The Bargain (6 page)

"The English don't lock the windows. Maybe none of them can climb. I am gifted with agility."

With a few more rubs to Jonas's forehead, the boy drifted to sleep with the biggest grin plastered on his sweet face. Mzwamadoda must have frightened him or thrilled him, coming in through the window. She spun back to the warrior. "Come with me. I can get you a towel."

The warrior sighed long and hard. "I will give exception to being ordered around by a woman because you are foreign, from the American soil. But these heated words can grow painful quickly."

She bit her dry lips and leveled her shoulders. She wasn't going to let him intimidate her. "Then take this final order, get out of my house. I've a woman about to give birth and she is in trouble. I don't need no foolishness."

Mzwamadoda straightened. The fun in his lean cheeks disappeared. "She is troubled in her birth?"

"Yes." Hope stirred inside. Maybe he knew something to help since he was good with children. She came closer to him, trying hard not to wring her hands. "The baby hasn't turned. Do you know how the Xhosa women fix such problems?"

"No, nothing about birthin' babes. But my people don't do it like the English. The women stand, not lay out." He folded his arms about him. His voice grew lower. "But Conroy knows medicine. He can help. He can save them before the shadows take them."

The sadness in his voice, the distant look in his eyes said he'd lost someone dear.
 

Pregnancy was so dangerous for women. She shook her head. "That's what I been trying to say. He's not here. He's gone off to the Dutch settlement to find your king."

"Not a king, a chief."

"Well, Gareth has left to go find him, to save this colony. You must go. Go find Gareth. Get him and hurry him back here. I will keep Mrs. Narvel calm and try to slow the pain with tea from the rue. But if you can go get him that will solve everything."

Mzwamadoda looked her up and down. "I came to tell Conroy that my cousin, Bezile will attack the colony in two days. He's moved up the schedule. He wants a surprise attack to catch your cannons off guard."

Her palms shook picking up the wet hide, the kaross. "No, no, no. We need more time. Gareth has to come back. You must go get him."

One brow of his popped up. He eyed Precious. His head moved up and down. "I could go, but what's in this business for Mzwamadoda?"

She handed the tanned hide back to him. "What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean, woman. Helping one of the English bring another little warrior into this world to threaten and kill my people is not something I wish to help with, nor is taking orders from the Precious woman. But I could be persuaded. What do you have to give me?"

Though his tone wasn't sinister, she still bunched up her collar. "I've nothing for you."

"Easy woman. I said give. Not take. I want a kiss from the Precious lady. That will be a token to pay Mzwamadoda to go and retrieve the Conroy."

Precious looked to the floorboard as if it had answers. Mzwamadoda was not ugly. In fact, he was dark polished ebony like fine furniture, and his quick smile made him handsome. He even had that fast wit like Gareth, but he wasn't Gareth.

"Tick tock, time is wasting. Do you want me to go get Conroy?"
 

"Precious!"

Clara's groan sent a shiver up Precious' spine. She'd put up with advances from worst looking men even ones that never bothered to ask. They just took. Fingering her apron tied above scars that told her she was foolish to think her resistance or pride meant something, she lifted her chin. "If one kiss is what it takes for you to bring Lord Welling back here…done."

"Yes. One lovely, precious kiss, and I will bring back the man with two names. I will even hurry."

She nodded and came toward him.
 

Inches from him, she felt her breath stop. The fear of being this close to any male always made her insides stew. She would be stoned for this. It'd be over, and then Mzwamadoda would bring back Gareth.

Grinning, the warrior bent his tall frame toward her. He smelled of wild pine and wet hair. His full lips touched hers. Before she could step back, he swept her up in a full embrace.

His lips pressed to hers and made them open. He'd locked her palm against his as he scooped her from the floor. All she could do was cling to the tall African to keep from falling onto the rug. The floor was the last place she needed to be with any man, especially one built for quickness. His hands became more urgent. He molded her against him. When he began searching her corset, her wits returns. Precious managed to free a hand and slugged at his back. Moving more, she might've even kneed him in the stomach.
 

He dropped her. "Wild cat!"

