Renegade Bride

by Barbara Ankrum

  "Poker, eh?" Bouchard considered this with an amused chuckle. He drained the last of his coffee and set it down on the ground precisely. "I seenk you are not good enough at ze bluff to win at cards, mon ami."

  Jesse eyed him coolly, refusing to be baited. "Believe whatever you want."

  The stranger got to his feet. "I believe you are a liar, monsieur."

  Jesse rose simultaneously, rifle in hand, his eyes narrowed with anger. "I don't give a bloody damn what you believe—"

  Mariah grabbed his arm, terrified by the escalating tension. "Jesse, please—"

  "—You're done with your coffee, now get out of my camp." He pointed the gun at Bouchard. Raven took a step back, looking nervously to either side.

  Bouchard's lips curled into a smile as he spread his hands wide. "Ah, I am afraid not just yet, mon ami. We 'ave matters to discuss."

  Jesse cocked the rifle. "No, we don't."

  "Ees a very foolish thing you are doing."

  "I don't think so."

  "Ah, but eet ees. I 'ave five guns trained on your beautiful woman 'ere at thees very moment. Eef you kill me, she ees dead." He cocked his finger in an imitation of a gun and dropped his thumb. "Boom."

  Oh, my God. "J-Jesse—"

  The color drained from his face. His gaze darted to the darkening forest around them, then back.

  LaRousse's laugh was grim. "You don't believe I am stupid enough to come alone, eh, mon ami?" He sent a small nod to the forest beyond and several approaching shapes took form in the firelight. One by one, like rats fleeing a scuttled ship, they appeared from the darkness.

  A huge, bearded man wearing filthy, sun-faded clothes and a bandolier across one shoulder lumbered out of the gloom holding a shiny new repeating rifle.

  From the other side, through a thicket of ferns, emerged a full-blooded Indian dressed in flesh-hugging animal skins with a huge knife sheathed at his waist. Two streaks of ocher slashed his cheeks. His dark eyes caught the firelight and glimmered like shiny wet stones.

  A shorter, scruffy-looking man who was undoubtedly white-skinned under all that grime and hair came from the other direction.

  Jesse's steely fingers tightened around her arm, but that did nothing to quell the tremor that went through her, making her knees wobble like so much gelatin. "Wh-what do you want from us?" she blurted to no one in particular.

  "Devereaux," came the half-breed's savage reply.

  Her pulse staggered. Creed? What could they possibly want with him? Then she remembered. He was a bounty hunter, with untold numbers of enemies—men who'd just as soon see him dead as look at him. A dull thudding started in her head and she shot a furtive glance upriver. Where was he?

  Mariah nearly gagged from the unwashed smell of the two men who stood on either side of them with guns pointed at their heads. The Indian yanked the rifle out of Jesse's hands, tossed it to Raven, and jerked Jesse's arms brutally behind him. The giant pushed Mariah to the ground with a surprisingly easy one-armed shove. She skidded down on all fours with a gasp of surprise, but the heavy denim encasing her legs saved her knees from a nasty scrape.

  "Dammit, she has no part in this," Jesse growled. "Leave her alone, LaRousse."

  She started to reassure him that she was all right but his words stopped her. Scrambling to her feet, Mariah stared at him in confusion. Did he say LaRousse? As in Étienne LaRousse—the man Creed had killed at the levee? A sick feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. God in heaven, she was beginning to understand.

  LaRousse grinned savagely at Jesse. "So, you know me."

  "I should have guessed sooner. A snake can change his name, but not his colors," he spat. The Indian yanked upward on Jesse's arms, causing him to grunt in pain.

  A knife appeared in LaRousse's fist as if by sleight of hand. He brought the blade up under Jesse's chin and pressed it against his throat. "Perhaps you will be ze one to shed hees skin tonight, eh? You see, you are out-manned, mon ami."

  "Are you so sure?" Jesse asked tipping his head back away from the blade. "You said five guns. I only see three."

  LaRousse's smile faltered. "Bennett," he snapped at the behemoth standing over Mariah. "Where are Blevins and Poke?"

  "Hell if I know," he said, rubbing his hairy chin. "Ain't seen 'em since we split up."

