Lord Rogue

by Patricia Rice

  “There is your screech owl,” he muttered before breaking into a soft murmur in an unknown tongue.

  The Indian approached cautiously, and Alicia could see the fierce scars of tattoos across his chest and upper arms. She averted her eyes from the loose breechclout that provided his only covering, and welcomed the protection of the strong arm around her. She huddled closer to Travis’s side, but he didn’t seem to be aware of it.

  The men exchanged a few brief words in a foreign language before the stranger turned his gaze to Alicia. At the same time Travis jerked the concealing bonnet from her head, revealing the thick mass of her hair. The stranger smiled.

  “Pale face,” he scoffed in clear English. “You grow soft, Lonetree.”

  Realizing they were discussing her, Alicia jerked from his grasp and snatched her bonnet back. With a glare to her irritating guide, she turned on her heel and beat a hasty retreat to the fire.

  Their laughter followed her all the way back.

  She could hear a mouth organ and singing as she approached the clearing, but her fury and chagrin prevented lingering. Skirts sweeping the long, dry grass, she kept on toward the river. She understood now that Lonetree would never be far behind. She need not fear his men, but she had better learn to steer a wide course from their captain.

  Slamming her cabin door and throwing the latch, Alicia curled her arms around her middle and stared at the thin partition as if it might turn to smoke. It didn’t, but it wasn’t long until she heard the sound of footsteps on the roof overhead and along the narrow deck outside. The men were settling in for the night.

  She waited, huddled in her narrow bed, listening to talking and laughter outside. Her heart had slowed its pace, but she still did not divest herself of a single garment. The touch of the Indian’s arms about her held her petrified. She feared he would come looking for more.

  Then she heard soft footsteps in the long cabin outside her door. The other men walked with heavy tread, stomping their hard boots against the wooden deck. Travis might tower half a head above every man on the crew, but he walked as quietly as any cat in the woods. Alicia held her breath as he approached, then emitted a sigh of relief as she heard barrels shifting a short distance from her door. She should have known he would make his bed there.

  Relaxing, at last, she removed her outer garments and retired to bed in her chemise. The small port hole of a window allowed little circulation and the night was warm. Exhausted, she slept instantly.

  The gentle rocking of the river current woke her in the early hours of dawn. A light rain beat against the cabin planks, and a cool wind discovered the port hole and swirled about the tiny room. Alicia’s stomach churned, and she reached for the chamber pot to heave up last night’s supper.

  Groaning, she wrapped in a quilt and lay upon her narrow pallet, waiting for the waves of nausea to settle. She had thought this part over and done, but the river’s motion had unsettled it again. If she were to be sick all the way to St. Louis, she would never survive the trip.

  A gust of wind made the boat rock more, and she bent to spew the last burning remnants of bile into the pot, trying not to think of the trap her body had become. To think was to experience an anguish well beyond her capacity to handle. That way lay madness. She must act, force herself to go through the motions of controlling her life, though she knew she had lost all ability to steer her own course months ago.

  A knock sounded at the door, but she could do no more than groan and roll back into the comfort of the quilt.

  “Alicia! Are you all right?”

  She pressed her eyes closed at the concern in Travis’s deep baritone. That was all she needed. “Go away,” she muttered, hopefully loud enough for him to hear.

  “We’re casting off in a few minutes. If you want your breakfast, you’d better be quick.” The voice was curt; he had heard her, but there was still a questioning note in it.

  Alicia didn’t answer. Travis frowned at the silence, then turned on his heel, and left her there. He had heard the sound of retching often enough to recognize it, though usually it accompanied a nightlong bout of drinking. He didn’t think Miss Nose-in-the-Air indulged in nightlong bouts of anything.

  He yelled orders at his men. The crew jumped into action. His surly temper was known to all, and they would not cross it. Wearing his fringed coat in deference to the wind and rain, Travis knew he still looked more Indian than white. The fact that half the men on the boat dressed in a similar manner made no impression on their fear and respect. They knew he’d made this trip more times without incident than any other they knew.

