“We’ve made good progress today, nearly ten miles. Tomorrow, we should make the Merrimack River before dark. I’ll rest easier once we’ve crossed it,” Sam quietly told Stephen and Bear as they rode.
“I won’t rest easy until Bomazeen is dead,” Stephen replied.
“Aye,” Bear agreed. “The demon is still within strikin’ distance. We’d be easy to track. We’re leavin’ a trail an Indian bairn could follow.”
“Let’s make camp before it gets dark,” Sam said. “We’re more vulnerable at night so we’ll need to hunt some food and be back before sundown.”
“Aye. I’m as hungry as big Camel here,” Bear said.
“So am I,” John said and he and William joined them.
Stephen hoped they could find some turkey or wild hog. Hunger pangs rumbled in his stomach too.
“Little John and I will fish upstream while you two hunt,” John said.
Bear and Sam rode off. They would ride some distance away before dismounting and hunting the rest of the way on foot.
Stephen turned to William. “You’re looking a little stiff, brother.” While William hadn’t complained, he suspected that after two straight days on horseback, William felt like he did—saddle-sore in some very private places.
“I’m fine,” William growled.
“There’s no shame in admitting it. We’re not used to riding all day like Sam and Bear. Why don’t you keep a watch out and gather up firewood. I’ll get these horses hobbled so they can graze some. Looks like some good grass over there,” Stephen said, pointing to a meadow not far off.
“Deal,” William said.
Stephen removed George’s saddle, and began brushing the stallion’s broad back, where the horse’s black hair was wet and matted from the day’s ride. He enjoyed the grooming as much as George did. There was something pure and earthy about the salty aroma of the horse’s sweat and the brushing seemed to help them both relax after a long ride. When he was done, he stroked George’s long neck and hindquarters. The powerfully built stallion had nearly perfect conformation and he counted himself lucky to own such an exceptional mount.
He loved the horse like a dear friend. Riding George was far more than a means of transportation—it made him feel stronger and more alive—as if the strength of the stallion’s big heart and powerful muscles passed through to him every time he rode. Of all God’s creatures, he thought the horse most worthy of mans’ admiration and devotion. And George received ample amounts of both.
“I’m going to the creek to wash the dust off my face and hair. I’ll get some water for coffee and dinner too,” Jane said.
Stephen looked up and judged the distance to the creek. It was less than 50 yards away. “All right. But stay alert and take your rifle.”
William stacked the firewood, then used steel and flint to ignite the leaves and twigs he’d placed at their base. “You should shortly have enough heat to cook if you have a mind to make some of your famous biscuits in your Dutch oven,” he said with a grin.
“Thank you,” Jane said, “I just need to check on the children and freshen up first.”
William opened his bedroll and stretched out his long legs.
The children were running in circles around the wagon, chasing each other and squealing happily, letting off pent up energy from being confined all day.
Jane loaded her rifle, grabbed her soap and pails, then headed down the slope. Tall Cypress trees lined the bank, their branches and leaves rustling like huge wind chimes in the steady light wind. The creek, swollen from spring rains, flowed noisily. The churning water formed white foam around colorful boulders and rocks. Jane wished it were summer and she could disrobe and sit on the rocks, letting warm water swirl around her naked body.
Winding her way around some large boulders, she made a path down to the river bank. She removed her cloak and laid it and her bucket on the rocks, and then unbuttoned the bodice of her gown, pulling it down. With only her shift left to cover her breasts, the cool gentle breeze made her shiver and raised goose bumps on her bare skin. As she bent down to the water’s edge, she breathed in the clean smell of the water.
Jane splashed her face with the clear water before dunking her head. Shivering, the chilly water did not feel pleasant, but it felt far better than the dirt and grime of the trail. After dragging the bar of soap through her wet hair, she started scrubbing and didn’t stop until she’d done a thorough job. She closed her eyes, dipped her head in the creek again, and vigorously swirled her hair through the cold water.
