Authors: Carol Finch
"Where are you taking me?" Rozalyn demanded to know.
A satanic smile, the kind Hawk had envisioned, stretched across Half-Head's thin lips. "To the Blackfoot camp," he informed her. "Yer lover won't dare show his face there, not unless he wants to risk having his scalp lifted. The Blackfoot don't get along with anybody, except me."
Ignoring the hideous man's leering smile, Rozalyn tilted her chin courageously. "I will double whatever price my father paid you if you will let me go," she bargained.
"It ain't enough," Half-Head scoffed, his dark eyes raking Roz with blatant hunger. "I got unfinished business with Hawk . . . and you. You owe me somethin' for takin' a shot at me, woman, and you'll pay dearly when I git you to camp. I'll teach you to be my obedient squaw."
Rozalyn inwardly cringed at the venom in his voice, and she wished her hands were free so she could claw the disgusting leer off Half-Head's ugly face. It was a pity the brute did not wear a full beard to disguise his bland, course features, but Bear-Claw had informed Rozalyn that no Indian tribe would have anything to do with white men who wore mustaches and beards. The Indians detested facial hair, and they wanted no association with trappers who camouflaged their faces with thick beards.
"If you think Hawk will fall for whatever trap you intend to set for him, you are a bigger fool than I thought," Rozalyn taunted, deliberately setting aside her wandering thoughts. "You cannot win against him, even if you surround yourself with Blackfoot warriors. Hawk will come, and you will lose the rest of your scalp."
Half-Head's hand slammed against her cheek, and the blow made her reel. If she had not been tied to the saddle she knew she would have toppled from her perch. Flinging the abusive Half-Head a mutinous glare, Roz licked her swollen lip, tasting her own blood and spitefully wishing to slash that brute's hide to see if a man with a heart carved from solid rock could bleed.
"You will soon learn that I am more of a man than Hawk," Half-Head hissed menacingly. "When I take you, you will have no thought of another man. I promise you that!"
Rozalyn had the sinking feeling the vicious brute was right. Her thoughts would be brimming with hatred for him so she would be unable to think of anything else. Deciding it best not to provoke Half-Head further, she held her tongue, however. Soon, he would receive his just reward. When Half-Head had demanded to know what had become of Hawk, Roz had informed her captor that he had gone to trap more beaver. Let the bastard think Hawk would be several days behind him, and that he would come alone to avenge her abduction. When Hawk sprang upon them, Half-Head would be taken unaware.
Discreetly, her gaze shifted from Half-Head to the arrogant Blackfoot warrior who rode beside her. The Indian appeared just as unapproachable as the ruttish white man. It would do little good to attempt to sway the brave, she decided. The man could not possess an ounce of decency or sense if he had befriended this half-scalped fiend.
Twice Rozalyn managed to slow their pace through the mountain passes by nudging her steed and galloping off in the wrong direction. Half-Head had been forced to retrieve her. Each delay had cost Rozalyn several painful slaps, but she endured Half-Head's manhandling silently, knowing that assistance would come and the abusive brute would pay.
When Half-Head led them down a narrow ravine, Rozalyn glanced up to see Hawk crouched on the bluff above them. Her heart thudded furiously when Hawk's eyes focused on hers momentarily. She could see the rage stamped on his rugged features, feel the tension radiating from his powerful body. He reminded her of a fierce mountain lion poised to pounce, his face twisted as if he were about to snarl.
A low, threatening growl that rivaled a panther's for ferocity actually did echo through the ravine. Half-Head swore under his breath when he glanced up to see his enemy springing at him, he glared angrily at Rozalyn, silently accusing her of lying to him. But before Half-Head could snatch his pistol from his belt, Hawk was upon him, knocking him from the saddle and into the snow. When the Blackfoot brave grasped his dagger and started to hurl it into Hawk's back, Bear-Claw appeared on the cliff. The warrior's arm halted in midair when he heard the click of a hammer, and he peered up to see the long-barreled rifle aimed at his chest.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Bear-Claw advised. The expression on his weathered face assured the warrior that Bear-Claw would enjoy putting a bullet through him.