  When Alicia finally appeared, her face pale and drawn against the crow’s black of her cloak and bonnet, Travis set his mouth grimly. What did he know of this woman, after all? Remembering his earlier suspicion that she ran from her husband, he swore at himself. All he needed was an irate husband coming after him with a gun.

  He watched as she helped herself to the coffee but touched nothing of the fried meat and potatoes left warming over the brazier for her. Cursing himself for three sorts of a fool, he leapt from the roof and approached her.

  “Are you all right?” he inquired gruffly.

  Alicia jumped backward as if she had been hit, then recovering, met his gaze coolly. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I am fine.”

  She clasped her hands around the warm mug, striving to keep all the frayed pieces of her nerves together. She was unaccustomed to having to look up to meet a man’s eyes, and the experience did nothing to calm her. For some reason his sharp features looked particularly fierce this morning, and she hid her shudder.

  “Pardon my existence,” he replied sardonically. He turned his back on her and strode off to shout furious commands at one of the pole wielders.

  Shaken and on the verge of tears, Alicia returned to the safety of her cabin. She did not possess the strength to fight the world today.

  When the sun came out later, she reappeared on deck, hoping to find an inconspicuous corner to huddle in. The smooth lines of the hull and narrow deck made that an impossibility, but craving fresh air and sunshine, Alicia settled on a crate at the bow near the cabin door and wrapped her shawl around her.

  Travis ignored her, but his crew went out of their way to perform for her. Like mischievous boys, they sang lusty songs, executed daring—and totally unnecessary—feats with their poles, and loudly insulted each other’s performances. Alicia attempted to ignore them, but her need for laughter was so great, she could not always hide her smile. When they turned their gifted tongues upon their captain, her obvious delight encouraged them.

  Until Travis dropped from his perch upon the cabin to land in their midst with a wicked grin that did not bode well. He had shed his jacket, and the loose linen of his shirt sleeves billowed in the cool September breeze as he stood, hands on hips, and smirked at his suddenly nervous pole men.

  “All right, you ring-tailed polecats, you’re feeling mighty feisty today. Which of you wants to put your money where your mouth is and try to take me down tonight?”

  Alicia noticed hesitancy before they clamored to join the battle, and she darted the Indian a look. Though taller, he was not as brawny as the majority of his crew, and she wondered at his confidence in taking on such a challenge. Keelboatmen were notorious brawlers. Only the strong survived in this habitat.

  The idea of fighting just for the pure meanness of it took some of the sunshine from the day. As they eagerly clasped their fists around a long pole to see who would come out on top, Alicia lifted her skirts and disappeared inside the cabin. She had not meant to cause this scene, and she certainly had no intention of encouraging it.

  They landed the keelboat at a sliver of an island some miles upstream from the town of Louisville. Alicia ignored Travis’s offer of a helping hand, and stepped to the muddy shore without his aid.

  Travis caught her elbow as her slipper heel slid in the river clay. “Tomorrow we will portage around the falls. Wear your moccasins. Taking th
e boat down the falls is a tricky operation, and I want my men in top shape. That’s why I didn’t take them into town tonight. I trust you will be well and ready to travel first thing in the morning?”

  She didn’t like the tone of his voice, and she shook her arm free from his steady grip. “After brawling half the night, you might well ask yourself that, Mr. Travis.”

  She followed a narrow path up the bank, but he kept in easy stride with her. “I don’t do anything without a purpose, Mrs. Stanford.” He emphasized the “Mrs.” “Just follow my orders, and we’ll get on swimmingly.”

  Alicia glanced up in surprise at this odd expression, but Travis was already cutting across the clearing in the direction of a grove of trees. She stared at his broad-shouldered back for a few seconds before shaking off her reverie and walking on. He was a strange mixture of Indian and frontier white man, but every once in a while . . . She shook her head at the incongruity of her thoughts. The British still held outposts in the vast interiors of this uninhabited land. Who knows? Maybe the savage had lived among the British in their forts for a while. It certainly would be in keeping with the reports she’d heard of British and Indian warfare in these parts.

