Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] (23 page)

Rain led the way through the crowd, Amy close behind him and then Gavin. When they reached the boardwalk, the Frenchman was with them. Amy led the way to where she had pushed Eleanor behind a barrel when she went to give Gavin her knife. Eleanor was sitting on the ground, still crying.

Gavin went to her and yanked her to her feet. “Ye ’bout got us all kilt this time, me girl. Ye be needin’ a thrashin’ is what ye be needin’.”

“Oh, Gavin.” Eleanor tried to get close to him, but the Scot held her at arm’s length with his hand wrapped about her upper arm. He propelled her down the street toward the cabin.

The Frenchman stared after Gavin and Eleanor.

“Mon Dieu!
Tis easy to see why the big one fought like the devil. I would do the same for that one. It’s been long since my eyes feasted on such beauty.”

Rain held out his hand to the Frenchman. “Thanks.”

“I would shake this place, friend,” he said and grasped Rain’s hand warmly. “That Bull is a bad man.”

“We’re leaving in the morning. Crossing over to the other side.”

“That is good. Ah . . . take the young lad with you, or
she
be in danger here.” He winked at Rain and burst into laughter, showing rows of white teeth through the black beard. His bright eyes on Amy flashed messages of admiration. He lifted his hand in a salute and sauntered back down the boardwalk.

Amy and Rain hurried to catch up with Gavin and Eleanor.

Twelve

Amy moved silently beside Rain in the darkness, grateful for his presence. He was tense, alert, and he was very angry too. He had not said a word since they left the Frenchman. She was not sure if his anger was directed at her or at Eleanor. Every so often he stopped to listen and then moved on. A half moon was making its way up over the treetops, and the sky was growing lighter. An owl hooted; Rain paused, listened, and then . . . the same owl hooted again.

Eleanor’s voice came out of the darkness ahead, followed by Gavin telling her sternly to be quiet. Gavin had a right to be angry with Eleanor, Amy reasoned. In fact, they all did. Her foolish action earlier had almost cost Gavin his life. He had saved her from certain rape and possible death. Amy did not know how he had managed to evade the killing slash of the knife until she could toss hers to him. And had he been seriously wounded or killed, all that stood between her and that pack of low-life scum, until Rain arrived, had been that one shot in her rifle.

As they neared camp, Rain became more cautious. Finally he stopped and gently pushed Amy against the trunk of a tall aspen that stood like a sentinel in the dim light. He indicated by a show of his palm that she was to stay there and then moved away silently. The minutes were long while Amy waited—long and lonely. Then he suddenly appeared out of the darkness and beckoned.

As they neared the cabin, they heard a steady, evenly spaced sound and a low agonized sob, followed by Eleanor’s pleading voice. Amy knew instantly what the sound was, and so did Rain. It was the sound of a flat hand coming down hard on firm flesh at regular intervals.

“My God!” Rain exclaimed. “Has he lost his mind? She needs it, but—”

“Wait!” Amy put her hand on his arm to hold him back. “She almost got all of us killed tonight.”

“I know. But I can’t allow him to do that.”

“Why not? She deserves every swat she’s getting! Gavin is hurting—bad. He’s got a hundred cuts and bruises because of her stupidity.”

Rain looked down at Amy. She saw a flash of white teeth and knew he was smiling.

“Yeah. She deserves it. I should give you the same. I was so damn scared the hair raised up on the back of my neck when I saw you in the middle of the worst bunch of cutthroats along the river. Didn’t I tell you to stay out of sight and not show yourself in those britches?”

“They were so busy looking at Eleanor they didn’t even notice me.”

“The Frenchman noticed, and he liked what he saw. I don’t like any man looking at you the way that blasted Frenchman did.”

Rain flung his arm around her and, with a growl of impatience, jerked her roughly to him. Silent, joyous laughter bubbled up in Amy’s throat. She pressed herself tightly to him and slid her arm about his waist. Her head fell naturally to his shoulder and she leaned in sweet, glad comfort against him. His whiskers scraped gently against her forehead when he tilted his head to hers. Their lips met, clung in mutual hunger, parted, and met again in sweet, gentle kisses. He lifted his head and looked into her eyes with great tenderness.

“Disobey me again,” he said, his lips moving down so close to hers that she could feel the movement when he spoke, “and you’ll get what Eleanor’s getting.”