She rolled and tried to absorb the sting of her backside against the floorboards.

He bent again and offered a hand. "Now why did you have to ruin the moment?"

Anger pumped through her veins. She took his arm but only as leverage. With all of her might she swung at him and tried as best she could to slap him into tomorrow.
 

Her palm connected. The sound of his head snapping shook the room.
 

He moved back a few feet and rubbed his jaw. He scooped up his fur cape from the ground. "What kind of woman are you?"

She looked to the left and the right and then it dawned on her. "I'm the captain's woman. I'm Gareth's woman. Now go get him and bring him home."

He tied his cloak back on. "Well, I had to know what it was like, but I am a man of my word. I will bring back the Conroy."

"Hurry."

Mzwamadoda turned and went to the window. He stuck a leg out the frame. "I will try, but nothing but the chief will stop the Xhosa from killing every one of the colonists."

"You just bring back Gareth. Everything will be well. He'll solve everything."

Mzwamadoda nodded then went out on the ledge. Between flashes of lightning, he disappeared.

Precious closed the window and locked it this time. She felt some kind of way about having to rely on the warrior. Though he might be a rogue when it came to kisses, Precious knew he'd keep his word and bring Gareth back. But would it be in time? "Lord, it's me again. Clara and I both are standin' in the need of prayer. God, let this be one of those times you show."

The sun rose over his shoulders, but it didn't enliven Gareth's spirits. The storm of the previous night made him seek shelter in the settlement of Grahamtown. The town was rife with squabbles over cattle disputes with Xhosa. He kept his identity as the leader of Port Elizabeth a secret and broke up his brogue to sound more Irish than English. The Dutch didn't take too kindly to English incursions on land they wanted to claim.

Yet, the search, the questions led to nothing. No Xhosa was hiding in this town and none was being held hostage. If the chief and his daughter came here, it wasn't willingly and they most certainly weren't around now, at least not living. Hatred of the Xhosa was very high.
 

Gareth shook his head and kicked his gelding into a faster pace. There was another settlement a couple hours away, but what was the likelihood that the two were there?

For three days, he'd checked places up the coast and by the main rivers. It led to nothing. Avoiding the warring Xhosa and the belligerent Dutch had consumed most of his time, time he didn't have to spare. All he had to show for his efforts was a sore back and wounded pride. Precious hadn't wanted him to go. Maybe she was right.
 

Perhaps he should turn back now and head to Port Elizabeth. He needed to plan the resistance to the onslaught or even an evacuation. No help would be had from the folks in Grahamtown. It was time to give up.

Failure.

Lost cause.

Words that should never be uttered out of a Welling now pressed on his mind. As Port Elizabeth's leader, wasn't it better to give everyone a chance to live than be slaughtered over his foolishness? Boy, did he sound like Precious. How were the stubborn girl and his son? Narvel's widow? Maybe he'd head back after checking this last outpost. Then he'd take his time riding back plotting how to tell everyone of his failure.

He stopped at the top of a ridge. From here, he could see the bay in the distance. It looked like part of the sky, endless and blue. For a moment, he closed his eyes. He allowed his heart to admit how vast and empty he felt. He needed God to fill him back up, pour some of that rain water that dotted the trail with puddles and filled the limitless bay into him as well.

"I understand, Lord. I'm done. If evacuating and giving up on Port Elizabeth is what You want of me, then that is what will be done. Is that what You've been waiting for me to do? To trust You more than my own strength?"
 

No amount of drink or stubbornness ever changed things. He still awoke each day with the same feeling of hopelessness. "I submit. Do you hear me, Lord? This isn't the Damascus road. I'm not Saul. I have people to save."

Rubbing at his mouth, he slumped in his saddle. His poor horse refused to move another step. Blast it.

Gareth soon heard what his gelding must have. The sound of hooves pounded toward him. He jerked the reigns and forced his horse to turn. Bracing for confrontation, he looked toward the brush.

The blurs came into view. Dark and tall. Warriors on bareback. The Xhosa. The fuzzy plumes above their head meant these were the most skilled of their clan.

