by Norah Hess
With frustrated tears running down her cheeks, she began to crawl toward the cover of trees. If she could make it to their shelter she might still elude the monster coming up behind her.
Pebbles bit into her palms and knees as she tried to crawl faster, her ankle throbbing from her exertion. But even as her own breath came in gasps, she could hear Rufus panting behind her and knew with a sinking heart that he was gaining on her.
D'lise was finally at the edge of the woods and was looking around frantically, trying to decide which way to crawl, where best to hide. The decision was taken away from her as Rufus's heavy weight landed on her, flattening her sidewise on the ground. When she regained the breath that had been knocked out of her, she began to fight silently, biting, scratching, and kicking. This hellish man was not going to violate her.
Although she put all her strength and determination into warding off her hated relation, D'lise knew despairingly that she was slowly losing the battle. She was weak as a kitten and fighting for breath when his fat fingers reached under her dress and tore at her bloomers.
In panic, and in dread of this panting fat man implanting himself inside her, she let out a piercing scream. In one last bid to be free of the weight pressing her down, she managed to rake her nails across the fat, sweating face, gouging them deep into his flesh. After a howl of pain, Rufus swore an ugly oath and drew back a fist to strike her in the temple to render her unconscious.
D'lise stared up at the fist, waiting for it to descend, thankful that she wouldn't be aware of the rape that was about to be visited on her.
The fist never landed. From behind them, a hard, gravelly voice spoke. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, mister."
Chapter Two
The snow-white stallion lunged to the top of a hill, snorting his displeasure at the lean coon-hound keeping pace with him.
"You might as well get used to him, Snowy," the broad-shouldered, slim-hipped rider said. "I think Hound has adopted us."
The thick mustache above the heavy blond beard hid the firm lips that settled in grim lines. Kane Devlin was remembering how a week ago he had come upon a homesteader beating the half-starved dog with a heavy stick.
"Hey, mister," he'd shouted, riding Snowy almost on top of the tall, raw-boned man, "what in the hell are you doin', beatin' that animal?"
"What's it to you?" The farmer spun around, a dark frown on his face.
It was comical how his features lost their threatening look when he gazed into the coldest eyes he'd ever seen.
He tossed the stick to the ground and whined, "I can't get this lazy son of a bitch to go huntin'."
Kane continued to glare at the man until he stirred nervously and broke eye contact. He gave a startled jerk when Kane ordered, "Fetch the animal some food and water. And I mean proper food. Meat!" he called after the homesteader hurrying toward his cabin.
Kane was stroking the cringing dog's head when its owner returned and placed on the ground a pan of venison stew and a pail of water. When the dog only looked at it longingly, Kane gave the man a black look.
"Stand back," he ordered. "He's too afraid of you to eat. You've damn near beat and starved the spirit out of a fine hound."
While the tall, thin man looked on sullenly, Kane watched as the dog licked the pan clean in less than a minute. There was no doubt in Kane's mind that, had he ridden off immediately, the mean-eyed bastard would have taken back the stew. Kane gave the hound a pat on the head as it lapped up water, wondering how long the poor devil would live in that man's care. When he swung back into the saddle, he felt the homesteader's eyes boring into his back as he rode away.
That night, cooking his supper over a campfire, he had looked up at a stirring of underbrush. He hadn't been too surprised to see the hound belly-crawling toward him, a short length of rope hanging from around his neck. Where had the half-dead animal gotten the strength to break away?
"Come on, boy," he called softly, snapping his fingers. "You're welcome."
The abused dog stood up on all fours at the gentle coaxing and came to him, his whole rear end wagging at the sound of kind words. Kane pushed him away as the dog's long tongue tried to lick his face in happy greeting. "Lie down." Kane patted the ground and smiled when he was obeyed immediately.
Later he had shared the roasted rabbit with Hound, the name he had given the dog, and Hound had been his constant companion ever since. With nourishing food in his belly every day, his big-boned frame was filling out and he was becoming a magnificent-looking animal. Kane had no doubt that the dog would fight to the death for him.