  LaRousse made an irritated noise between his teeth and scanned the darkness. It was then Mariah noticed the air around them had gone utterly still, but for the sigh of wind through the tops of the pines. Not a bird nor evening cricket disturbed the unnatural hush. A slight tic in his eye was all that betrayed LaRousse's uneasiness. He withdrew a pistol from beneath his woolen coat and turned back to Jesse.

  "Tell me where Devereaux went."

  Jesse's eyebrows raised fractionally. "Go to hell."

  LaRousse drew his arm back and smashed his pistol across Jesse's face with a brutal crack.

  "Oh!" Mariah gasped, horrified, as Jesse's head rocked back from the blow. Blood oozed from the cut beside his eye and a terrible welt rose immediately from his cheekbone. He staggered against his captor, then shook his head to clear his vision.

  "Stop it!" she screamed, but the giant snatched her collar and yanked her back from the three men.

  "Eet serves you nossing to 'old back, monsieur. In fact, eet could prove quite painful eef you do. Tell me where 'ee went."

  "Bugger off..."

  A knee connected sharply with Jesse's crotch, lifting him off the ground. His breath came out in a whoosh and his face went starkly white. "Tell me."

  Jesse gagged for air. Blood trickled down his cheek into the corner of his mouth. Gathering his strength, he spat it out on LaRousse's boot.

  Pierre LaRousse's eyes widened with rage and he struck him again across the face, even harder this time. This time Jesse let out a howl of pain. His knees buckled and he slumped in the Indian's arms.

  "No-oo!" Mariah screamed, only to feel the filthy hand of the giant smother her protest. She bucked wildly in his grip, but it was like struggling against a solid wall of steel. She screamed Creed's name against the giant's hand.

  "Merde!" LaRousse stared at the limp figure on the ground, furious with himself for letting his anger outweigh his need for information. "Running Fox—get some water, wake 'eem up."

  Tears stung her eyes. This can't be happening! They mean to kill us. Oh, Creed!

  She wrenched again, but the giant's grip shifted until it almost completely covered her nostrils, too. Frantic, she clawed at his hand and kicked at his shins to no effect. He wrapped his other arm across her breast and lifted her off the ground until her feet dangled in the air. Blood pounded in her ears and she blinked at the black spots threatening her vision.

  Dimly, she became aware of another sound: the thudding crash of something coming at a terrifying speed directly toward them. Owing to the darkness she could not make it out until a blur of silver and black exploded out of the trees and landed on LaRousse in a snarling ball of muscle and fur.

  LaRousse's gawp of surprise was cut short by the impact. His pistol arched into the darkness as he and the creature struggled to the grass, his hands wholly occupied with the business of protecting his throat from the attacking wolf.

  Pandemonium erupted all around. Startled oaths sprang from LaRousse's men. Running Fox backed furiously for the cover of the thick ferns to the right. The man called Downing, who'd been nearly hit in the attack, bobbled his gun and scrabbled crab-like on the ground to get out of reach of the snarling mass of fury at LaRousse's throat.

  "Don't just stand there, Bennett, you twiddle-brain oaf !" Downing shouted at the hairy giant who still had Mariah in his smothering grip. "Shoot it!" Obligingly, Bennett flung her aside with all the accord he might give a dirty rag.

  Mariah bounced along the needle-covered ground and sprawled to a stop mere inches from the fire. Despite the intense heat, she could not gather the strength to move or do any more than gulp precious air into her lungs.

  The sound of a gunshot accompanied Be
nnett's howl of pain. She turned to see him whirl sideways, reaching futilely for the blossom of red spreading across his lower back. His disbelieving glare was aimed at Raven. The smoking gun wavered in her shaking hands.

  "You—" Bennett growled thickly, too stunned to do more than stumble toward her in a parody of a lunge.

  Raven aimed the rifle again and pulled the trigger, but the hammer clacked harmlessly against an empty chamber. She backed up two steps into a wall of rock. There was no terror on her face, but rather a serene acceptance of her fate as Bennett ripped the gun out of her hands and brought the butt end down on her. She ducked at the last second and he hit her hard on the shoulder instead of her skull. But a second jab caught her solidly against the jaw. Raven dropped like a sack of stones to the ground.

  Mariah didn't waste time wondering why the woman had joined their side of the fight. She got to her hands and knees and started toward LaRousse's pistol that lay a few feet away.

