing.’

  ‘Edwin Ryker?’ Severn stopped in midstride.

  ‘Did you find blood on his blankets? Or signs of a struggle?’

  Bromley shook his head. ‘You don’t understand. He and all his possessions are gone. His blankets, his saddle, everything, and his horse is one of those missing.’

  ‘Are you suggesting he rode off on his own? That he deserted us?’

  ‘So it would seem,’ Bromley said. ‘Unless he has joined forces with Zach King, which I can’t see happening.’

  ‘Neither can I,’ Severn agreed, hastening on to the blanket tents. He halted in front of the largest and cleared his throat. ‘Your lordship? I apologize for disturbing you at this hour, but we have a problem on our hands.’

  Rustling came from within. ‘What was that?’ their lord and master’s sleepy voice demanded.

  ‘We have a problem,’ Severn said. ‘A serious problem.’

  It was half a minute before the blankets parted. His white hair disheveled, Kilraven fumbled with the belt to his robe. ‘Explain yourselves,’ he demanded. ‘Keep it succinct. And it had better be as serious as you claim it to be or you will rue waking me.’

  Severn detailed all they knew, ending with, ‘What would you have us do? We are at your command.’

  ‘Of course you are.’ Kilraven ran a hand through his hair. ‘Wake everyone. Have the cook make breakfast. If he grumbles it is too early, remind him it is a long walk and an even longer swim back to England. I will be out directly after I am dressed.’

  The blankets closed and Severn and the others turned to do as they had been bid. But they had barely taken three steps when the blankets were snapped apart again.

  ‘Where is my wife? Where is Saxona?’

  ‘Sir?’ Severn said.

  Bromley gestured. ‘We have not seen any sign of her, your lordship. We assumed she was with you.’

  ‘Scour the camp,’ Kilraven barked. ‘If anything has happened to her—’ He did not finish and went back in.

  Severn stepped to a smaller tent and coughed a few times to be polite. ‘Miss Taylor? Your uncle wants everyone up. There has been murder most foul, and the breed is on the loose.’ He waited, and when he received no acknowledgment, he repeated himself, only louder. More silence ensued. He made bold to poke his head inside, and swore.

  Lord Kilraven did not take the news well. He did not take it well at all. He stormed about the camp, making sure everyone was up and dressed and ready to head out at dawn. ‘We will find my wife and my niece, however long it takes!’ he raged as the sky began to brighten. ‘We will chase Zach King to the ends of the earth if need be!’

  Severn happened to be gazing to the northwest a few minutes later and could not quite credit his eyes. He hastened to his lordship. ‘The breed is a lot closer than we thought, your lordship.’

  Kilraven gazed where Severn pointed.

  On the crown of a nearby hill, mounted and holding the lead rope to two horses on which Lady Kilraven and Cadena were perched, was Zach King. As they sat eyes on his, he raised an arm and beckoned.

  ‘I’ll be damned,’ Lord Kilraven growled, and grimly smiled. ‘Everyone mount up. His arrogance will be the death of him.’

  Eighteen

  So far Zach’s plan was working.

  Two days had gone by. Two days of hard riding steadily northwest. Two days of winding deeper, ever deeper, into the Rockies.

  Zach knew the country well. He had hunted it many a time with his father and Shakespeare McNair when he was young, and he had passed through it again on his way to Bent’s Fort to buy the supplies and perfume. At the last moment he had decided to visit the Wards. It was well he did.

  The lead rope wrapped tight in his hand, Zach drew rein high on a switchback. His sorrel was winded. So were the other horses. Not quite a mile below were his pursuers. Each day he had gained a little more ground on them, until now he felt safe in announcing, ‘We will rest for a spell.’

  ‘Thank God!’ Saxona Kilraven declared.
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br />   The chase had been rough on the women. Neither were skilled riders. Most of their journey west from St. Louis had been spent on the seat of a rolling wagon. They were a mess. Their hair was bedraggled, their loose-fitting white cotton nightgowns were speckled with dust and smeared with grass stains and dirt from sleeping on the ground. Their eyes were bloodshot and puffy and had dark shadows under them.

  ‘Can we please eat something?’ Cadena requested. ‘I am famished.’

  ‘We will eat when we stop for the night,’ Zach told her. ‘As we have done all along.’

  Lady Kilraven adopted a haughty expression. ‘One meal a day, and that consists of water and that abominable salted meat you frontier types are so absurdly fond of.’

  ‘The salted meat is called jerky,’ Zach said. ‘My wife made it herself.’

  ‘I don’t care what it is called or who made it,’ Lady Kilraven retorted. ‘It tastes wretched. Admit it. You are trying to starve us to death.’

  ‘You are no use to me dead.’ Zach dismounted and crooked a finger at them. ‘Climb down and stretch your legs. We won’t be here long.’

  Cadena held out her bound wrists. ‘You could at least be a gentleman and help us.’

  ‘You’re not helpless.’

  Lady Kilraven uttered a grunt of contempt as she slid off and took a few shuffling steps. ‘Every muscle in my body aches, my legs worst of all. I will not be able to walk for a month after this.’

  Zach marked the progress of their would-be rescuers. Every last member of Lord Kilraven’s party was after them, including the other two women, the maids, who rode at the end of the long line, with the pack animals. He was sorry they were along, but he had his mind made up.

  ‘What do you hope to accomplish by this lunacy?’ Lady Kilraven demanded. ‘My husband will never give up, not so long as breath remains in his body.’

  ‘I am counting on that,’ Zach said.

  ‘To what end? Do you intend to pick him off with your rifle? Killing him will not change anything. I will have the hunting preserve built to spite you.’