Rozalyn watched in anguish as the two men tumbled over the jagged rocks. When Half-Head's fist connected with Hawk's midsection, she squeezed her eyes shut. But she quickly opened them and saw, to her relief, that Hawk had answered the powerful blow and that Half-Head was staggering backward. Sneering at his foe, Half-Head leaped on Hawk, and again the two men rolled across the broken boulders. Even the blanket of snow did not soften their fall and Rozalyn grimaced imagining how painful it must be to tumble over the sharp-edged rocks. The one who managed to walk away from the battle would undoubtedly be marred by cuts and bruises.
Each combatant strained to prevail, but it seemed they had come to a stalemate, neither able to gain an advantage. Adrenalin spurted through both men, giving their powerful bodies superhuman strength. Hawk was as determined to seek revenge as Half-Head was, and nothing short of a rockslide could interrupt their fierce battle. Suddenly, Hawk crouched, yanking Half-Head off balance, and hurling him into a forward somersault. Then, like a striking snake, he pounced on his dazed victim, using his muscular legs to inflict a painful blow to Half-Head's groin. When the hideous brute fell back to his knees, hugging himself and growling in agonized fury, Hawk's heel caught him in the chin, snapping his bowed bead backward.
Rozalyn breathed a thankful sigh, certain the brawl was over. But to her dismay, Half-Head snatched up his knife, and, a vicious sneer curling his lips, he vaulted to his feet, jabbing the razor-sharp blade at his mortal enemy. Hawk dodged the assault and clutched his own knife, prepared to match blade with blade. Then both men circled, like two warring beasts about to enter into another phase of battle. They retreated and advanced, each waiting to catch the other off guard. For what seemed a breathless eternity they measured each other with calculating gazes, striking, recoiling, and then lunging again. Half-Head finally made the fatal mistake of overextending himself in an attack. After agilely sidestepping the assault, Hawk wheeled around and buried his dagger in his enemy's heaving chest.
When Half-Head let loose with a furious growl, Rozalyn turned her head, sickened by the bloody sight. She expected Hawk to further humiliate his fallen foe by relieving Half-Head of what was left of his scalp, but to her relief, Hawk strode toward her. When he noticed the discolorations on her face, he snarled vindictively and pivoted back toward Half-Head, vowing to finish what he had begun three years earlier.
"No more, please . . ." Rozalyn choked out.
Her words were muffled by the sound of the Blackfoot brave's horse thundering through the ravine. Hawk spun around to watch the warrior's retreat, then he glared at Bear-Claw.
"Why did you allow him to escape?" he muttered. "Why do you think I brought you with me, if not to even the odds. You are losing your touch, old man. There was a time when no one could have escaped you if it was not your want."
A sheepish smile spread across Bear-Claw's lips as he stared down at his disgruntled companion. "I was so distressed about Rozalyn being abducted from the cabin that I forgot to reload my rifle after I shot the antelope. If that Blackfoot had called my bluff you would have been-in a helluva lot of trouble."
"My thanks for at least looking convincing," Hawk snorted gruffly. But his expression became tender when he looked at Rozalyn's bruised face. "Did he ... ?" Hawk couldn't bring himself to ask the question that haunted him. He wasn't sure he could bear hearing the grizzly details of her captivity.
"Shouldn't we be getting back to the cabin?" Bear-Claw interjected, noticing the strained silence between Hawk and his woman. "I'll fetch our horses while you tend to the lady."
Hawk hurriedly untied Rozalyn's hands and feet before swinging up behind her in the saddle. The feel of his hard body stirred a myriad of warm memories in her, and Rozalyn slumped back against Hawk, content to be safe in the circle of his arms. There was no place she would rather be.
"Remind me to express my gratitude for the rescue when we have returned to the cabin." She sighed contentedly. "Half-Head promised to compensate me for insulting him once we reached the Blackfoot camp. I am eternally thankful I was not forced to endure more than his beating. . . ." Her voice trailed off and she shuddered involuntarily when her gaze drifted to the fallen brute. Rozalyn didn't want to imagine how repulsive Half-Head's treatment of her would have been. She could think of no greater torture than being forced to surrender to him.