Then she felt only the cold of terror. Her entire body shuddered in fear when large strong hands pressed against her mouth and held her head down in the water. Jane struggled to raise her head, eyes wide under the water, but she couldn’t. She needed to breathe! What was happening? Someone was trying to drown her! Then the man violently jerked her up by her hair. She stumbled and sucked in a breath, choking on water, as a man pulled her backwards. She tried to wrench away, but couldn’t.
“Make one sound and I’ll gut you like a fish,” a raspy voice growled as he pressed an icy blade of steel against her throat, “then I’ll steal your oldest daughter instead.”
She went limp with fright and ceased to struggle, afraid he would make good on this threat.
He hauled her backwards, dragging her between the boulders, his hand still clamped tightly across her mouth. Her dripping hair covered her eyes and she could not see. She shook her head slightly to clear the hair and water out of her eyes. Her assailant pushed her toward a horse hidden in a copse of nearby trees.
Panic squeezed her chest, making it difficult to breathe. Dear Lord, send Stephen to her aid.
With his long blade pressed against her stomach, he hoisted her into the saddle as if she were a sack of grain and climbed up behind her. The fabric of her gown split open under the knife and she felt cold steel scraping against her bare skin. She didn’t dare move or scream.
He nudged the horse and they took off slowly, quietly following two mounted braves waiting nearby. Soon, the horses hurtled forward, then broke into a gallop. It was then that she realized Indians were stealing her.
Oh God, this can’t be happening.
Then she knew. She recognized his smell. Bomazeen’s sharp stench was something she’d never forget, but she could not bring herself to look at his chilling face. She peered down at the knife instead, still held tightly against her stomach. The sight of the blade and the scalps hanging from his belt made her want to retch.
She couldn’t let this venomous snake have her, but she couldn’t jump off without the knife slicing her belly or leg open. The risk was too great.
Bomazeen, now flanked by the two braves, crossed a large meadow, loping the horse through the tall grass. Within seconds, they would be in the cover of timber again and she feared she would be forever lost to her husband, to her girls, to their life.
Stephen, help me.
Stephen hobbled the last horse and removed the lead rope, throwing it over his shoulder. He turned to look over in George’s direction. The stallion wasn’t there. He scanned the surrounding hills and spotted George at the top of the next rise. “Damn. I’m going to have to make that big fellow a stronger hobble,” he told himself.
He began to march the 100 yards or so to catch up to George when he heard a shot.
He looked up and then gasped, horrified. Anger, like he’d never known before, welled in his chest. A man on a horse was hauling Jane away. It must be Bomazeen! The sight nearly stopped his heart. Then he spotted another horse and a body lying on the ground in Bomazeen’s wake.
Stephen sprinted the remaining distance to George, jerked the broken hobble off, and quickly threw the lead rope around the horse’s neck to make a rein. He jumped on the bareback stallion, pulled him around, and kicked hard.
The stallion responded, his powerful hips springing into a full run, as Stephen bent over George’s withers. Within seconds, they raced wide open across the meadow toward Jane. He saw Sam an
d Bear a couple of hundred yards off. Had Sam made that shot from there?
Ahead, one Indian disappeared into the woods, but George easily overtook the other mount carrying two people. He urged George close behind Bomazeen and aimed his pistol, but didn’t fire for fear of hitting Jane.
As soon as Jane saw him, she bit down hard on the arm holding her. When Bomazeen jerked the arm away, Jane leapt off the other side, falling like a rag doll.
Stephen fired his pistol, but Bomazeen swung away from the ball’s path, clinging to the side of his horse’s neck. He shot his second pistol, and this time grazed Bomazeen’s arm.
His heart clenched with his need to go back for Jane, but he forced himself to stay focused on Bomazeen. He would not allow the man to escape again. He had not been there the first time Jane was in real trouble, but he was this time, by God. And if he didn’t kill the man now, Bomazeen would come after Jane again. He wouldn’t let that happen.
This bastard was going to die.
He urged his stallion over and charged into the flank of Bomazeen’s mount, knocking the devil and his smaller horse over. He tugged George to a skidding halt and spun the horse around.
