by Linda Ladd
In the weeks that followed, Logan rarely let Elizabeth out of his sight. And his unflagging attention did much to rid her of the distrust she'd nurtured against him for so long. He continued to talk of their time together in a cave; and although his words continued to bring murky, indistinct images to mind, she could not remember anything about her childhood with the Cheyenne. She occasionally wondered what had happened to Brent, but her husband kept her much too content to worry about him long. The only shadow that ate at her tranquillity was the beautiful Isabel Whitcomb. Although Logan insisted she meant nothing to him, pain would surface in her eyes when she remembered the way Logan had sought out Brent's sister. Then Logan's touch would ignite her passion and make her forget everything but him.
The others in the household saw little of the lovers, and although they often joined Michael and Lily for supper, more often than not, blue eyes would rest upon Elizabeth with secret messages until she would plead fatigue and they would slip away hand in hand.
After one long and lazy afternoon lying together in the leafy bower that overlooked the falls, they returned to Woodstone. Aaron met them at the front gate, and Logan dismounted and lifted Elizabeth down, handing the boy their reins, before he draped one arm over Elizabeth's shoulders and led her across the grass to the veranda. He leaned down and whispered softly into her ear, and Elizabeth's seductive laugh floated across the veranda.
“Logan?”
They turned quickly to look at Michael where he sat with Lily on a low porch swing. Michael stood and spoke as he came toward them.
“There was news of Cassandra today.”
“What has that sister of mine done now?” Logan laughed. “Run the Union Army out of New Orleans?”
Elizabeth smiled. She'd heard many stories of Logan's headstrong younger sister, and she longed to meet her.
“Has Cassie arrived in St. Louis?” she asked Michael, but his face remained creased with worry.
“No, the messenger was from some Union major named Connor. She's been placed under house arrest down there.”
Logan sobered at once. “On what charge? She's a civilian.”
“She's accused of being some sort of spy.”
Elizabeth gasped in dismay, and Logan snorted in disgust.
“That's ridiculous. She's just a child.”
“She's Elizabeth's age,” Michael reminded him, drawing an odd look from Logan. “But apparently it isn't as bad as it sounds. It seems this fellow Connor has taken an interest in her. She's been placed in his custody, and he says if I come down he'll release her into my protection.”
Michael sighed, running worried fingers through his hair, and Lily moved up behind him, placing a comforting hand on his arm. He smiled at her, but his annoyance showed in his next words.
“If Cassie had stayed in London as I told her to do, this would never have happened. That girl's going to be the death of me yet.”
“Do you want me to go with you?” Logan offered, and Michael shook his head.
“No, you have Elizabeth to think of now. I'm sure I can handle it with the help of Major Connor.”
“When will you leave?”
“Tomorrow, and Lily and Rachel are going with me. Jacob and Aaron prefer to stay here until the wedding.”
His calm pronouncement brought startled expressions to both Logan and Elizabeth, but Michael smiled at them as he slipped his arm around Lily's waist. “Lily has consented to become my wife, so she'll need to meet Cassie. And I want her to see my house in St. Louis.”
Elizabeth's smile was quick and delighted, and she threw her arms around Lily, as Logan stretched his hand out to Michael.
“I wondered when you'd get around to asking her. I know you'll be happy.”
“I'm already happy,” Michael said. “And I want you to bring Elizabeth to St. Louis for the wedding. She could visit Thomas while you're there.”
Logan looked down at Elizabeth's eager face and nodded.
“As soon as my house in Denver is rebuilt, we'll come for a long visit, I promise. And if you need my help with Cassie before that, send word to me.”
They left the next morning with tearful partings on both sides, and Woodstone settled into a strange quiet with the twins staying in the bunkhouse and Amanda with Maria in the rear servants’ quarters. That evening, Logan and Elizabeth shared an intimate meal before the fireplace in Logan's den, and long after Maria had gone off to bed, Elizabeth sat upon the floor near the hearth with Logan's head nestled comfortably in her lap, his long legs stretched out toward the fire. Elizabeth lifted a sun-whitened strand of his hair and fingered it idly.