Hawk sagged in relief, and then he drew Rozalyn even closer against him. He would have been unable to forgive himself if this enchanting minx had suffered Half-Head's degrading assault. Rozalyn belonged to him, and the fact that Half-Head had struck her infuriated him. If Rozalyn had not protested, Hawk would have derived satisfaction from sending Half-Head to his maker with not one strand of hair on his head.
However, he deliberately cast aside his vengeful thoughts. Rozalyn already thought him to be half-savage. He need not confirm her low opinion by allowing her to witness him lifting a scalp from a fallen enemy. Still, it seemed unjust not to repay Half-Head for all the scalps he had taken during his miserable, murdering life.
The feel of Rozalyn's womanly body brought Hawk's thoughts back to the present. She was safe. That was the important thing. The devil could deal with Half-Head.
"I am anticipating your display of gratitude, cherie amie," he murmured, nuzzling the trim column of her neck and inhaling the delicious scent of her.
A tingle of delight ricocheted through Rozalyn. She could imagine the two of them nestled together beneath the quilts, sharing. . . . But her spirits sank when she remembered that she and Hawk would not be alone in the cabin. Bear-Claw could not set out for his own shack late at night, especially with a blizzard impending. Despair closed in on Rozalyn as they journeyed through the snowy passes. Going home might have been . . .
Home? Rozalyn frowned. She no longer had a home. She was a vagabond. She did not truly belong in these rugged mountains, nor could she ever again be content in St. Louis. What would become of her once Hawk delivered her to her father? Rozalyn didn't want to ponder that depressing question. She and Hawk would go their separate ways soon enough. But for a lifetime she would remember how it had been between them. She would never forget this awesome mountain man with coal black hair and eyes of emerald green. Together, they had fought their way cross-country, but, oh, the pleasures they had discovered when they'd made love. . . .
Chapter 21
An apologetic smile hovered on Bear-Claw's lips when he glanced at Rozalyn. "Sorry about your johnnycakes. We didn't return in time to rescue them."
Her shoulder lifted in a careless shrug. "It is no matter. I'm sure they wouldn't have been as tasty as yours," she murmured absently.
While Hawk and Bear-Claw set to work preparing the carcass for roasting, Rozalyn stirred up another batch with a less than enthusiastic effort. Each time she paced in front of the window, her gaze locked with Hawk's. She could see the impatient hunger in his emerald eyes, feel the intense heat that radiated from them. But Bear-Claw remained an obstacle to privacy.
When the evening had lengthened, Hawk was prowling about the cabin like a caged predator, Rozalyn was wringing her hands, and Bear-Claw was beaming like a weasel who has feasted on a plump chicken. He was greatly amused by the young mountain man's discomfort.
"I suppose we should retire," Bear-Claw finally announced, stifling a yawn. "It has been a full, rich day. Hawk?" His gaze lifted to the loft above Rozalyn's cot, his ornery grin intact. "Shall we allow the lady privacy while she prepares for bed?"
Hawk would have preferred that Bear-Claw grant him and Rozalyn privacy, but he knew the old man wasn't about to budge from the cabin. His gaze settled on Rozalyn for a moment before he reluctantly followed Bear-Claw to the ladder that led to the loft.
He hadn't intended to snuggle up to Bear-Claw's broad back that night! In fact, the very thought of spending his sleeping hours in a crowded loft with that ornery mountain goat turned Hawk's disposition as sour as a lemon. Grumbling a good night to Rozalyn, Hawk peeled off his shirt and eased beneath the quilts, only to hear Bear-Claw cackling like a nesting hen.
"Quiet, old man," Hawk grumbled, nudging Bear-Claw farther away. "And don't press your luck. You know I am not at all pleased with the sleeping arrangements. Be advised that the slightest badgering from you could provoke me into shuffling you out of your cozy nest to share the shed with the horses."