She glanced to the rifle on the ground beside her, but she couldn’t shoot the gun with the babe in her arms. If she put Cherry down, though, her cries would rise in earnest.
“Moriah, it’s me. Are you there?” Samuel’s voice sounded through the night, a distance away. Maybe from the edge of the trees.
Her body slackened as fear eased out of her, and she had to lock her knees to keep from falling. “I’m here.”
The noise grew louder as Samuel neared. When he stepped into the firelight leading his horse, the sight of him stirred such a torrent of emotions inside her, she almost went down again.
He strode right to her, catching his arm around her and pulling her close, locking her and Cherry in the protection of his embrace. She laid her head on his shoulder, breathing him in. Soaking in his warmth and steadiness and...love. She couldn’t find another word that summed up the gentle intensity of his touch.
Even Cherry was soothed by his nearness, for she didn’t even squirm as she was tucked between them.
He drew back, and she had to stop herself from clutching at him to keep him close. But he didn’t remove his arms from around her. Instead, he lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her as though he’d thought he would never see her again.
Chapter Twenty
“Let this be the worst, Lord. Please.”
~ Moriah
MORIAH INHALED HIM, giving back as much as he gave. Pouring into her kiss all her relief and the wealth of emotions growing in her heart for this man. How could she not love him? He’d been everything she needed. Protecting, providing, caring...for both her and Cherry.
He finally pulled back, his breathing ragged. “Moriah.” He spoke her name as though she were water and he were dying of thirst. At some point, he’d brought a hand around to cup her neck, and his thumb now stroked her jaw. “Are you all right? What about Cherry?”
His eyes searched hers, then roamed her face.
“We’re better. She’s still peevish, but recovering, I think. What of Matisse?” She looked over his shoulder. “Is he putting away the horses?” But Samuel’s horse stood behind him, its weary head lowered in exhaustion.
Fear lit in her chest again as she looked back at Samuel. “Where is he?”
“He’s hurt. Broken arm and leg. I couldn’t move him. Do you think you can travel?” He peered down in the blanket. “How about you, Little Bit? Want to go for a horse ride?”
“Of course. I’ve already packed what I could. I was only waiting until daylight before I came to find you.” She turned away to lay the baby down so she could start rolling her blankets.
“I brought meat. It’ll be about three or four hours to get to Matisse, especially in the dark. Do you want to cook it so you can eat on the way?”
Her belly was so ravenous, it felt like her stomach was eating her insides, but that was nothing compared to the pain Matisse must be in. “I can wait. Let’s get to him first.”
SAMUEL BLINKED HIS eyes to clear them, but that no longer seemed to work. Was he so weak now that he couldn’t stay awake all night without his eyesight going blurry from lack of sleep? The howling wind was making tears leak down his face, too.
At least they were climbing the last cliff before they reached Matisse. Surely this night would end soon, and daylight would aid them.
He squinted and used his coat sleeve to clear the moisture from his eyes again, then looked back to check on Moriah. She sat in her saddle, hunched against the wind, but he couldn’t quite make out her face. The blurry form of the yearling tagged along beside her, keeping close.
“You need anything?” He called loudly above the wind. “We should see the trees where I left him over this rise.”
“Good.” Was that the chattering of her teeth that made the word stutter?
Maybe he should ride with her to conserve body heat. Although the two of them and the baby may be too much for either of the horses on this mountain. His gelding had already made the trip twice more today. And they would be there within the half hour, Lord willing.
He turned forward again to check the trail they followed, then gave his horse a pat on the shoulder. “You’re doing good, boy.”
The motion shifted Cherry, who hung in the sling at his chest, buried under his coat and an extra fur. He rested his hand beneath the bump she formed and lifted her slightly so he could see under the pelt.
She slept, but her breath rasped and her cheeks still wore the rosy rings of a flush. Maybe she was too warm under all the covers, but being exposed to this icy wind wouldn’t be good for her either.
Protect her, Lord. Cradle her little body in Your hands and make her well.
At last, they crested the hill and started down the other side. Samuel motioned toward the trees. “He’s just inside those woods.” He wanted to loosen his gelding’s reins and let the horse surge down the embankment, but he couldn’t leave Moriah. Would Matisse still be alive? Samuel couldn’t see even a flicker of light left from the campfire.
“Go to him. Don’t wait for me.”
He turned to look at her, studying her face to see if he’d heard right. Except with his blurry vision, he could only make out the outline of her fur-wrapped shape.
“Go.” This time her command was clearly discernable.
He gave the gelding his head, holding enough tension on the reins to help keep the animal from falling in the thick snow of the downward slope. That must have been what happened with Matisse’s horse, and the last thing they needed was two of them laid up with broken bones.
And he had to protect Cherry. He moved one hand to cradle the baby close as the horse’s stride bobbed.
Finally he reached the trees. “Matisse.” He didn’t stop to wait for a reply, just slid from his horse and charged toward the place he’d left the lad.
Matisse was still there, but the coals from the fire no longer glowed. With one hand holding Cherry secure, Samuel dropped to his knees beside the blurry form that was the boy.
