Wildstar

by Linda Ladd

  She wandered through the large, silent rooms, lonely and upset. Isabel Whitcomb was in Denver now. Would Logan turn to her? Was he with her now? Visions of Logan's lean and virile body atop the beautiful coppery-haired woman made her totally wretched, and she sought refuge in the sanctuary of her bedchamber. She stared morosely into space as Amanda brushed out the coiled thickness of her hair until it lay long and shimmering down her back.

  All the servants had heard the shouting between Logan and his wife, and all were stunned at Logan's burst of temper. Even Amanda had lost her fear of him during the summer at Woodstone, and she knew it was a terrible quarrel indeed to make him yell at Miss Elizabeth.

  “May I speak, ma'am?” she said hesitantly, fidgeting with the brush as Elizabeth looked up and nodded.

  “I know I am not one to know, but I cannot help but think the reason Master Logan will not let you go is that he loves you and wants you here with him.”

  Amanda's eyes were earnest, and as Elizabeth looked down, she added quickly, “And I would miss you sorely if you were to leave. And so would Zack and Rachel and all of us.”

  The last came in a hurry, and Elizabeth smiled.

  “And I would miss you. But I do not belong here. I know it's hard for you to understand, but I'm not like other white women. I am Cheyenne.”

  “But they are savages!” Amanda interjected, with horrified eyes.

  “No, they are good, honorable people. I belong with them.”

  Amanda looked so sad that Elizabeth forced another smile.

  “Go now. I know Zack waits for you.”

  After Amanda left, Elizabeth walked to the bed, one hand upon the bedpost. She was not eager to slide between the sheets, knowing it would be as cold and lonely as it was every night when Logan wasn't with her. She shivered, remembering Logan's muscular arms around her, and the moans his kisses forced from her lips.

  She loved him so desperately, but she could never go to him again. She climbed into bed, realizing she was caught in her own trap. If she went to him and declared her love as she yearned to do, he would never take her back to her people. But each night spent without him was torture. She pulled the satin comforter to her chin, her gaze unseeingly on the heavy velvet above her.

  It was very late when she heard the sound of his horse beneath her window, and she lay tensely waiting until heavy footsteps approached her door. She held her breath as they paused there for a long moment, then moved on. It was then that tears began anew, and she buried her face in her pillow to muffle them.

  Twenty

  In the week that followed, Logan remained aloof, his manner stiff and courteous as he held his pride in firm leash. He spent more and more time at the corrals with the Winstead boys or in his mining offices downtown, becoming more involved in his work than he had been in years. Elizabeth fought the desire to go to him and forget the idea of rejoining her tribe, but when such weakness shook her resolve, she would call upon her inner strength. She had but one weapon against him, and a feeble one it was, because she knew only too well that it was only effective as long as Logan allowed it to be. She dreaded and anticipated the day when he'd disregard her wishes and take her into his arms, because despite her resistance, she knew very little force would be needed. When his lips came to hers, all defenses crumbled, and he would win.

  Her fear was not to be tested, however, for Logan did not attempt to touch her. But the forced estrangement from the woman he loved etched grim lines on his face, and the frequency of his long, solitary rides at night bore witness to his own brand of hell.

  The evening of the opera arrived, and Elizabeth dreaded the occasion, knowing a night spent in close proximity with her husband would weaken her will to keep him at bay should he decide to claim her. But as much as she dreaded it, she also entertained hope. The more she'd thought about it, the more she'd decided that Brent Holloway was her only hope to return to the Cheyenne. No one else she knew would dare defy Logan's wishes, and she could not make it back alone. She'd taken a drastic step, sending a reluctant Amanda to Brent's house with a sealed note, hoping it would be passed to him, requesting that he meet her at the opera. It was something she'd had to do, but she found herself aflutter with nerves as she sat before her dressing table.

  Logan had purchased a new gown for her to wear at the social event, and she turned to look at it where it lay across her bed. The very simplicity of the black velvet gown made it more stunning than any of the extravagant creations in her closet. It plunged deeply to lie just off her shoulders, revealing a delectable amount of soft white flesh, and its bodice cinched her small waist to best advantage before flaring with graceful flattery over her slim hips.