Kane reined the stallion in, his eyes raking the hills. For the past couple of hours he had been coming across occasional spots that were familiar to him—a lightning-blasted tree, a spring tumbling from deep inside a cave. It wasn't his old stamping ground, but he had traveled through this part of the country at one time or another. He wasn't more than a day or so away from his place. And if he wasn't mistaken, there was a small fur post in this neck of the woods.
Kane had been away from his beloved Kentucky hills for four years fighting in the War for Freedom. He had spent a hellish winter with Washington at Valley Forge, a time he didn't think he'd ever forget. There had been little food, and the shacks the men lived in gave scant protection from the freezing wind and cold. The horses had starved to death, and the men had been forced to pull the wagons that brought in the meager supplies.
But finally he was going home, sick to death of killing, of seeing a man's lifeblood spreading on his bayonet's blade. October 18, 1781. Cornwallis had surrendered and the fighting was over. If he never had to take another man's life he would be a happy man. He only wanted to get back to his traps, his cabin, and his friends, and resume his old, carefree life.
But violence had always played a big part in his life, Kane remembered, nudging Snowy down the hill. Almost since he could recall, actually. When he was ten years old, cholera had spread through the town where his family lived. It had killed half the population, including his parents and young sister.
And though by some miracle he had escaped the disease, there had been times when he wasn't so sure that he had been one of the lucky ones.
He hadn't been allowed to live alone in his home, but he hadn't been told where he could go. Everyone was in such a state of fear and worry that no one paid any attention to the score or more frightened children who roamed the streets.
Like a wild little animal, he had fought other children for crusts of bread tossed into the street. He had defended his sleeping place in an outdoor privy, and ventured to the kitchens of the wealthy where sometimes he was given food, but more often was chased away.
Then one day his uncle Buck had found him, and he had been thrown into another world.
Uncle Buck. Kane's eyes softened. His father's brother, a huge man with a genial smile and a reckless disregard for anything that smacked of convention. He was a law unto himself and thumbed his nose at the rest of the world.
"I'm takin' you to God's country, boy," he'd said that night after a hearty meal in an inn several miles into the country, where the plague hadn't reached. "Your Uncle Buck is a trapper, and he's gonna turn you into a fine one too."
The big man had stood up then and, giving his roguish grin, said, "Our room is at the end of the hall. You take the cot that has been set up next to the window. Leave the bed for me." He had given him a broad wink before adding, "I'll most likely have company when I retire."
Kane's lips curled in a grin as he continued to remember. His big, handsome relative did have company when, around ten o'clock, he had stumbled into the room, a giggling barmaid hanging on to his arm.
His voice slurred from drink, he hushed the woman as they fumbled their way to the bed. "Don't wake my nephew. He ain't ready to see what we're gonna get up to."
But the nephew was already awake, and wildly curious as to what Uncle Buck and the woman were going to get up to. He had gotten an education that night as he lay quiet as a mouse wa
tching the performance on the bed.
And while he was trying to make sense of what was happening between the couple on the bed, sleep had overtaken him.
The next morning, only Buck lay sleeping on the bed and Kane had half thought that he had dreamed it all. But the other half of his brain told him it was no dream. However, when his uncle asked him later if he had awakened him when he came in last night, something warned him to say no.
After a breakfast of bacon and eggs, biscuits and gravy, they had ridden away, heading for the Kentucky hills, Kane seated proudly on the old nag his uncle had bought from the man who ran the inn.
Over the years until he was fourteen, he had learned all there was to know about trapping, and had loved every minute of it. On his sixteenth birthday, his uncle had decided that it was time he learned about women and had taken him to a brothel. There he learned all the ways a woman could please a man. When the next trapping season came around, and thereafter, he and Buck had shared whatever whore or squaw his relative brought home for the winter. The woman got a good workout each night, but she had plenty to eat, lived in a warm cabin, and was never brutalized by either him or his uncle.