“It is strange to be here alone with you.”
Logan turned his head, blue eyes glinting up at her.
“I prefer to have you to myself,” he returned, his fingers releasing the pins, shimmering the long softness around his face. He raised a lock, watching the thick silver curl itself around his wrist. He tugged it gently, drawing her down until his mouth spoke against her parted lips.
“With no interruptions, maybe I can get enough of you.”
“We can only try,” Elizabeth murmured as he pulled her down upon her back. He propped his head on one open palm, smiling into deep violet pools, and traced her full lower lip with his forefinger. The moistness of her lips closed over his fingertip, and the totally wanton look in her eyes sent molten lava into his loins. He rolled upon his back, pulling her full length upon his chest, her hair swirling over them both in a bright cascade.
“You're a witch, Elizabeth, a beautiful, adorable witch. Do you have any idea what you've done to me?” he breathed into her ear, sweeping her hair aside so that his tongue could taste the hollow beneath her ear.
“I fear I cannot help but know,” she said wickedly, as the position in which he held her did little to hide his arousal. He laughed and took her lips, rolling again until his long body covered hers. His hand found entrance beneath the silken folds of her skirt, and Elizabeth moaned as he stroked her bare knee. Her response was total, and she slid her arms around his hard-muscled waist, barely realizing it when Logan lifted his face to search the crouching shadows of the room. Elizabeth lay beneath him, opening dreamy eyes as he rose to his knees. The flickering fire carved hollows and planes in his handsome face, and his blue eyes glowed with an expression that made her follow his gaze.
A tall Indian stood in the doorway, and his fierce appearance brought a gasp from Elizabeth, but Logan laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
“It's all right,” he whispered. “Two Bears is my friend.”
He stood, smiling, and walked to meet the Sioux, wondering what had brought him to Woodstone. He'd last seen Two Bears in Denver after the fire when he'd told him he'd found Starfire. Elizabeth sat upright, watching as the two men clasped wrists.
“I am glad to see you,” Logan said, as the Sioux glanced at Elizabeth.
“You are happy with your woman?”
Logan's teeth flashed white. “Yes, very happy. But what brings my blood brother to my house?”
“Little Doe is dead.”
Logan stared at him in shock, reading the pain in his friend's dark eyes. Images of Two Bears’ daughter flickered in his mind, the small and beautiful twelve-year-old with her warm eyes and lovely smile.
“How?” Logan said, his voice clogged with emotion.
“She was violated and beaten to death by a white man.”
Logan tensed, his eyes narrow with fury.
“What white man?”
“One who came to our village to sell bullets for our guns. He called himself Holloway.”
Logan's eyes darkened into hard, lethal rage. For years, he'd heard that Brent enjoyed hurting women. Now he'd murdered a child. He should have killed him when he had the chance.
“I will find this Holloway and kill him,” Two Bears said calmly.
“He was here several weeks ago, but he's probably in Denver now.”
“There is much unrest in our camp. Many of the young war
riors are very angry. I am needed there, but afterward I will find the white devil.”
“Come for me when you are ready,” Logan said. “I want to help you.” He glanced at Elizabeth. “I believe he hired the men who took Elizabeth from me.”
Elizabeth sat quietly, watching Logan and the tall, lean savage as the firelight glinted coppery tints off the Indian's impassive face. They spoke together quietly in a strange, guttural language, and she studied Logan's face, wondering what they said. He looked very angry, his face set in hard, inflexible lines, a look she had not seen since the night of the wedding ball.
She frowned slightly as strange, disembodied shapes began to crowd into her mind, floating like wispy ghouls just out of her grasp. Intense dread took her in its possession, her heart thumping erratically, and she sat very still, watching mind images erupt one after another, rising and bursting like bubbles in a boiling caldron. When it happened, it was quick and total, as if a long shutter had been thrust apart at the back of her mind. Bright light flooded her memory, and total recall revealed every scene from her past.