  Elizabeth adamantly refused to let Amanda weave her hair into the elaborate coiffure preferred by Denver's society, but instead allowed the glowing silver tresses to ripple to her waist unadorned. Twin combs of ebony held the soft silver away from her face, Indian-fashion, and Mrs. Parker clicked her tongue as she helped Elizabeth into the soft black gown.

  “The high dames will sputter behind their fans when they see you, my dear.”

  “I do not care what they say,” Elizabeth said offhandedly, and Agatha Parker's eyes twinkled wickedly as she stepped back and looked at her small charge. If she was right, it would take only one look at Elizabeth in this gown before Logan would be obliged to give her anything she might ask of him. And when that happened, perhaps the awful silence and grim tension would leave their house forever.

  Later, Elizabeth descended the steps, her soft velvet cape over one arm. She stopped when she saw Logan where he stood motionlessly in the foyer, staring into space. He was dressed immaculately in formal attire, the rich sheen of fine black fabric glowing against the sun-kissed blond of his hair.

  He turned slowly as if he sensed her presence, and he let his eyes move over her with a slow, thorough scrutiny that set her hands to trembling. Logan looked at her, unable to stop the emotion that welled against his chest, stopping his breath. She was so unbelievably beautiful. It had been so long since she'd given him a kind word or a warm look. He missed her as much as if they'd been physically separated. Not just in the dark of the night when he would groan when he reached for her to find empty sheets, but in every way. A vast void had opened in his life the day she'd withdrawn from him. He missed her laughter, her humor, he missed the myriad of looks, and actions, and emotions that made Elizabeth the only woman he would ever love.

  Their eyes met, naked hunger flaring between them, and Elizabeth quickly averted her gaze. Logan walked slowly to her, standing very close, and Elizabeth picked up the manly scent that robbed her composure and flushed her cheeks as it brought back intimate memories.

  “You are lovelier than I can say,” he breathed, and the way his eyes caressed her shredded at her resistance. He traced the fragile line of her jaw with a gentle finger, and Elizabeth's knees went weak, her heart lurching out of cadence. She turned away, but Logan followed, resting his palms lightly on her bare shoulders, before he swept away her hair. When his warm lips touched the sensitive nape of her neck, Elizabeth could barely suppress the breathless pleasure it started deep inside her.

  “I want you more than anything,” he whispered. “I want to hold you and kiss you. I want to make love to you.”

  Elizabeth's eyes closed and she weaved slightly, relaxing against his chest. The slight unbending was enough to give Logan encouragement, and his mouth moved to her ear.

  “Please, let me love you. It's what we both want.”

  She pulled away from him, her wide eyes telling Logan just how close she'd been to the sweet response he needed from her.

  “Take me home,” she said breathlessly. “We can love each other there. We can be happy again.”

  His face closed into an impassive mask, and without speaking, he took the velvet cloak from her hands. Her flesh still quivered from the heat of his lips as he placed the heavy cape around her shoulders and led her to the door.

  Parker waited outsid
e with the carriage, and Logan handed her up, then settled across from her. Elizabeth sat uncomfortably during the short ride as his eyes shone upon her like blue flames, not realizing how the flickering light from the interior lantern turned her skin a soft, warm honey that tore at Logan's rigidly imposed self-control.

  The Olympia was the cultural achievement of the frontier city, and its opulence was not to be bested anywhere west of St. Louis. The intricate woodwork had been carved by the finest craftsmen of New Orleans and shipped across the prairie, its gilt flowers and leaves resplendent against the white flocked walls.

  Its magnificence did not fail to impress Elizabeth, and she shed some of her contempt for white ways as she gazed in awe at the huge chandeliers said to have graced the country palace of Napoleon himself. The lobby was very crowded, as every affluent member of the city was in attendance, and Logan led Elizabeth toward the curving staircase, his fingers firmly gripping her elbow. He nodded and smiled at acquaintances in the milling throng, but did not pause to chat, inwardly annoyed by the obvious stares his wife drew from any masculine eyes that fell upon her. Among the lavishly dressed women with their jewels and vibrant colors, Elizabeth's fair beauty gleamed like a flawless diamond displayed upon black velvet.