  Not reassured by these conjectures, Alicia held herself aloof from the company at the campfire. As the men groused and teased and made bets over the upcoming fight, she began to understand Travis’s purpose. With the temptations of the taverns and women of Louisville only a few miles away, he offered a different entertainment to keep his rowdy crew occupied. With the opportunity to see their leader out-matched, they scarcely cared about missing the city’s delights.

  She meant to return to the boat before the brawl started, but while they ate, two burly boatmen blocked the path, and a circle had formed around the fire before she finished her meal. She sensed some of the men leaning against the trees at her back, and though all politely ignored her, Alicia realized she had no chance of escape. They wanted an audience, and she was to provide it.

  Someone offered her more coffee, and she sipped it nervously. She had paid no attention to Travis’s whereabouts, but she knew by now that he would not be far away. She was both grateful and irked by his constant watchful protection. If she felt it were only her safety that interested him, she would be more gracious, but she had learned to suspect the motives of all men. Seldom did they act out of the pure generosity of their hearts.

  That was a topic she had no wish to think upon. So, when the two combatants appeared in the ring, she almost felt grateful for the distraction. Wearing only their tight buckskin breeches, with bronzed, muscled shoulders gleaming in the firelight, they threw giant shadows across the clearing as they edged toward one another. As Alicia had predicted, Travis was lighter than his opponent, but the older man’s weight tended to fat more than muscle. She shivered as the heavier man dived at Travis with every intention of smashing him into the ground. This would be a no-holds-barred contest, and she clenched her eyes shut at the first grunt of pain.

  There was no heavy thud or shaking of the ground as she had expected, and the men’s cheers forced Alicia to peek to see what had happened. With a grin Travis now stood on the opposite side of the fire, while his opponent shook his head free of cobwebs and gasped for air after the blow to his midsection. Not only was the keelboatman heavier, but less fleet of foot than the wily Indian. Alicia began to realize there never had been a chance at a match. Even as she watched, Travis sidestepped another charge, as if he knew every thought in the other man’s head. This time a blow to the jaw caused his opponent to stumble and nearly fall into the fire.

  With the advantage of quick wits and athletic grace to add to his muscular strength, Travis had every man in the crowd bested, and they knew it. They fought only with the hope of a surprise blow bringing him to the ground, where their heavier weight might take the lead. Alicia shook her head in dismay as time after time the crewman struggled for a hold on his captain, only to find himself stumbling just to stay on his feet. The men roared and cheered or cursed as their wagers led them. This was a performance, pure and simple, and she grudgingly admired his finesse.

  In no time at all Travis had his last opponent on the ground with his arm twisted behind his back, conceding defeat. White teeth bared in a grin, Travis rose to acknowledge the cheers of victory, and with a brief expostulation on the folly of insulting a giant among men, half alligator and half horse—and here he winked broadly in Alicia’s direction—Travis accepted a cup of whiskey from the jug offered. Then, with a gleam in his eye, he made his way straight toward their captive audience.

  Alicia rose, posed to flee, but thinking her eager to acknowledge the victor, the men pushed her forward. Still holding his cup and to roars of approval, Travis trapped her with his free arm.

  This sweaty, half-naked savage bent her in his embrace and lowered his whiskey-flavored mouth against hers. She tried to scream, but he was too quick, catching her lips with a fierce kiss that left her breathless.

  Then, as if he had done nothing untoward, Travis set her back on her feet again, grinned that self-satisfied smirk of his, and strode back to the fire for another pull from the jug.

  Thoroughly shaken, unable to put one foot in front of another, Alicia collapsed on the seat she had made of a pile of rocks. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth and tasted the salty flavor of his kiss. He had not bruised her. He had not even disturbed the carefully pinned lace of her bodice or shawl, although she could feel tendrils of hair falling from their pins. He had not done any of those things she had learned to fear in a man, but every fiber of her body shook with terror.

