An Outlawed Heiress and Her Duke

by Denise Daye

  “That might be, but why the hell would they help us? We have nothing they could possibly want!”

  George jumped up at Jones’ statement.

  “What did you just say?”

  “I said we have nothing they could possibly want,” Jones repeated in annoyance. But what Jones didn’t know was that George happened to be in possession of the only thing they’d ever wanted—and rightfully so!

  “What if I could give them their land back?” he asked Jones, who sat back down on the chair next to Esther, gently cooling her forehead with a fresh, wet rag.

  “And how would you do that, unless…” Jones froze in his tracks and jerked his head from Esther to stare at George.

  “But of course! You are the English nobleman who bought half of the darn mountain! Up by the big lake!” He let out a sarcastic laugh. “One of the very reasons the government is trying so hard to keep this land rather than admitting they’ve made a mistake and return it.”

  “What do you mean?” George narrowed his eyes.

  “Jones…leave it be.” Billy stepped in. “You know as well as I do that the white men wanted the natives gone long before these idiots found gold up there and sold the Apache land with the natives on it.”

  But George held his hand up in Billy’s direction to signal him to stay out of this. He faced Jones again.

  “What do you mean?” George repeated in a more demanding tone.

  “Very well…” Jones returned to tending to Esther. “Billy is right about the white men wanting the natives gone one way or the other. So don’t blame yourself too much. However, it is also true that during the endless negotiations and talks between the government and the natives, we came close to buying out most of the miners to return the land to the natives. But a few senators back in Washington refused to contact the English investor to negotiate a refund of his investment overseas. They argued that the relations to England were still fragile, the war of our independence still too fresh in everybody’s memory. They believe a few ‘red-skin-souls’ wouldn’t be worth the trouble of upsetting the English aristocracy, or even worse, the Queen. They feared that a lengthy court battle with England would make the US government look like the fools they were when they sold the natives’ land to folks in the first place.”

  Jones’ words settled on George like Thor’s mighty hammer. The silence in the room was crushing. George had had no idea that he was not only an innocent investor in all of this, but the unknowing culprit.

  It was Esther who pulled everybody out of their thoughts and back into the present. A weak sigh escaped her throat, drawing everybody’s focus back onto the pressing issues at hand here.

  George nodded his head in silence. None of this mattered any longer. The dice were rolled, the path determined. There would be no gold, only what was right—and her life!

  “They shall have their land back. All of it. I don’t want it. I just want her to live.”

  Jones threw him a look as if he wanted to apologize for his harsh words. Billy now stepped forward as well.

  “They can have my share back too. It’s not as big as yours, but still… I should never have talked you into buying this land without knowing all the details. Besides,” he lifted his chin in pride, “under all the whiskey and cards, I am a Godfearing man, and I doubt the boss above would like me getting rich by stealing land from women and children.”

  George was deeply moved. This was by any measure absolutely the worst time of his life, but at the same time he’d also got to experience true love. He nodded over to Billy, his eyes filled with tears and gratefulness. If he were ever to possess a single dime to his name again, he would repay his loyal friend, with everything he had to offer.

  “Is there a way we can stop the government from re-claiming the land once we hand it back to the natives?” George asked Jones, gently running his hand over Esther’s cheek. Jones tilted his head, deep in thought for a moment as if he was trying to pull a rabbit from a magic hat.

  “We could write up an agreement. If we keep you as the owner only by name, the government would have a very hard time taking the land from you to remove the natives for the miners with claims around your land. We can include a clause that shall grant the natives the sole use of the land for eternity or until they sell it. There is a law—”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Billy interrupted him, with a dismissive wave of his hand while rushing to the door. Judging by both men’s body language, this seemed to occur quite often between the two men during their confinement here—Jones talking legal jargon, and Billy cutting him off.

  “I will get a cart so we can leave immediately,” Billy declared, shutting the door behind him. Things started moving again—quickly. Jones jumped up and started packing a leather bag with documents and ink in great hurry.

  “I’m coming with you,” he announced.

  George eyed him, measuring the man behind the lawyer. Of course, he would not tell Jones that he couldn’t, he had no right to do so, but just by the looks of him it was obvious that Jones had never fired a gun in his life before. The least he could do was to warn him of the dangers.

  “It might be a one-way trip.”

  Jones grabbed another paper off his desk, dismissing George’s warning with a simple shrug.

  “Cliff, her father, was my best friend. The Lord has never blessed me with children, but that girl whose hand you’re holding is not far from being my own. I’m coming with you and that’s the end of it.”

  George nodded as a silent sign of respect.

  “G-George…,” Esther suddenly whispered, throwing her head to the side in pain. She was still deep in her fevers, eyes closed shut.

  “I’m here,” he whispered back, gently squeezing her hand. “Don’t worry, you’ll get better soon. I promise it on my life, my love. I won’t let you leave on the next adventure without me.”

  It must have been around noon as the sun was towering high above them, unleashing its hot shine onto the mighty mountains and plains, and tiny travelers alike. Under different circumstances, George would have marveled at the breathtaking beauty of this land: golden fields as far as the eyes could see, always accompanied by the breathtaking Rockies behind. George had never seen brighter and thicker clouds before, their white beauty swirling up in artful formations high into the sky.