  Logan led her along the upper balcony, then held back the heavy velvet drapery so she could enter his private box. Despite her initial reluctance to attend, Elizabeth looked with delight across the vast interior of the theater as she sat upon one of the velvet-tufted chairs. The audience below them buzzed with muted conversation as people observed each other through long-stemmed opera glasses. Fascinated, Elizabeth took in everything eagerly, while Logan's eyes stayed upon her, his lips curved in a slight smile.

  The lights dimmed, and Elizabeth leaned forward as the curtains were slowly drawn apart. The opera was La Traviata, by Verdi, and when the singers appeared, Elizabeth followed every movement of the fair Violetta and her Alfredo with awed wonder, delighted by their elaborate costumes and exaggerated gestures.

  By the time the lamps flared for the intermission, she was totally caught up in the opera, and she turned shining eyes upon Logan.

  “Do you like it?” he asked, his teeth a brief gleam of white, and she could never remember him looking so handsome.

  “Yes, very much,” she admitted, but his eyes did not leave hers, the burning look making time its slave. The feeling flowing between them was so intense, so incredibly intimate, that Elizabeth was assailed by a wave of dizziness that sent her head spinning. She blanched, shutting her eyes, and Logan sat forward in concern.

  “What is it, sweet? Are you ill?”

  She leaned back, grateful for his supporting arm.

  “No, I suddenly became dizzy.”

  She opened her fan and waved it back and forth, not wanting him to know it had happened several times in the last month.

  “Perhaps a drink would help. Refreshments are served in the lobby.”

  Elizabeth smiled weakly. “Yes, Logan, please.”

  He left at once, and Elizabeth leaned back, smiling wryly as she realized that Logan's eyes upon her had brought about the spell. Surely she was weakening toward him, if only a look could cause such a reaction.

  She turned as Brent Holloway entered their box. He moved close to her, smiling.

  “Elizabeth, darling, I got your note. I was so glad that you wanted me to come.”

  Elizabeth stared at his handsome face, realizing she felt nothing at the sight of him, not even pleasure. It was hard to understand how she could have thought herself in love with him.

  “I'm so sorry about the night of the ball,” he continued. “But Logan forced me to leave. I had no choice.”

  He put his hand upon her bare shoulder with open familiarity, and Elizabeth's first impulse was to cringe away. But he was her only hope to return to Raging Buffalo and Gentle Reed.

  “I have regained my memory,” she said bluntly, and noted how his green eyes seemed to close into themselves.

  “Why, Elizabeth, that's wonderful.”

  His carefully controlled expression did not match his sincere words, and Elizabeth did not have time to dwell upon it. Logan would be back soon, and she had to gain Brent's assistance.

  “Brent, please, you must help me to get home to my tribe. Logan refuses to take me, and you are my last hope.”

  Her voice had grown urgent as she looked to the doorway, afraid Logan would appear.

  Brent's mind raced, disbelieving his luck. After all his plots and plans had gone awry, here was the lovely Elizabeth begging him to take her away from Logan. And there was no doubt, being the hothead he was, Logan would follow them in a lethal rage, giving Brent a most opportune time to get rid of him for good.

  Brent smiled and took Elizabeth's hand. “I will take you anywhere you wish. I still love you, you know.”

  Elizabeth stared at him, a vague uneasiness touching her mind as she remembered Logan's warnings. But she had no choice. Before Elizabeth could protest, Brent had pressed her hand against his lips.

  “Meet me tonight at midnight, and I'll take you away.”

  “I'll be ready,” Elizabeth said, gasping as she saw Logan behind Brent, a glass of champagne in his hand.

  His face was the personification of cold deadly rage, but before anyone could move, a female voice carved its way into the draped alcove.

  “Logan, darling, I heard you were here,” Isabel Whitcomb said as she stepped into sight behind Logan. “Oh, and there you are, Brent. A friend of yours dropped by as I was leaving, and I persuaded him to be my escort.”