  Travis appeared not to notice when she finally gathered her strength and slipped from the clearing to the safety of the boat. Yet within minutes of latching the door, Alicia heard the catlike tread of his footsteps upon the planks outside. She gave a cry of fear, and with desperation, she dove for the small pistol beneath her pillow.

  Travis heard the cry and scowled. The fight had set his blood racing, the whiskey had brought a roaring to his ears, but the light of admiration in her eyes had been his inspiration. He had the taste of her sweetness upon his lips, the feel of her supple body in his arms, and he wanted more. But that whispered cry of fear brought him to an instant halt. He wanted her, and he would have her—he had no doubt about that—but the pleasure would be doubled when the lady wanted him. He would wait.

  Chapter 6

  The sickness and the rain returned the next morning. Alicia buried her groans in a pillow and refused to come out upon command. The boat lurched and jerked onward as the crew propelled it into the river, and the wind and the rain lashed it forward.

  By the time they reached Louisville, Alicia had struggled into the first gown she encountered in the trunk, but she left her hair in the heavy braids she had plaited the night before. Merely winding them around her head took all the energy she could summon.

  The churning in her stomach had subsided to a dull ache in her lower abdomen by the time the boat landed at the first stage of the portage. Alicia felt the jar of the landing and emerged from her cabin, stumbling down the aisle through the cargo of heavy crates and barrels.

  Travis met her at the main door, and his eyes narrowed. She grabbed the door frame to steady herself. When she failed to stop the wind from whipping the bonnet off her childish braid, he growled instead of lecturing.

  “We’ll be hauling the cargo out to wagons most of the morning. Why don’t I take you up to the tavern and call for a physician? You don’t look well enough to travel.”

  Alicia straightened and pulled her cloak tighter. “I do not need a physician. I’m perfectly capable of traveling. How might I help?”

  Travis drew a deep, ragged breath. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you’re fine. But you’re damned well not in any state for traveling. Go back to bed. Keep out of our way. That will help more than anything.”

  Alicia glared at him, but his implacable gaze brooked no argument. She swung around and retraced her steps. A lady did
not argue with strangers.

  She dozed on and off, listening to the scraping of crates and barrels and the patter of rain upon the roof. The river should be rising. That should make the journey swifter. She calculated the number of days it might take. With luck they could be in St. Louis by early October. That would be time enough to see a physician.

  She wondered if her father would understand, but the possibility of finding her father in this wilderness seemed too remote. She went over her plans again, rehearsing what she would say, what she must do. She had a new life to carve out, and she drew up the strategy with the accuracy of a general on the field of battle. It would work. She knew it would. She would make it work. But the knot in her stomach drew tighter.

  The quiet knock on the door startled her from an uneasy sleep. The nausea had departed, but her body ached, and she could scarcely summon the will to move.

  When Alicia came to the door without bonnet or cloak, her eyes heavier and duller than before, she resolved Travis’s dilemma. Her thin gingham did nothing to disguise her full breasts and reed thin waist, but the full skirts hid all else. Travis relied on his senses for what his eyes could not see, and his senses told him she wouldn’t travel half a mile on those ancient, unsprung wagons waiting outside.

  “The river is rising. Without the cargo we should navigate the falls without too much difficulty. The ride will be rough but swift. Prop yourself where you won’t fall, and you need not come out in the weather.”

  As she swayed in the doorway, Travis had the urge to catch her in his arms and wrap her in that old quilt and carry her to a doctor, but Alicia’s aloofness made him wary. He reminded himself again that he knew little or nothing of female illnesses, and even less about ladies. What she needed was a husband to look after her. If she had one, he would like to box the fellow’s nose to let her run away in this condition.

  “I do not want to be an inconvenience,” Alicia protested. “I am perfectly capable of riding in the wagons, or walking if necessary.”