Then Buck had met, fallen in love with, and married Lottie. A dance-hall girl, beautiful on the outside, rotten on the inside. As young as he was, he had known that she would bring nothing but pain and grief into their lives. When he tried to explain his fears to his love-sotted uncle, he was knocked to the ground for his trouble.
Lottie had been faithful to Buck for four or five months, then had begun to entertain men while he was gone running his traps. The marriage was less than nine months old when one day his uncle caught Lottie and another trapper in bed together.
Sick to his soul with rage and unbearable pain, the disillusioned man had raised his musket to his shoulder and blown them apart. He had then put the barrel of his handgun into his mouth and squeezed the trigger.
After making arrangements to have his uncle put to rest, Kane had struck out on his own, ever after avoiding pretty women like the plague.
Snowy topped another hill and Kane reined him in. He had caught sight of a young girl sprinting along like a graceful deer. He frowned when he saw an obese man trying to catch up to her. A mass of curly black hair streamed from the small head, and as he watched, he silently cheered her on. He saw that she was making for a distant stand of trees, easily outstripping the lumbering man who chased her. He watched the long, flashing slim legs and knew that she was going to make it.
He was lifting the reins, ready to move on, when suddenly the girl was on the ground. "Hell, she's twisted her ankle." He frowned when she tried to stand and couldn't. "She'll never make it now," he muttered as she began to crawl toward the shelter of the trees. "The fat man is gainin' on her."
He swore softly when the man caught up with her and threw his heavy weight onto her slight figure, mashing it into the ground. His eyes gleamed with admiration when she began to fight like a wildcat. He wondered what she had done to make her father so angry.
"Wait a minute!" he exclaimed. "That's not her father. A father wouldn't try to tear the underwear off her."
He sent the stallion thundering down the hill as the girl raised a hand and scratched the fat face looming over her. He was close enough then to see the open fly, the fat appendage sticking out of it. The bastard meant to rape the girl.
He pulled Snowy to a plunging stop just as the man raised a fist to strike the girl. "I wouldn't do that, mister," he called, sliding from the saddle.
Rufus looked up, startled, then hurriedly stuffed himself back into his homespuns. He rose to his knees and turned an angry face to the man standing over him. "Look, stranger," he warned, "keep your nose out of somethin' that don't concern you. This girl needs a hidin' and I'm gonna give it to her."
"A hidin', huh? Do you punish your daughter by rapin' her?"
"She ain't my daughter," Rufus answered sullenly. "She's my niece by marriage. And I wasn't tryin' to rape her. She likes her pleasurin' rough."
He grinned unpleasantly. "Would you like to join me? Won't be no trouble for her to take care of us both."
"Do you make a habit of that, fat man?" Kane asked contemptuously. "How much do you charge for the use of her body?"
"I ain't never done it before." Rufus's face was beginning to turn white beneath the dirt. "We aim to get married tomorrow."
D'lise gave an audible gasp of outrage, and Kane looked at her face for the first time. He kept on looking. Never had he seen a woman more beautiful. The deep blue eyes in the exquisite face blazed with blue fire, the lovely red lips pulled back over small white teeth in a feral snarl. She reminded him of the wildcats that roamed the hills, spitting and scratching at everything that came near.
His eyes fastened on her heaving breasts, one half bared from her struggling. His hot gaze moved down to the long legs that could wrap around a man's waist and make him think of heaven. He moved his eyes back to her face and blushed for the first time in his life. She had seen his perusal of her and she didn't like it one bit.
He gave her a cold look, then turned to the man who still straddled her. He had no time for beautiful women. They brought a man nothing but pain and misery. Nevertheless, she was female and deserved his protection. Uncle Buck had drummed that into his head.
"It sounds to me marryin' you is news to the young lady," he said to the man who watched him narrowly. "I don't believe she'd marry you to save her soul from hell." The toe he nudged the fat rump with wasn't gentle. "What do you have to say about that? Do you think she wants to marry you?"