  The Jicarilla Apache’s land was only two hours from Chama. Billy had managed to return with a wagon he’d borrowed from the military, so they wasted no time heading out on nothing short of a suicide mission. Nobody wanted to say it, but there was that universal worry thickening the air, making it barely breathable. The natives would not trust them. And why should they? An army was at their front door with marching orders to take their land from them like thieves.

  George was sitting in the wooden cart next to Esther, one hand holding hers, the other ready to draw his pistol. Billy was driving the cart, with Jones seated next to him, both nervously jerking toward every sound the Rocky Mountain landscape could produce. But Esther’s wheezing breath was most audible to all of them, sucking up her last bit of energy, making her even too weak to whisper George’s name again, something she had done a few times earlier. George was unblinking, anxiously staring down at her for the slightest signs that things might get worse, something he feared could happen every second. He’d held Esther’s hand close to his heart since they had left. She was soaked in sweat, her cheeks bright red from fever. The sight of her chipped away at his already fragile heart, falling into a thousand tiny little pieces, each piece heavier than the next. He leaned closer to listen to her breath as they made their race against time.

  “Faster,” he shouted up front to Billy who was giving Peggy another urgent wiggle on the reins. She understood this command perfectly well and picked up speed with a little neigh, pushing the wooden cart to its limit on the bumpy grounds of the seemingly endless golden fields. If the natives could see Peggy like this, they might still think her a bangtail after all.

  Suddenly Billy jerked b
ack drastically, pulling on the reins as they came to a complete halt. George let go of Esther’s hand, scouting the area with nervous, jerky movements.

  “What is it?”

  “There,” Billy pointed straight ahead to a tall, red rock formation with a wide opening in it.

  “Lord give us strength,” Jones prayed. George now focused his gaze on the rock formation ahead of them. It almost looked as if there were wagon wheels hanging off its cliffs.

  “Are those…”

  “Wagon wheels,” Billy confirmed, shooting glances at the wall as if he were trying to tear it down with his eyes.

  “It’s a warning. As ya know, we whites have a bit of an issue with respecting their boundaries.” Billy gave Peggy a soft wiggle with the reins. She understood and trod slower than before. It almost seemed as though even she didn’t want to give off the wrong intentions, let alone come as a threat.

  George pressed his lips flat as the cart slowly made its way past the wagon wheels and into the canyon.

  He looked up to the edge of the rocks, and for a brief moment he thought he had seen something move. But once he narrowed his eyes to escape the blinding rays of the sun and focus his view on the very spot again, it was gone.

  “Did you see that?” He leaned over to Billy, almost whispering. All three men now scouted the upper edges of the canyon, slowly turning heads and eyes with their hands in plain sight and away from their weapons.

  “I think so,” Billy whispered back, clearly nervous.

  “Why aren’t they showing themselves?” Jones asked, crossing and uncrossing his arms and legs anxiously.

  “They are observing us, to see what we want,” George guessed, scouting the area left and right of their cart. This was nerve-wracking. He needed to calm himself, find his usual composed self. He took a deep breath, forcing his heart to slow down, going from wildly pounding to a rhythmic, calm beat.

  All of a sudden, out of nowhere, a shadow hushed right in front of Peggy, who abruptly jerked back a step with a startled neigh, giving everybody a good shake. And as the shadow in front of them now became flesh and blood, it was clear that they were no longer alone in the canyon. Stepping out of the corners of their vision, there they were. In their full glory—the Jicarilla Apache were here!

  Several of their men lined up on top of the canyon. The man in front of Peggy was now joined by several other warriors, all of them holding rifles to their chest. George had seen paintings of natives before, but not in his wildest dreams did he imagine to ever stand right in front of them one day. Most of the men were wearing leather war shirts and breeches with fringes along the shoulders and sleeves. Their long, black hair was either loosely moving with the wind, or tied together hanging on the sides of their faces, tamed by red cloth headbands on their foreheads. Some of the warriors were wearing military hats or jackets and for some reason, there was one woman amongst them as well, towering high above George on top of the canyon. She was dressed very similarly to the men, but was wearing a skirt instead of breeches, heavily decorated with different colored beads that shimmered like a rainbow under the scorching sun. Nobody was moving. The Apache did an excellent job in staring down their intruders, making it impossible to read their faces. George slowly lifted his hands to show that he meant no harm.

  “We are here to trade.” His own voice echoed through the canyon as if someone else had spoken the words. And as his voice was swallowed in the far distance, time just kept passing, but the Apache didn’t move an inch, nor even blink once. Billy, George, and Jones exchanged edgy looks.

  “Trade,” Billy repeated cautiously, placing his hand on his chest and then stretching it out toward the young native closest to the cart, the one who’d startled Peggy. But the young warrior who was distinguished from the others by having white face paint run from his lower eyelids down his cheeks, only gave him an icy stare in return.