  Flinging herself the last five feet, her fingers closed around the gun. But before she could pick it up, a hand yanked her sideways and dragged her into the thick ferns. Startled into complete inertia, Mariah couldn't see her assailant in the dark, but she could feel the strong length of him against her. Black spots again whirled before her eyes and a sickening sense of dread sank to the pit of her stomach.

  "For God's sake, Mariah," came the desperate whisper next to her ear, "get out of the way!"

  Creed. She turned in his arms. His face, hidden by shadows, was only inches from hers. "Creed! Where have you—?"

  He clapped a hand over her mouth. "Shut up and don't move from this spot," he ordered and abruptly disappeared.

  Shivering, Mariah pushed herself up on her elbows to see where he went. But her hand bumped something solid and warm. She would have screamed, but her throat was too dry. She slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from being sick. It was the Indian, Running Fox, his dead eyes staring at the black night sky. His throat had been cut from ear to ear. In the thin moonlight, his blood looked thick and black against his dark skin.

  Swallowing hard, she backed away, scooting further into the deep thicket of ferns. Her knee encountered the narrow pipe-bones and trade beads of Creed's choker. Her fingers closed around it and she held it to her breast.

  Across the clearing, Mahkwi yelped in pain and rolled off LaRousse when Bennett clubbed her across the back with the stock of Jesse's rifle. Two shots exploded out of the darkness and jerked the huge man sideways. He teetered like a broken tree and crashed to the ground.

  LaRousse sprang to his feet. One side of his face was streaming with blood and the buckskin sleeve of his shirt was a mass of crimson slashes. Chest heaving, he stumbled toward the horses. From her vantage point, Mariah could see the one called Downing was already chasing down Raven's spooked pinto, frantically hopping for the stirrup.

  Creed emerged out of the darkness with his gun pointed at the half-breed. "LaRousse!" he bellowed.

  The man stopped in his tracks at the sound of Creed's voice. LaRousse glanced over his shoulder, but kept his back intentionally turned toward Creed, spreading his hands wide.

  "Ah... so... eet ees you, Devereaux. You are harder to keel than I thought. I see you still bear ze mark I put on you, many years ago. Eet's a fine brand, no, for ze son of a wife-stealer?"

  "Turn around." Creed's command was a deep, almost animal growl.

  "I am... unarmed." He lifted his hands in a mock gesture of helplessness. "You would... shoot an unarmed man... in ze back?"

  Mariah saw the momentary flicker of indecision cross Creed's sweat-slick face and her heart sank. With a bloodlust as foreign to her as this horrible country, she wanted Creed to pull the trigger and kill him for what he'd done.

  Creed took a step forward, teeth bared like a wild animal, and thumbed the hammer of his revolver back with an ominous click. At the same moment, Downing exploded out of the darkness atop Raven's shrieking horse, coming directly at Creed.

  Mariah screamed a warning—too late.

  He only had time to duck and pull his arms protectively in front of his face before the horse collided with him at a full gallop. The wall of horseflesh hit him like a loaded freight wagon. His gun went off reflexively, and the bullet sliced through air. Only luck saved him from being trampled. Instead, the impact sent him flying ten feet into the air. He landed hard and rolled through the ferns.

  By the time his spinning surroundings ground to a halt, he heard another horse bearing down on him. LaRousse's demon-like figure was silhouetted by the firelight, the shadows making the excitement on his face more grotesque.

  There was nowhere to go. He could only watch the horse come as he braced for the inevitable impact. But another gunshot erupted out of the darkness. A startled LaRousse jerked, then bobbled in the saddle with a groan. The sudden tug on the reins diverted the horse so that instead of being trampled, Creed felt the stir of air churned up by the hooves.

  Clinging to his horse's neck, the half-breed pounded out of the clearing and was instantly swallowed up by the inky night.

  Creed's racing blood demanded that he follow the bastard, chase him down like a wounded badger and finish him off. But common sense prevailed. He'd left Mariah once tonight and look what had happened. Yet, like the fading hoofbeats of LaRousse's horse, the buzz in his ears still hummed like a distant memory.

  Merde.

  Breathing hard, Creed ran a shaking hand through his hair and sat up. His searching gaze started with the carnage around him and ended on the smoking gun dangling from Mariah's hand.