Like a cat that had fallen, his dark eyes narrowed and hissing through gritted teeth, Bomazeen quickly bounced back to his feet and faced Stephen. Brandishing a skinning knife, Bomazeen bristled belligerently, his expression murderous, ready to attack. “I’m going to use this knife to gut you. Then I’m going to use it to skin your bitch after I take her,” Bomazeen taunted, his voice spiked with venom.
Bomazeen was capable of keeping that promise. Stephen had to kill him.
He leapt off George. How dare the bastard touch his wife. Never again! He quickly yanked the hatchet off his belt, more confident using it than his small hunting knife. He’d had a hatchet in his hand since he was a boy. For the first time, he would use it to kill a man.
The nearness of the monster unleashed something within him. Seething with overpowering rage, he advanced, keeping one eye on the long knife in Bomazeen’s hand. Then he noticed the scalps hanging from Bomazeen’s belt. The sight sickened him, especially the fresh white-haired one. Undoubtedly Mrs. Andrews’. He would make Bomazeen pay for that ghastly deed. Nothing mattered now but killing the viper that threatened Jane and had nearly murdered his daughters.
But he could not let his rage make him reckless.
Bomazeen came at him like a lightning bolt, fast and angry, targeting Stephen’s face.
Stephen jumped to the side and swung the hatchet at Bomazeen’s head, but the devil ducked and stabbed at him again, this time aiming for his stomach.
Stephen arched his back and narrowly managed to avoid the sweep of the blade’s path. He slung the hatchet at Bomazeen’s back but struck an arm instead.
Bomazeen’s howl filled the air between them and the forest beyond, while blood poured from the man’s gaping wound. But like an injured animal, the wound only seemed to make Bomazeen more ferocious. Bomazeen snarled at him, lifting a corner of his mouth. Stephen had never seen a man look more like a wild animal.
Unfortunately, the injured arm was not the one that held the knife. Bomazeen still gripped the weapon and kept the blade pointed maliciously at Stephen. Suddenly, Bomazeen leapt at him, but instead of using the knife, he thrust his leg out and slung his foot into Stephen’s knee. His leg buckled and he went down.
Bomazeen sneered at him with mocking ridicule then stabbed again, but Stephen rolled onto his right side, barely escaping the blade.
Bomazeen put his foot on top of the hatchet, pinning it to the ground.
Stephen had to release his grip on the hatchet as the man’s blade again sliced the air, plunging down in the direction of his head. Stephen rolled over just as the knife struck the ground where his head had just been. As Bomazeen pulled the weapon from the ground, Stephen sprung awkwardly to his feet and then scrambled away.
Bomazeen kept a foot on top of the hatchet and chuckled nastily. He raised an eyebrow, and stared with amused contempt.
Stephen lifted his chin and hardened his eyes, as anger rippled along his spine. He glanced sharply around him, searching for a weapon. He picked up a stone that more than filled his hand, and then barreled toward Bomazeen, clenching his jaw.
Wild-eyed, his greasy black hair hanging in his sweaty face, Bomazeen stomped forward, growling like a rabid animal.
As the beast came at him, Stephen’s heart hammered in his chest and his body tensed in readiness.
Bomazeen lunged, but Stephen blocked the knife with his left arm while his right hand slammed the stone against the side of Bomazeen’s head. The fiend’s knife sliced through his jacket and into his arm. But he felt no pain, his entire body taut with anger.
Blood flowed down the side of Bomazeen’s dirty face, but he did not falter. Instead, the man danced around Stephen, circling him, again and again, forcing him to repeatedly turn to keep Bomazeen in front of him. The silence between them became unbearable. Bomazeen was attempting to let fear build in him.
The strategy was ill-conceived. Instead of fear, courage grew within him. Pursing his lips tighter and girding himself with a resolve to end this battle, he imposed an iron control on his anger and waited silently, his face daring Bomazeen.
Bomazeen stiffened at the challenge. With eyes blazing hot, the man’s vicious glare burned through Stephen.
Then, like the snake he was, Bomazeen lurched and thrust repeatedly, struggling to plant the knife in his chest.