  George now hesitantly moved his foot a few inches to test the waters, see if the natives would allow him to do so. And they did, none of them even flinching in the slightest. So, George slowly started to climb out of the cart, almost in slow motion, careful not to misstep. He was hanging over the edge of the cart, one of his feet already safely on the ground, when his pants got caught on a nail and he lost his balance, falling onto his knees, dust forcefully swirling into his mouth and eyes. In a matter of seconds, accompanied by metallic clicks, every darn rifle in this canyon was now pointing at them. George didn’t dare to move or get back up on his feet but instead stretched his hands up high into the sky. Billy and Jones followed suit, slowly elevating their hands high up above their ears. For how long they stood there like that, listening to the desert winds move dust from one place to another, nobody knew, but out of nowhere, interrupting the deadening silence and singing winds, Esther let out a loud, painful moan. It instantly caught the attention of the young warrior with the white facial marks, stretching his neck over the barrel of his rifle to catch a glimpse of her. He slowly lowered it and stepped closer toward the cart. George was about to jump up to stop him, but Billy wildly shook his head to signal him to let it happen. The Apache man now peeked into the cart, narrowing his eyes in curiosity.

  “Dide,” he suddenly said, looking straight at George, then at Billy and Jones.

  “Dide,” he repeated as if saying it a second time would help them understand. But George, Jones, and Billy simply exchanged lost glances.

  “Dide ‘izdzanii.” The young warrior now turned toward his people, shouting all the way up to his backup towering on top. Another warrior, who was around George’s age and was wearing a blue soldier hat, now lowered his weapon and walked up to the cart to see for himself. George got a better glimpse of him. He had long hair that was tied up in the back. His artfully crafted leather shirt looked soft and comfortable. A beautiful necklace decorated with beads hung loosely from his neck in the form of a big ‘T.’

  “Your native woman is sick,” he said to George, waving at the others to lower their guns.

  For a moment George just stood there, his eyes blinking rapidly in the sun, confused by the fact that this warrior not only spoke English, but had also called Esther a native.

  “Native woman?” George carefully asked. Jones now jumped off the cart and rushed over to George and the native man.

  “Cherokee,” he pointed at Esther. “Her mother was Cherokee,” he added hastily while opening his leather bag.

  “We are here to trade. Land for medicine.” Jones pulled out a piece of parchment with something written on it, stretching it in front of the man. But the Jicarilla Apache warrior simply stared at him with a wary look before turning around and walking past Jones and the cart and back to where he’d come from.

  George managed to squeeze a breath and turned to Jones with a searching gaze.

  “Esther is half native?”

  What else did he not know about the woman he loved, he thought to himself with a feeling of resentment.

  “Yes,” Jones mumbled at the sight of the native man walking off, leaving him disheartened, his head bowing down to the dirt. This man seemed to have a say around here as the other natives followed his example and also started to leave the canyon.

  George ripped the paper out of Jones’ hand and rushed after the warrior. It couldn’t just end like this!

  “We can give you back your land. A lot of it,” he desperately tried to convince the man, blocking his way to hold the parchment up in front of his face. The man seemed to read the paper, a gesture that filled George with hope, but then he simply walked around George, ignoring him again as if he was air. Panic assailed George as the worry of losing Esther started to creep through him like poison. He peered over his shoulder to Billy and Jones who seemed just as lost as he was, with Billy kicking a rock in frustration and Jones falling on his back against the cart, staring onto the dirt with dead eyes. Everyone was lost. George crumbled to his knees.

  “Please, help us. I beg you!” He was ready to slave his life away if that would help,
ready to do anything they asked of him, if it would only save her. Suddenly, the warrior turned around again. George shot back up onto his feet.

  “All of you,” his deep voice boomed across the mountains like it was part of the air around it, “come speak to my father.”

  George felt an electric current rushing through him.

  “YES!” he enthusiastically yelled after the man as he sprinted back to the cart. Billy and Jones were already pulling themselves back up onto the driver’s bench.

  “Come on Peg,” Billy signaled the lady in front to get going.

  The cart started moving, picking up George, who swung himself over into the back next to Esther, along the way.

  “Can we trust them?” Jones asked out loud to whoever of the two wanted to answer his question. Billy stayed quiet, which wasn’t a good sign.

  “It would only matter if we had a choice…” George said, holding Esther’s hand close to his heart with his one hand while using his other hand to wave cool air toward her with his hat. She didn’t look like she had much of a fight left in her. Up until about an hour ago she would hold on to his hand, but now, it limped lifeless as a rock.

  It took another hour to get to the Apache’s campsite. They had to abandon the cart and carry Esther the last twenty minutes or so as the path to the camp led through rocky terrain before opening into vast, grassy plains. Before entering the campsite, the man who spoke their language made some sounds that seemed to signal the others to let them pass.

  The campsite itself was made of hundreds of teepees set up closely together. People were going about their business when George, followed by Billy and Jones, entered their campsite carrying Esther. They passed women and children weaving baskets and scraping hides staked to the ground, when suddenly everybody stopped with their work to nudge the intruders forward into an open place within the heart of their nation, surrounding them while talking in their native language. Billy and Jones exchanged anxious glances, unsure of the notion of what this all meant. George maneuvered Esther’s motionless body as well as he could to avoid the constant grabbing of her arms and hands by tribal women.