“Are you awake?” He jerked off his glove and fumbled for the lad’s forehead, and a wash of relief slipped through him at the warmth that radiated from the boy’s skin.
At least he was alive. Feverish, but he could recover from that.
“Matisse, can you hear me?” He patted the boy’s cheek hard enough to get the blood flowing. He couldn’t tell whether the lad’s eyes were open or not. He’d have to rely on an answer.
A groan was his only response, but it was enough. Matisse was conscious, at least somewhat.
Samuel straightened and forced his mind to focus on what should be done first. The fire. They needed warmth and food. Then Moriah and the baby had to rest, and he’d have to see what he could do about Matisse’s arm and leg.
His stomach churned at the thought of trying to set the limbs. Could he even do that? He was no doctor, and had only a general idea of what was involved with lining up the bones. How would he know if he had the broken pieces straight? He could barely see more than outlines and shapes, and in addition to his eyes leaking like a mountain river in spring thaw, they ached as though he’d been punched in both sockets.
Was this part of the same sickness Moriah and the baby had? She’d not complained of problems with her eyes. But his own ailments were the least of their concerns. He had to get the fire going. Then food.
Then they needed help.
MORIAH COULD BARELY hold back the trembling in her bones as she slipped from her horse. She would have gone down to her knees had she not been clutching the saddle. The cold had gripped her in its icy vice, and she couldn’t seem to stop the shakes racking her body. But she had to get to Matisse and see how she could help.
Leaving her horse beside Samuel’s, she forced her feet to carry her toward the voices. Matisse lay sprawled on the ground, and Samuel was kneeling over the remnants of what must have been the fire.
She dropped to her knees beside the boy and removed her gloves. One touch of his face heated her hands better than the gloves had. “He’s burn
ing up. Where else is he hurt?”
“Right leg at the thigh, and right upper arm.” Samuel didn’t turn from his work.
She eased the fur cape she’d given the lad away from his arm and flinched at the horribly swollen sleeve. “I’m so sorry, Matisse. But we’re here now. We’ll get you feeling better.”
After a glimpse of that arm, she didn’t need to see the leg to take Samuel’s word for the injury. Just now, the boy needed any little bit of relief she could offer him. She cradled his face, relishing the heat emanating from his skin. “Can you hear me, Matisse?”
He hadn’t opened his eyes, but his breathing seemed to take effort. Maybe that’s where all his energy was going. His lips parted, as though he was going to speak. She leaned close to hear, but no sound came out. Instead, his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.
“Are you thirsty?” He must be, with a fever that high. She shifted toward a patch of unblemished snow and scooped the icy crystals in her hands.
Moving back to the lad, she placed a pinch of the ice between his parted lips. “Here. This will help.”
Her hands were stinging from cold by the time she fed him the last of what hadn’t melted, but at least he was swallowing it on his own.
She glanced over at Samuel, who still knelt over the cold fire. His broad back concealed what he was doing. “How can I help, Samuel?”
He let out a grunt of frustration. “Do you have more dry tender in your saddle pack? I can’t get a spark to light.”
“I think so.” She stood and tucked her numb hands in her coat as she strode back to her mare. Samuel was usually quick with a fire. It was unlike him to be working at it this long without nurturing a single flame. The tightness in her chest clenched harder. Was he getting sick too?
God, no. Please don’t let Samuel be ill. Her rock. The strength she’d come to depend on in this crisis that surrounded them.
Maybe he was only delayed because he still held Cherry, sleeping in her sling. She should have taken the baby from him when she’d first dismounted.
With her fire-making kit in hand, she slipped back to where Samuel was working and knelt beside him at the ashes of the fire. He had bark mounded over a bit of cloth and was striking flint against steel, but the way his hands were positioned, the sparks were completely missing the pile of tender.
“Shall I try for a minute?” His gloves were off, as were hers, so maybe his hands were so cold they weren’t acting as he told them to.
He handed over the flint and steel, and as she took them, she glanced up at his face. The sight there caught her short.
He was...crying? Tears streamed down his cheeks, and the whites of his eyes were a bright red, as though he’d been sobbing for an hour.
“Samuel, what’s wrong?” She cupped a hand over his cheek, wiping away the moisture with her thumb. But the moment the words were out, she wanted to bite them back. She shouldn’t ask such a silly question. Everything was wrong. But she’d never imagined she’d see this grown man weep.
Did he expect Matisse to die?
He raised a sleeve to wipe away the tears from the cheek she wasn’t touching. “My eyes. I don’t know why they won’t stop this. Makes it hard to see straight.” His voice didn’t sound hoarse or rough like he’d been crying.
Still, she did her best to catch his gaze. “He’ll make it, Samuel. I’m sure he will. We’ll all make it through this.”
He was looking at her, but his gaze didn’t hold the normal intensity she loved about him. In fact, he didn’t seem to be focusing on anything in particular.
“I know we will.” He closed his hand over hers, which still rested on his cheek. “We have to get this fire going.”
She nodded and pulled away, turning back to the tent of bark. After adding a few pieces from her bundle, she struck the flint, and within a minute or two, she’d nurtured a tiny flame. “Is there dry wood to add?”