  Chapter 12

  She looked pale—too pale even in the color-robbing moonlight. Creed watched the gun slip from Mariah's fingers and drop with a dull thud to the ground. She sat down hard before he could get to her. Incredibly, she didn't faint but sat staring into the darkness.

  "Mariah—" Creed sank down beside her, wrapped his arms around her trembling body, and held her close. "Mon Dieu, are you all right?" Comfortingly, his hand stroked the silken hair at the nape of her neck. Her arms went around him, too, searching for something solid to hang onto. He noticed, with no surprise, that her trembling echoed the shaking of his own body.

  She opened her mouth and closed it several times before she could speak. "I sh-shot him. I... I shot a man."

  "Ah, oui. You did well, ma petite. He would have killed me."

  Without thinking, Mariah tightened her arms around his broad shoulders and buried her face against his chest, unable to get close enough. He smelled of wood smoke, leather, and sweat and she filled her lungs with his reassuring scent. With a sobbing laugh, she said, "I d-didn't think I could hit him. But I wanted to. God help me, Creed. I tried to kill him."

  "Shh-h. It's all right. You did what you had to. It was too dark to see where you hit him exactly, but you did some damage."

  "I think I... hit him in the shoulder, but the... the gun jerked when I fired it. It almost knocked me over." She shuddered again. "Oh, Creed, he was a horrible man." She pressed a fist to her mouth trying to keep from being sick.

  "Oui" Creed murmured through gritted teeth, stroking her hair. "Perhaps, if we're lucky, you've killed him."

  "He wanted you, Creed. He came here to find you."

  "I know. I'm sorry. Sorry you were caught in this."

  "Caught in what? Why did he want to hurt you?"

  "I killed his brother."

  "The man at the fort? What did he do? Was there a bounty on his head? Is that why you killed him?"

  Creed swallowed. "They're outlaws, Mariah. Both of them. Pierre is the worst of the lot."

  There was more to it than what he was telling her. Something personal. You're harder to kill than I thought, LaRousse had said, and something about Creed being the son of a wife-stealer.

  What did that mean?

  Mariah wanted to ask him, but it was clearly none of her business. It hurt that he didn't trust her enough by now to tell her but it was plain that he didn't. She wasn't about to degrade herself
by begging him for answers.

  A low moan brought both their heads around toward the fire. Batting away the entreating tongue of the wolf who lay hunched beside his master, Jesse groaned and had rolled to a half-sitting position by the time they'd reached him.

  One hand cradled the bloody side of his face and the other hand was sunk into the wolfs thick fur. His left eye was swollen shut and his cheek was swollen like a small lemon.

  "Oh, Jesse..." Mariah murmured, laying a hand on his arm. "Look at you. I'll go wet a cloth in the river. The cold water should help some with the swelling."

  "Oh, hell," he muttered almost unintelligibly as Mariah hurried off to search through the saddlebags for a cloth. He glanced up at Creed through his good eye. "I'm still alive. That's a surprise." He grimaced and fingered his bloody cheek gingerly. "Glad to see you made it to our little tea party, Creed." He moaned again and rolled painfully to his knees, hanging his head down between his splayed arms. "Ohh-h, I don't think I can... get up."

  "Just stay where you are for a few minutes," Creed ordered, pushing him back down to a sitting position. Tipping Jesse's head back, Creed examined it in the flickering light of the fire. "Pardieu, Jesse, I think he broke your cheek."

  Jesse swallowed hard, looking a little green around the edges. "I've had worse. Frankly," he admitted, pressing a fist low on his abdomen, "at the moment... I'm more concerned with... another... part of my anatomy. That bastard's got a mean knee."

  Creed tried to hide his grin. "Maybe we should have Mariah bring a wet cloth for that, too."

  Jesse met his grin and winced at the pain in his cheek. "At this point, I'd take it and to hell with propriety." For the first time, Jesse's gaze took in the bodies sprawled around him. "Good God. Are they all dead?"

  "LaRousse and one of his other men got away, but Mariah managed to put a slug into Pierre on the way out."

  Jesse's blue eyes darkened. "Bloody hell. That breed walked in here cool as a skunk in the moonlight singin' some French love song to the trees." He cradled his forehead in his palm. "I should have listened to that little voice warning me. I never should have let him get off the damn horse. I mean, the man has eyes that would make an icicle feel feverish. But he came in with a woman, for God's sake. Hey, what happened to her anyway?"