"It don't make a whit of difference what she wants," Rufus said defiantly, rising to his feet. "We're gettin' married tomorrow whether she likes it or not. It wouldn't look fittin' to the neighbors if she stayed on with me, her aunt dead and buried now. And she ain't got nowhere to go," he added complacently. "There ain't much she can do about it."
Kane looked back at the girl, his hard eyes searching her face. He saw loathing and dread in the blue eyes and was reminded of the hound he had saved from the beating. That same beaten look had been in his eyes too. "Is that what you want?" he asked quietly. "Are you willin' to marry this poor excuse of a man?"
"Never!" Her eyes spat fire. "I wouldn't marry him in a fit."
A slow, amused smile changed the hardness of Kane's face. "I thought not," he said.
"Now listen here, mister," Rufus bellowed belligerently, "you just be on your way and mind your own business." He took a step toward Kane, and Hound, standing on braced feet, growled deep in his throat while the hair on his neck bristled.
"Don't be foolish, homesteader," Kane drawled. "If I give the word he'll tear your throat out."
Rufus stepped back, a sickly pallor spreading over his face. "What are you meanin' to do?" he finally croaked.
Kane bent over and scooped D'lise up in his arms. "First we're goin' to wherever you live. Then the girl is gonna pack her duds and I'm takin' her with me."
"You can't do that!" Rufus yelled, almost jumping up and down in his fury. "It ain't right! It's sinful! You're makin' a whore out of her!"
"Shut up and walk ahead of me," Kane ordered, "before I cut your tongue out. She'll be better off as my whore than she would be as your wife."
D'lise started at the flatly spoken words and peered at the man who was stepping along as though she didn't weigh more than a peck of potatoes. His face was lean and hard—what she could see of it above the bushy beard—and if there was any softness in it, she couldn't see it. His eyes looked as if he'd never been young, and she was just a little afraid of him. Oddly enough, she felt safe in his arms. However, if he thought she was going to act the whore for him he had better give it more thought. There wasn't a man alive who was going to use her. If he even looked like he expected to bed her, she'd slip away from him. She'd take her chances with the wild animals in the woods before submitting to him.
They arrived at the cabin, and as Kane turned sidewise to get D'lise through the do
or she saw David and Johnny peeking around the corner of the shack, their eyes full of dread. She felt a coldness around her heart. Rufus would take his rage out on them. It would be the belt for the poor boys, and probably no supper.
But nothing would change for them even if she stayed on. The beatings would continue, and there wouldn't be any more food on the table.
The stranger was setting her on her feet then, asking if she could manage to get her clothes together. She nodded that she could. Then, her eyes widening, she yelled a warning to him.
Rufus, in a grip of smoldering rage, had grabbed a butcher knife off the table and was preparing to plunge it into the broad back turned to him. Kane whipped around as she shouted, "Watch your back!" and the knife at his waist seemed to jump into his hand. With a flick of his wrist, he sent it winging through the air, plowing into Rufus's right shoulder blade. From the way the handle quivered when it hit, Kane knew the bone was smashed.
Blood spewed forth, and D'lise whispered, half hopefully, "Will he die?"
Kane walked over to the howling man and jerked the knife from the bone and flesh. "Naw," he answered, wiping the blade on Rufus's pant leg. "He'll live, but the arm will be useless the rest of his life. He won't be beatin' any more young'uns and women with it."
"I need a doctor," Rufus yelped. "I'm gonna bleed to death."
Ignoring the hysterical man as though he hadn't opened his mouth, Kane gave his attention to D'lise. "Get your clothes together, and bring a blanket along. The nights are cold now."
Where is he taking me? D'lise wondered as she limped across the floor toward the bedroom. It sounded like some distance away if they were going to be camping out. "A hundred miles wouldn't be too far away as far as I'm concerned," she muttered under her breath.
As she passed into the room where her aunt had known such degrading pain, the anguish of losing so many babies on the sagging bed, her eyes fell on the only chair in the place. A rocker. A rocker that only Rufus used. Everyone else sat on either the two hard benches flanking the table or the straw-filled pallets she and the boys slept on.