Shock overwhelmed her, and she was unaware that she'd jumped to her feet. Her heart palpitated wildly, her eyes on Logan.
“Tracker!”
Both Logan and Two Bears heard her gasp the word, turning as Elizabeth backed away from them Logan stepped toward her, but Elizabeth darted away from him and ran into the back hall, pausing at the banister lamp to see if he followed. He was not in sight, and she ran up the steps and down the darkness of the upstairs hall. A bar of light slanted from Logan's room, and she slammed the door and locked it.
Tears streamed from her eyes as she leaned her back against the wood. Her chest ached as if a heavy stone lay upon it, and she slid downward into a miserable huddle upon the floor. The memories continued to flow, all curtains of forgetfulness rent apart, but one was like a hot poker held against her flesh. The shabby hotel room, the cruel men. Her tears came faster, her heart bursting with pain at the memory of Tracker calmly receiving his payment from Rankin. Logan, whom she loved so much, who had professed to love her, had sold her to them without so much as a second thought.
Elizabeth sobbed, burying her face in her palms, her shoulders heaving with agony. She'd trusted him, loved him, left her people for him, and he'd heartlessly betrayed her. She wept harder, gnashing her teeth, clenching her fists, her misery total and horrible. Long moments passed as the first tide of grief wrenched her body and soul, eventually dissipating into low moans of despair.
She finally got to her feet, feeling drained, the hurt still there but the tears spent. She wiped the wetness from her cheeks with the back of her hand as anger came in swift, powerful strides that burned into her aching heart. Her fingers curled into her palms, her fragile jaw hardening and angling up dangerously. She hated him! He was a filthy wasichu, a lying, deceitful white man who had used her!
She inhaled deeply, then walked to the standing mirror upon her dresser. She stared at her reflection dispassionately, hating the way she looked, the clothes she wore. She moved with sudden rage, tearing the ribbons from her hair, snarling as she jerked her bodice loose and ripped the dress away from her body. She was not white, not a wife to the man who'd betrayed her! She was Cheyenne!
Nineteen
Logan took the steps at a run, the look he'd seen upon Elizabeth's face chilling him to the bone. He rattled the doorknob of the room, frowning when she refused to answer. He was sure she'd regained her memory, and he had to get to her, had to know what she was feeling.
“Elizabeth, please, let me in.”
The dark, silent house mocked his burgeoning anxiety, and he tried the knob again, calling her name. She didn't answer, and he gritted his teeth, then stepped back and gave the door one vicious kick that sent it splintering off its hinges to hang askew.
He stepped through the threshold into the dimness of the room. It took him a moment to see her where she stood by the bed, half hidden in the deep shadows. A shudder ran down his spine as he looked at the chemise she wore, belted to fit like a Cheyenne shift. Her feet were bare, her hair braided over her shoulders. Her face was shrouded in the darkness, and he spoke warily.
“Elizabeth?”
His mouth dropped as she stepped out where he could see her.
Streaks of rouge coursed down each cheek in jagged, angry lines, and Logan found he could not move, as an icy crust solidified over his heart. Her violet eyes were frozen with hatred, and she moved with a quickness that stunned him.
Air waved beside his ear, followed by a dull thud, and he jerked his face toward it. His nose almost touched the small dagger still quivering from impact. It stunned him for the space of an instant, but he knew it was from his knife collection upon the wall, and others were within her reach.
He moved as swiftly as she had, jerking it from the doorframe, two immense strides taking him to her. She did not flinch or run, and he grabbed her by the shoulders.
“Starfire, listen to me!”
She twisted away viciously, teeth clenched with fury.
“Do not touch me, white dog!” she spat.
There was no doubt now that his wild and beautiful Starfire had come back, and his grin infuriated Elizabeth. Cursing, she flew at him, her nails spread like sharp talons, and Logan barely managed to catch her wrists before they reached his face. His grip was firm but gentle as he turned her and clamped her back against his chest. He lifted her bodily, ignoring her wild struggling.
“Elizabeth, stop it, and listen to me!”