*   *   *

Gavin sat on the doorstone. He threw Eleanor face down over his lap, pulled up her skirt and petticoats, and his big hand came down hard on her buttocks.

“What? What are you doing?” She struggled, but his forearm across her back held her down.

“Yer a stubborn, headstrong lass, Nora, me girl. Ye been needin’ this for a long while.” His hand came down again.

“Ohh!” she wailed. “Oh . . . stop!”

“Ye been a shrew.”
Swat!
“Ye been prideful and vain, is what ye been.”
Swat!
“Ye be carin’ more for the looks on the outside of ye ’n paid no mind a’tall at what ye was comin’ to be on the inside.”
Swat!
His words were punctuated with a slap on her behind.

“You . . . lout! Stop! Oh, you’ll be sorry . . . for . . this . . .”

“Ye been holdin’ yerself up above the rest of us like ye was a queen. Tis the end of it, me girl. Ye’ll be doin’ yer share of the work ’n keepin’ yer lip buttoned.”
Swat!
His hand came down hard on a white bottom that was shielded only by the thin cloth of her pantalettes.

“I . . . hate you! Oh!”

“I do not be carin’—”
Swat!

“I’ll tell Will! Damn you!”

“Ye’ll not be swearin’ a’tall. Hear?”
Swat!

“I won’t. Oh, Gavin, please—”

“Ye know what to be sayin’.”
Swat!

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please, Gavin!”

“Ye’ll be keepin’ a civil tongue in yer head?”

“Yes. Oh, yes.”

“Ye’ll be doing what yer told?”

“Yes. Oh, yes.”

“Aye. We’ll see how ye be behavin’ yerself, lass.” His voice softened. “Ye be such a bonnie lass fer all yer wicked ways.”

Gavin pulled her skirts down and turned her over. He fully expected her to jump up and run, but she curled on his lap and snuggled against him. Her arm moved up and about his neck and, crying softly, she buried her face in the curve of his shoulder. His arms held her close and he rocked her as if she were a small child.

“Don’t cry, lassie, don’t cry. Tis all over.” He stroked her shimmering hair back from her face with gentle fingertips. “Ye learned a hard lesson this night. Yer pretty face coulda been the death of ye.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know it would be . . . like that. I wanted to go to . . . New Orleans. Now my money is gone and I’ll have to go on to Will. All I could think of was you, Gavin, when that awful, ugly man grabbed me and made me stand on the table. I wanted you to come—”

“Now, now, lassie. Don’t ye be cryin’. I heard ye callin’ me name. The likes a them will na be touchin’ ye ever again. Now, now, bonnie, sweet lassie don’t cry.”

“He could have killed you! Oh, Gavin, your poor face.” Eleanor lifted her face and looked up into his. Hers was tear-streaked and bloody from his shirt; his eye was swollen shut, and blood seeped from the cut on his cheekbone.

“Tis best ye get up, lass. Tis certain, yet fine dress is bein’ ruined.” Gavin hated saying the words. The sweet weight of the woman on his lap and her gentle fingers on his bruised face were sensations he would remember and cherish.

“I don’t care about the dress.” She slid off his lap. “I’ll get some water and clean your face.”

Amy and Rain came from the end of the wagon where Amy had tossed her hat.

“There’s a fresh bucket of water in the cabin,” Amy said. “Wash up and we’ll eat.”

Amy went inside and poked small pieces of wood in the glowing coals beneath the stew pot. She blew on them until they blazed. Soon there was enough light to see. Eleanor came in and picked up the bucket of water. She struggled to get it out the door. Her hair hung in strands, her face was swollen from crying and smeared with Gavin’s blood. Her lavender dress was torn and bloodstained.

Amy prepared to serve the stew, trying not to feel sorry for Eleanor. She dredged up in her mind the thought of Gavin charging into the tavern to help Eleanor out of the trouble she had gotten herself into without a thought for himself, and she thought of his facing a man with a knife when he had none. Eleanor’s behavior the last week had been that of a spoiled child, and Amy was glad Gavin had given her the spanking she deserved.

Rain appeared in the doorway. “Douse the fire,” he said tersely.

Amy quickly did as she was told. She threw the water left in the washbowl on the flames. There was instant darkness. She felt her way along the wall until her hand closed around the barrel of her rifle. Quietly she slipped out the door. Rain’s hand on her arm drew her away from the cabin.

“What is it?” she whispered.