  Isabel looked at Logan as she drew her handsome new lover into the room, hoping to make him jealous, but Logan ignored Isabel and rigidly watched Brent.

  Elizabeth's eyes went to the man with Isabel, and she sat transfixed as she stared into the small black eyes of the man who had taken her from Tracker. She gasped in horror, and Logan looked down at her white face, then followed her frightened eyes.

  Logan's movement was so swift and decisive that neither Holloway nor Carl Rankin had time to react. Isabel screamed as Logan shoved past her, his eyes dark and murderous, and slammed Rankin against the wall, his thumbs like steel bars against his throat. Isabel backed away and Elizabeth's hands rose to her mouth as Rankin's hands clawed desperately to break Logan's grip.

  “Tell her who hired you,” Logan growled harshly.

  The altercation had drawn the attention of the other boxes now, and many trained their glasses upon the excitement in Logan Cord's box.

  Rankin gasped, trying to choke an answer from his constricted throat, and Logan loosened his hold and stepped away.

  “It was Brent, Brent did—”

  A sharp crack exploded, and blood appeared against Rankin's white shirtfront as Brent's double-barreled derringer ripped a hole through his heart. Elizabeth arose in terror, but Brent grabbed her as Logan whirled to face him. Brent smiled, aiming the gun at Logan's chest, his finger moving against the trigger.

  “No, Brent, don't!” Isabel screamed, throwing herself in front of Logan. It was too late for Brent to change his course, and the bullet struck her, knocking her backward into Logan's chest. She crumpled to the floor in a tangled heap of yellow and white silk, and Brent looked in horror at the blood streaming from her dress, the gun still smoking in his hand.

  Several men burst into the box, and Brent hurled the gun at Logan, then pushed Elizabeth into the others, before he leaped to the railing. Women in the next box shrieked and scrambled frantically to get out of his way as he jumped into their midst. He overturned chairs in his frenzied attempt to escape, and Logan helped Elizabeth into a chair as the other men went in pursuit of Holloway. Elizabeth watched as Logan moved back to Isabel and supported her back as he yelled for someone to summon a doctor.

  “Is she dead?” Elizabeth whispered.

  Logan shook his head. “No, but she's losing a lot of blood. He got her in the shoulder.”

  Elizabeth watched dazedly as a doctor appeared, and
he and Logan leaned over the prone woman, working to stanch the flow of blood. Several men entered and hoisted Carl Rankin's corpse and carried him out, and Elizabeth stared at the bloodstains upon the floor. She couldn't deny the truth; Logan had been right. Brent was the one behind her abduction. His friendship, his gentle understanding, all that had been lies. Every white man she'd trusted had rewarded her with betrayal. As she watched Logan lift Isabel carefully to a makeshift stretcher, her resolve to return to the Cheyenne increased tenfold. There she could find trust and loyalty. But there was no honor among the white man.

  It was very late when they finally reached home, and Logan preceded her into the hall, where a single lamp burned for their return. He did not wait for her, but walked into his library. Elizabeth stood in the doorway as he poured himself a drink and tossed it down, then jerked off his stiff collar and slung his coat into a chair. She tugged her cape from her shoulders, watching as he sank into a chair.

  “I am glad Isabel will be all right,” she said, and Logan looked up at her out of angry blue eyes.

  “Now do you believe your precious Brent was involved?” he asked bitterly. “Now that he killed a man in front of you and shot his own sister? Or will you still run away with him as planned?”

  Elizabeth met his contemptuous eyes steadfastly.

  “He is a monster, and I was a fool ever to trust him. I only wanted him to take me home, since you would not.”

  Logan closed his eyes and laid his head against the chair. His jaw remained clenched, and Elizabeth suddenly wanted to comfort him, to erase the hatred seething in his veins. She walked slowly toward him, sinking to her knees at his feet.

  Logan opened his eyes in surprise, and Elizabeth searched his face with great beseeching violet eyes, as she placed a gentle palm against the rigid set of his jaw.

  “Please, Tracker, please ... if you still love me, if you've ever loved me ... take me to my people as you promised me. I beg you.”