He unhitched his rapier and prepared. He wasn't going to die on this dirt road alone. His heart thudded.
Lord, forgive me. My stubbornness, my doubts, my lack of forgiveness, my lack of trust are all sins to You
.
 

He raised his sword and spurred his horse forward.
Take care of those I love, of those I have led.

The wind moved past him. Dust from the oncoming men reached him. It was raw, blending with the musk of his lathering horse. Fitting, his last smell would be pure, the pureness of South Africa. He ducked down and drove harder.

When he reached within five hundred paces of the three riders, he saw a fourth coming full bore at his left. This was an ambush. The Xhosa liked hiding in the brush then springing into attack. He must've stirred up too much noise looking for the old chief. Now Bezile's men were coming to finish him.
 

It wasn't the time to die with so many things undone, unspoken. And Precious, not enough time to love her. A sense of peace lifted him as he raised his rapier. He wasn't going to be murdered here. God would give him the chance to make amends. He'd trust in this renewed peace.

"Yima! Yima!"

The shout became louder, clearer as did the warriors coming toward him.

"Y-I-M-A!"

Wasn't yima, the Xhosa command for stop? Trickery. This had to be how the Xhosa had become so skilled in their warfare techniques.

Gareth sped his horse more intent to engage and win.
 

The fourth man shouted anew. "Yima!"

This time the line of warriors slowed. They lowered their assegai. One by one with their sharp hunting spears by their side, they turned from Gareth's path and sped back into the tree line.  

Gareth lowered his rapier. He wasn't to kill today. Or to die. His lungs filled with the dust of the retreating horses. Maybe some of things unsaid to Precious could be relayed after all.

More commands came forth from behind. He turned his gelding toward the voice that had stopped the assault.
 

"Mzwamadoda?"

The black man on the silver and ebony Arabian pounded closer. "You aren't a hard man to find, mate. Countless numbers have witnessed the white man seeking the old Xhosa chief. I've been on your trail the past five hours. Seems like I found you just in time. Wonder what the Precious one will do for me?"

Gareth hadn't been discreet, not with so much at stake. He wiped the perspiration off his brow with his jacket. "Precious?" Gareth felt every muscle tense at the cheeky look on his friend's face. To avoid turning his rapier on the man who had just stopped a fight, he eased back in his saddle. "She sent you? Is that why you are here?"

"Well, it wasn't to save your life. Though I suppose I'm glad I did. I promised the Precious one to retrieve you. She should know I'm a man of my word. I don't suppose that meant dragging a dead Welling back to Port Elizabeth."

Gareth should say thank you to the man who'd just stopped unnecessary bloodshed, but hearing Precious's name leaving Mzwamadoda's mouth made him burn. "You saw Precious?"

A grin grew on Mzwamadoda's face as he rubbed his jaw. Mirth clouded his dark eyes. "Yes, I saw her."

He pulled his horse alongside Gareth's. "I came looking for you. Seems I was right too. Bezile is a little anxious for revenge. He's not going to wait the full seven days. They are gathering to attack as soon as tomorrow."

No. No. No. Gareth swiped at his skull. "I haven't had enough time. The chief has vanished."

"That's not good. But time has run out for Port Elizabeth and that sweet lipped Jewell of yours. She's the reason I've come for you."

Sweet lipped? Gareth balled his fist. He took a breath and relaxed his muscles. He wasn't going to take the man's bate. Blasted. Maybe he should encourage Mzwamadoda to pursue her if the warrior could handle someone as aggravating and loving as Precious. But Gareth wasn't that big of a man. He was selfish. Precious was his, even if he still had to convince her of that fact.
 

He pointed his mount back to Port Elizabeth and urged him forward. "Then I better see what she wants."

Mzwamadoda caught up to him, squinting at him. "So you are not going to ask anything? Nothing of our kiss?"

As long as he'd known Mzwamadoda, the man never lied. He just embellished the truth. It must be so. Gareth's heart sank. He should've told Precious how he felt, not fallen into false pride. Swallowing contempt, he shook his head. "She'll tell me."

A frown covered the man's face. "Then it must be as she said. You are a lucky man."

Gareth tucked hope back into his heart and clicked his foot into his horse's side.