Wilde, Jennifer (37 page)

We
made love explosively, a furious, passionate wrestling match unlike anything I
had ever experienced before. I fought him, deliberately, and he was much
rougher than he had ever been, crushing, clasping, spearing me with his passion
while I struggled and kicked and, finally, permitted him to subdue me as our
energetic tussle came to an explosive climax. Jeff held me then, held me
tenderly in his arms, kissing my nipples, my shoulders, nuzzling my throat as
minutes passed, and after a while he lowered me back onto the grass and made
love to me again with incredible tenderness, slowly, gently, giving himself
completely even as he took, and I knew then that I had not been mistaken
earlier on. He was in love with me, even if he wasn't aware of it himself. This
was love, not sex, love expressed in a manner far more poignant and meaningful
than words could have expressed it. As I caressed his shoulders, his back, his
buttocks, as I rose to meet him and held him to me, every fiber of my being
told me I was right, told me Jeff Rawlins loved me in every sense of the word.

We
bathed again, briefly, and the sun quickly dried our bodies, and then we
dressed, Jeff getting into the set of buckskins the girl Lita had cleaned for
him at the inn. I struggled into fresh petticoats and put on an old yellow
cotton dress with short sleeves and a square-cut neckline. Jeff looked sheepish
now, grinning, and when both of us were dressed he gave me a tight hug and a
quick, smacking kiss. I touched his cheek, looking into those merry brown eyes
and wishing we had met long ago, under entirely different circumstances.

"Reckon
I'd better go after that turkey now," he said lazily. "Shouldn't take
me long to pick one off. You behave yourself while I'm gone."

"There's
a little soap left. I'm going to wash our clothes. Does buckskin shrink?"

"A
little. You can't hurt 'em none. They're already soaking wet."

He
fetched his rifle and, crossing the stream, sauntered on into the woods on the
other side, buckskin fringe swaying as he rolled his shoulders jauntily.
Pensive now, still filled with that delicious glow that was the aftermath of
love, I gathered up the wet clothes and the remains of the soap and took them
over to the stream, kneeling on the bank. I heard Jeff's footsteps receding in
the distance, and then there was silence but for the constant soft splatter of
the waterfall. As I washed the clothes, I thought about what had happened and
what it meant, and I was sad, for I didn't want him to love me. It could only
complicate matters.

I
intended to escape at the first opportunity, and, ironically enough, I found
myself thinking how much that was going to hurt him. He trusted me, already. He
had invested all his money in me, and when I was gone he would be penniless...
I mustn't let myself think that way. I was too fond of him, much too fond, and
even though I didn't love him, I felt closer to him than I had ever felt to
anyone, even Derek. It was nothing but the enforced proximity, I told myself. I
had to harden my heart. I had to be on guard constantly. He might love me, but
that wouldn't prevent him from selling me. Not for a minute.

Wringing
the clothes out, I took them over to one of the thorny shrubs growing at the
edge of the clearing and carefully draped them on the branches. There was still
plenty of sunlight, and with any luck they would be dry before nightfall. As I
readjusted the skirt so that it would hang more evenly, I thought I heard a
footstep in the woods directly behind the shrub. I paused, listening closely,
but the sound was not repeated. It had probably been some small woods creature,
I thought, as I strolled on over to the pile of packs Jeff had taken off the
mules.

Digging
through them until I found my hairbrush, I sat down on the lumpy pile and began
to brush my hair. It was almost dry now, soft and feathery, only slightly damp
at the ends. It was nice to be clean again, to be rid of the dirt and grime, to
smell of soap. My yellow dress was the color of buttercups in the sunlight, and
even though it was old, the bodice too tight, the full skirt neatly patched in
half a dozen places, I knew that it emphasized my bosom and slender waist and
went well with my auburn hair. I wanted to look nice for him for a change, even
though I didn't love him, even though I intended to betray his trust in the
near future.