Cheyenne curses answered him, and he pinned her arms to her sides, dropping her upon the bed, where he half lay upon her, holding down her kicking legs with his knee. He held her wrists pinned beside her head, and Elizabeth glared at him, trying to wrench free. He was much too strong, and she finally lay still, panting from exertion.
“Now will you listen to me?”
“I hate you,” she said in Cheyenne. Logan frowned. And to think he'd looked forward to the return of her memory, he berated himself. He released her abruptly, at a loss for the cause of her rage. He kept his arms braced on either side of her to prevent her escape. Elizabeth stared up at him, fighting the hot tears prickling behind her eyelids. How could he have done it? How could he have been so cold and unfeeling? He'd won her love, treated her with tender care all the weeks in the mountains, in his house in Denver, then he'd sold her like a horse, given her into the hands of cruel men. She swallowed hard, hurt hardening again into rage.
“You will not live to sell me again, wasichu,” she gritted out in a hissed whisper.
Realization dawned in Logan's eyes, and he took her by the shoulders, his voice urgent.
“I didn't sell you. You must believe that.”
“I believe only my eyes,” she said coldly, sneering into his face. “What was I worth, Tracker? Fifty gold pieces? One hundred? Do you plan to do it again when you tire of me?”
The absurdity of her words was dwarfed by his fear that she really believed them.
“They knocked me unconscious and took you by force,” he said with quiet desperation. “I swear it.”
Elizabeth's laugh was bitter. “I will find a way to kill you for what you've done to me, then I will return to my people.”
At that moment, it was all she wanted. The whites with their easy, comfortable life were full of deceit and lies. She preferred the honest, hard life of the Indians. She was ashamed that she was a white woman, ashamed she'd left her people willingly.
Her last threat had been much more frightening to Logan, and his frown grew blacker.
“You will go nowhere. You are my wife,” he snapped.
“I am not your wife! I hate you!” Logan made the mistake of raising his hand to touch her, and she knocked it away and was halfway to the door before he reached her. He knew Starfire's temperament enough to know nothing less than physical restraint would keep her in the room, and he tossed her over his shoulder, one arm against the back of her knees, then dumped her unceremoniousl
y on the bed. Elizabeth sputtered her rage, grabbing the nearest object. Logan saw the candlestick coming at his head and dodged it, but her aim was good enough for it to glance painfully off his shoulder.
His own temper rising, Logan grabbed the towel beside the pitcher and wet it, blocking her attempt to scramble off the bed with his other hand. He frowned darkly as he held her down and rubbed off the jagged lines of rouge. Ignoring her furious threats, he gritted out harshly, “You are my wife, and you will stay here.”
He slung the cloth into a far corner, his own anger rapidly gaining momentum. “You're white, and you're going to act like it! And if I have to, I'll keep you under lock and key until you do!”
Elizabeth snarled as he threw a leg over her, getting his palms on either side of her head to force her to look at him. He glared at her.
“Damn it, woman, you're going to listen to me! Do you really think I'd let you go? Do you? Much less sell you to another man? God knows I nearly went insane after Rankin took you from me. I searched for you for months without giving up. Think, Elizabeth, think about our time in the cave, in Denver. Think about the last few weeks. I love you, damn it, I've always loved you! And I'd rather die than turn you over to another man. Can't you see that?”
Elizabeth had stopped fighting halfway through his words, and his hands fell to his sides as they stared at each other. Elizabeth's eyes slowly filled with tears, and she sobbed, turning her face into the pillows. Logan stared down at her, his anger dissolving; her tears affected him as her anger never could.
Her weeping was a terrible, silent despair, and Logan watched helplessly, aching to comfort her. He reached out and touched her hair, and when she didn't protest, he turned her unresisting body to lie across his lap. He closed his eyes in relief, clutching her tightly as she wept into his shirt.
“Elizabeth, please, don't cry. I can't bear to see you suffer....”
His words brought up dark lashes, spiky with tears, and her voice trembled.
“Then take me home,” she begged. “Take me back to my people where I belong.”