“I think there’s a little left here.” He reached for the remnants of a pine branch. His hand missed it completely at first, and he fumbled over the ground until his fingers brushed the limb.
Fear clutched tighter in her chest. Could he not see through his tears?
She glanced at his face again. Those eyes were so bloodshot, they almost looked frightening in the dim light of early dawn.
Then a memory crept in. Something she wasn’t even sure was real, just a dim picture from her earliest recollections. Red Hawk, the man her mother had married after she was born, sitting in their lodge, his eyes as red as Samuel’s were now. Tears streamed down his face, and he’d sat quietly by the fire. When her mother brought him food, he’d fumbled for it the same way Samuel had for the log.
The sight of the big strong warrior forced to sit, dependent on others to bring him what he needed, to lead him where he had to go, had frightened her as a young girl.
It frightened her now.
“Samuel.” She gripped his arm.
He turned to her, pulling the branch with him. “Yes?”
She studied his reddened eyes. He definitely wasn’t focusing on her. “Can you see me?”
Tears continued to leak down his face, and he turned away from her. “I’m fine. We need to get this fire going and the meat cooking.”
He wasn’t fine. But maybe he was right. They had to get warmth and food. Then she could worry about Samuel’s and Matisse’s injuries.
A half hour later, it turned out she had more to do before she could tend to wounds. Cherry had awakened, crying frantically—probably from hunger, for nursing was the only thing that would silence her tears.
Samuel unsaddled the horses and brought the meat to roast over the growing flame. She hated leaving him to attempt the work alone, but he seemed to manage by keeping a free hand to feel along his way. Her heart ached at the sight of his struggles, but there was nothing she could do until Cherry was fed.
The babe finally slipped back to sleep, and Moriah positioned her in a bundle of blankets close enough to the fire that she could feel its warmth.
As Samuel dropped to his knees with the bundle of meat, Moriah stood. “I’ll get a stick for roasting.” They’d need a great deal more wood, too, to keep the fire going.
By the time the meat was almost ready, she had a pot of snow melted so they could all drink and had even coaxed a half cupful into Matisse. “Are you ready to eat now?” She brushed the sweat-dampened hair from his hot forehead. Maybe she should pack snow to cool him, but that seemed just short of torturous in this weather.
He groaned, and his eyes slipped open for the first time. “Hurts.”
“I know.” She ached for what he must be enduring. If there was a way she could take some of the pain on herself, she would. “Eating will give you strength.”
“Moriah.” Samuel’s voice pulled her focus from the lad.
Something about his tone sounded a warning within her. What now?
Chapter Twenty-One
“This helplessness... Lord, please.”
~ Samuel
MORIAH WALKED TO THE fire, taking a place where she could see Samuel’s face. He looked to the flames, but his gaze remained unfocused.
“What is it, Samuel?” She reached for his hand, needing the strength of his touch more than she wanted to admit.
He took her hand, weaving his fingers through hers. Holding her securely. “My family’s valley is less than a day’s ride from here. Before I found Matisse, I recognized that butte out there with the boulder on top.” He motioned in the distance, through the trees. In the dim light of dawn, she saw what he meant. An interesting landmark. Recognizable, to be sure.
“I’m going to ride for help. My brother can come back with a sleigh to move Matisse. I think the break in his arm may have pierced the skin, and there’s no way I can set that out here. He needs someone who knows what they’re doing.” His words loosed a torrent of conflicting emotions in her chest.
Help. They needed it so desperately.
The thought of others—capable an
d prepared to step in and accomplish what she couldn’t—filled her with more relief than she should allow.
But Samuel couldn’t ride in his condition. How could he see the path he should take?
She squeezed his hand, determination building inside her. “I’ll go. Can you tell me how to find your people?” And, Lord, don’t let them have disappeared like my own did.
He shook his head, his jaw locking like a vise. “I’ll not send you out in the wilderness on your own. I’ll leave as soon as I eat.”
She reached for his cheek and turned his head to face her. “Look at me, Samuel. Tell me, are my eyes open or closed?” She closed only her right eye, but made sure the left was wide open. This would give her a better idea how deteriorated his vision had become.
He looked at her, but again his eyes didn’t seem to focus on any single point. He blinked, tears still leaking down his cheeks, but not as much as before.
“They’re...closed.” He spoke with certainty, although maybe he was adding bluster to make her think he was well.
Her fear blew out in a frustrated breath. “Only my right eye was closed.” She reached for his other hand. “I think something like this happened to my mother’s husband when I was little. I don’t remember much about it, but he had the same bright red eyes that cried without his control, and he couldn’t see for a time. He recovered, though.” She gripped his hands, willing him to understand. “You’ll recover, too, but we can’t wait for that. I need to ride for help.”
“Moriah.” His voice held an edge of anger. Or maybe fear. “I’m not letting you go.”
“Someone needs to stay with Matisse. We can’t leave him here to freeze. He needs to be kept warm and made to eat and drink.” She glanced at the meat roasting. “The food’s ready now.”
As she released his hands and reached to divvy portions for each of them, he let out a grunt of frustration. “What of Cherry?”
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