As
I finished brushing my hair, I had the impression that someone was watching me.
It was a very strong sensation, and I gazed nervously toward the trees where I
had imagined I heard a footstep. It couldn't be Jeff. He had gone off in the
other direction, on the other side of the stream. I saw only trees and thick
shrubbery, the clothes strewn over the thorny bush already beginning to dry in
the strong sunlight. The sensation persisted and grew stronger. I could actually
feel eyes staring at me, watching my every gesture. I knew I wasn't imagining
it. I put the brush aside and stood up, my heart beginning to palpitate
rapidly.

A
twig snapped loudly, so loudly it could be heard over the splatter of the
waterfall. Shrubbery moved, leaves shaking. I was paralyzed with fear,
expecting a tall bronze savage with feathers and war paint to leap out with a bloodcurdling
cry. The rifle! Where was the rifle? Jeff had taken his, of course, but mine
was... He had taken the sling off Jenny and put it down behind the packs. It
was behind me then, on the ground, not two yards away. I must get it at once. I
was terrified now as another twig snapped and heavy footsteps crushed twigs and
leaves. I couldn't move. I was frozen in place, unable to do anything but stare
in horror at the shrubbery that was parting, branches separating to make way
for the man behind them.

He
was tall and lean. His dark-brown hair was wildly unruly, his features
roughhewn, blue eyes half concealed by drooping lids. His nose was humped,
obviously broken at some time and improperly set. His boots were black, as were
his clinging trousers. His vivid blue shirt was of some silky material, open at
the throat, bagging slightly over his belt. The sleeves were full-gathered. A
hunting knife hung in a scabbard on his right hip, and a long pistol was jammed
into the waistband of his trousers. He stood there at the edge of the clearing,
gazing at me, and I felt waves of relief sweep over me.

"You—you
frightened me out of my wits—" I said hoarsely. "I thought you were
an Indian—"

"Did
you now?"

"I
heard something in the woods, and—and I'm just glad to see you're not carrying a
tomahawk."

The
man allowed a wry grin to curl briefly on one side of his mouth. "I was
kinda alarmed myself, if you wanna know the truth. I heard something human
movin' up ahead—that's what I thought, too, thought it was a redskin. I crept
up real quiet and peered through the bushes. I was mighty relieved to see it
wuzn't a Chickasaw."

His
voice was a lazy drawl, slurred like Jeff's, but coarser. There was a rough,
raspy quality, as though it hurt his throat to speak. He looked like a
highwayman with that broken nose and those drooping lids, but then I imagined
most men out here looked that way. Jackson, for example, would have frightened
little children.

"Always
keep an eye peeled for redskins," he continued. "My brother and I had
a run-in with three braves four days ago. Bastards stole one of our horses,
would've made off with the other one if we hadn't spotted 'em and started
shooting. Now we just got one horse between us."

"Are
you traveling on the Trace?"

"More
or less," he replied. He looked beyond me at the mules. "Them look
like Rawlins's mules."

"They
are. Do you know him?"

The
man nodded slowly, a peculiar look in his eyes. "Reckon I do," he
drawled. "You must be one of his women. He about?"

"He
went off into the woods to shoot a turkey, but he should be back in a little
while. I'm sure he'll be pleased to see you. We ran into another friend of his
a few days ago—Jackson, a trader. Perhaps you know Jackson, too. He—"

I
cut myself short. The man was clearly not listening.

That
peculiar look was still in his eyes. He seemed to be contemplating something,
weighing the pros and cons. I didn't like that. I didn't like it at all. There
was something disturbing about this stranger. His manner was... guarded, and he
seemed to be keeping something from me. Why had he been wandering in the woods
like that? Why had he been spying on me for so long before making his presence
known? My uneasiness returned. The man looked up, noticing my expression. He
lifted the corner of his mouth again, casually stroking the hilt of his hunting
knife.

"So
Rawlins has gone off, has he? Mighty convenient."

"He—he'll
be back any minute now."