Rain didn’t speak until they were standing close together beneath the aspen tree.

“Listen.”

Amy could hear absolutely nothing except the leaves stirring in the tree above them and the horses cropping the grass. She could smell nothing except the faint smell of wood smoke, a dampness rising from the steam, and a whiff of the stew that reminded her of how hungry she was.

“I don’t hear anything.”

“That’s just it,” Rain breathed in her ear. “The frogs down by the creek have stopped croaking.”

“That’s right, they have. Do you think we were followed from town?”

“No. That bunch would sound like a herd of buffalo coming through the underbrush.”

Amy heard muffled voices coming from the side of the cabin. “Shouldn’t we get Gavin and Eleanor?”

“Whoever is out there already knows we’re here. I want him to think all of us are there by the cabin.”

The sky was getting lighter by the minute as the half moon rose in the sky. Already the aspen was casting a shadow, and the outline of the cabin and the white canvas top of the wagon were clearly visible. Amy and Rain stood silently, Amy’s shoulder against his arm. Her hand slid down his forearm and her fingers interlaced with his. After a while the frogs began to croak again, starting where they were standing, then gradually all along the creek.

“Whatever bothered the frogs is gone.” Rain squeezed her hand and released it. He thought of telling her about the rider who had followed them for the last couple of days. After visiting his camp two nights in a row, Rain had come to the conclusion that the man was scared to be alone on the trail, staying close to them because it made him feel safer. He decided that there was no need for her to worry about it. So he said, “I’m hungry. Let’s go eat.”

They ate by the side of the cabin, quickly and quietly. When they had finished, Amy wiped out the bowls and washed the pot. Rain told them he had found a boatman who would take them across the river, and they had to be at the quay so they could shove off at dawn.

“Hammond Perry has moved his freight business here. The boatmen are all scared of him because he’s rich and has connections in high places. He tells them who to do business with and who not to. He’s spread the word that anyone who does business with me will regret it. I was lucky enough to find a man who refused to knuckle under and is moving on downriver. He’ll take us across.”

“Do you think Hammond Perry will give Farr and Libby trouble when they come through here?” Amy asked worriedly.

“They’re not coming this way. They’ll cross at Saint Louis. It’s longer that way but the road is better suited for his heavy wagons. Don’t worry. Jonas and Albert know about Perry. They’ll nose around and find out what’s best for Farr and Liberty.”

“Aye,” Gavin agreed. “They be a wily pair to my way a thinkin’. Yer folk be lucky to have them along.”

“Do you feel like standing a watch? Rain asked. “We’d better split the night between us.”

“I can take a turn,” Amy said quickly.

“No need for that, lassie. I be fit as soon as I take a wash at the creek.”

“I’ve some salve to go on those cuts, Gavin,” Amy said. “We don’t want them to fester.”

“Aye. The salve will be welcome.” He stood and flexed his shoulders wearily. His bloody shirt hung in tatters from his massive shoulders, his hair had come loose in the back and framed a face that was even more swollen than before. He picked up his rifle and started off through the trees.

“Gavin, wait!” Eleanor jumped up and went to the wagon. She came out almost immediately, ran to him and pressed a bar of her scented soap in his hand. “Here’s soap and . . . a towel.” She draped it over his arm. “Do you have another shirt?”

“Aye. One other.”

“Bring this one back. I’ll mend it.”

“Ye don’t be owin’ me, lass,” he said gruffly.

“Please. I want to.”

“Aye. So be it then.”

Eleanor watched him leave. She turned reluctantly and, with head bent, slowly returned to where Amy and Rain stood.

“If you’ll get the salve, I’ll take care of Gavin’s cuts,” she said.

“All right. I’ll get it.”

When Amy left her alone with Rain, Eleanor found herself tongue-tied. Her mind went blank and she couldn’t think of what she knew she had to say. Her eyes sought his face and found him staring at her, or so it seemed. The night was as dark as his eyes. His quiet watchfulness and his stoic expression frightened her.

“I’ve got to say that I’m sorry,” she blurted.

“Don’t say it if you don’t mean it,” he said curtly.

“But I do! I’m sorry I disobeyed you and went to town. I just never imagined anything so . . . terrible. The men were more like . . . animals!”

“You can’t blame them. You paraded yourself. It’s what a woman does here when she’s loose.”

“I didn’t know.”

“You do now.”