"I
ain't heard no rifle fire. He's still trackin' down his turkey. He ain't gonna
be back for a good long while—"

I
took a step backward and glanced down at the rifle. That was a mistake. Quick
as lightning, the man had hold of my right arm, twisting it, forcing it up
between my shoulder blades. Before I could scream he clamped his free hand over
my mouth, forcing my head back against his shoulder. Excruciating pain shot
through my arm and shoulder as he tightened his grip brutally. I could feel his
breath against my cheek.

"We're
gonna play us a little game," he drawled. "We're gonna give ol' Jeff
a surprise. He's gonna come back and find his little girl gone, and he's gonna
come lookin' for her. Me and Billy're gonna be waitin' for him."

I
knew who he was then. I should have known immediately, of course, after all
that talk about the Brennans. This would be Jim, the one Jeff had shot in the
shoulder. He had helped his brother Billy escape from a jail in Natchez, and
they had killed two men in the process. "They don't make 'em any meaner'n
the Brennans," Eb Crawley had said. "If I had my choice of runnin' up
against a pack of Chickasaws or runnin' up against the Brennan brothers, I'd
pick the Indians every time." These words raced through my mind as Jim Brennan
gripped my arm tightly and held his palm pressed over my mouth.

"Yeah,
reckon it'll be a regular set-up," he continued. "He'll come
stumblin' through the woods, lookin' for his property, and me and Billy Boy
will be waitin'. Come on, move. You're gonna make dandy bait."

I
tried to struggle, tried to kick his shin. He gave my arm a savage wrench. I
almost passed out from the pain. Whirling me around, he forced me to walk ahead
of him through the shrubbery, still gripping my arm, covering my mouth. I stumbled.
He wrenched my arm again. There was nothing I could do but walk. Branches
slapped at me, tearing at my skirt, my hair. I couldn't endure the pain much
longer. If he didn't let go of my arm soon, I knew I was going to faint.

When
Brennan finally stopped, we had come a good way from the clearing. I could no
longer hear the waterfall. He removed his hand from my mouth and curled his arm
tightly around my throat, causing me to gasp and splutter. He leaned backwards,
applying even more pressure. Dark wings were fluttering in my head as
consciousness slipped away. His lips were against my ear.

"I'm
gonna let go of you now, wench," he drawled. "And you're going to
behave yourself. Understand? If you try to scream, if you try to run away, I'm
gonna take out my knife and cut you bad. Understand? If you do, if you intend
to behave yourself, nod."

Somehow
or other I managed to tilt my chin forward in what might pass for a nod.
Brennan hesitated for a moment, a moment that seemed to stretch into an
eternity, and then he uncurled his arm from my throat and let go of my arm. I
stumbled forward and would have fallen had he not grabbed my shoulder. I
Coughed. I rubbed my sore arm. He waited patiently for a minute or so, then
gave me a vicious shove.

"You're
all right now. Keep moving."

I
stumbled
against a tree trunk. Brennan frowned and took hold of my wrist, moving ahead
with a brisk stride, forcing me to trot along beside him. They were going to
set up a trap, using me as bait, so they could kill Jeff in cold blood, and
then they would probably kill me. This man was utterly ruthless. He would kill
as quickly, as casually, as another man might swat a fly. His brother was
undoubtedly the same. I tripped, falling to my knees. Brennan jerked me back
up, not so much as glancing at me, hardly breaking his stride. I wasn't a human
being, not to him. I was a thing to be used and then disposed of. I knew he
hadn't been merely trying to scare me when he mentioned the knife. I knew if I screamed,
if I tried to break loose, he would kill me immediately.

We
pushed on through the woods. We must have come half a mile from the clearing. I
had lost all sense of direction. We moved down a gulley, stepped over a rotting
log, climbed up the other side. The sky was gray now. The sunlight was thinner.
The ground seemed to slope upward gradually, leafy limbs stretching overhead,
thick tree trunks a maze around us. We came to a stream, and Brennan scooped me
up into his arms, carrying me across. I looked up at his face. It was devoid of
expression. He set me down on the other side of the stream. I realized this
must be the stream that made the waterfall in the clearing. We were at least a
mile away now. Had Jeff returned to the clearing yet?

"Come
on," Brennan said.