Stephen kept his weight centered and balanced on his toes. Over and over again, he moved outside of Bomazeen’s reach, turning, spinning, waiting for the right moment.
The impotent attempts to stab Stephen made Bomazeen shake with rage. The man’s vexation was evident and the serpent soon sprang at him yet again, teeth bared, his face twisted in anger.
Stephen leapt backward and then whirled as Bomazeen plunged on carelessly, losing his balance. Before Bomazeen could regain his footing, Stephen quickly pivoted to the side as he swung his arm powerfully in a wide circle and smashed the rock into the back of the man’s head. He heard bone crack.
“Now you die,” Stephen seethed.
Bomazeen stood, unmoving, then the knife dropped from his hand. The fiend sputtered incoherently and his face paled before he collapsed to the ground in a crumpled heap.
Totally lost to his rage, Stephen straddled Bomazeen and struck the murdering slave trader’s head repeatedly. He needed to dole out far more punishment than this evil man had life.
At last, he found the will to still the rage flowing into his hand. He rose clumsily, exhausted and breathless. He stood there, his head spinning, looking down with contempt and bitterness.
Then he heard Bear hastily ride up. Stephen looked up. Bear held George’s reins in one hand.
“Bomazeen’s dead,” Bear said firmly. “He’ll na harm Jane again. Ye need to go to her now.”
CHAPTER 15
Jane’s name called Stephen back from the depths of rage. “Jane? Where’s Jane?” he asked, panting heavily, barely able to speak. He vaguely remembered her falling from the horse.
“She’s just down the hill a wee bit. Get on George now and we’ll go to her,” Bear urged.
“Is she…?”
“She’s hurt, but Sam is tending to her.”
His heart nearly stopped and bile rose in his throat. “How bad?”
“She was not moving when I saw her, but I do na know.”
Stephen glared at Bomazeen lying beneath him, wanting to kill the bastard again for hurting Jane. Nearly faceless, the head was a pulpy, bloody mush. His eyes turned to the now red rock in his right hand. He held something evil. He slung the rock as far as he could throw it.
“Forget that Satan’s bastard,” Bear urged. “Jane needs our help now.”
Bear handed Stephen’s panting stallion over to him and then offered to tie a band of cloth around his bleeding arm, but he waved Bear off. Jane needed him. He leapt up on George and took off
at a gallop.
“Jane, my God, Jane,” Stephen cried, rushing to her side. He lifted her limp body into his arms with so much dread he held his breath. His fury quickly yielded to shock as he took in her appearance. Ugly scratches marred her face and arms, and dirt and little bits of rock covered her matted wet hair. Her gown was filthy and ripped in several places and her shift barely covered her breasts, but he saw no blood.
“She’s knocked out by the fall is all. She’ll come around,” Sam said. “I checked and she appears unbroken. Can’t tell if she hit her head or if the wind got knocked out of her.”
He gently stroked her head, trying to feel for head wounds, adding his blood to the mess of her hair.
“Let’s get her back to camp,” Bear suggested.
Stephen handed her to Bear while he mounted George, and then Bear lifted her up to him. He cradled her in his arms and hugged her gingerly. Putting his face next to hers, he gently kissed her temple. Then he looked down at her, horrified to see that he had gotten blood all over her. He tried to wipe her face with his hand, but only made a bigger mess of it.
“We’ll get you both cleaned up when we get back to camp,” Sam said.
“The other brave? Is he still close?” Stephen asked.
“He got away. He disappeared into the foothills,” Bear explained. “I can catch up to him”
“No, let that brave return to his village,” Sam said. “Better for Wanalancet to learn we killed Bomazeen. Maybe then he’ll give up his designs on Jane.”
“Take us back to camp,” Stephen ordered.
By the time they got back to camp, Stephen saw John and Little John returning from the river with a string of good-sized trout. The two were happily admiring their catch until they caught sight of him and Jane. John dropped his fish and pole next to Little John and ran towards them yelling, “Stephen! Jane!”
William woke up when he heard the commotion. “What the devil happened?” William demanded, clearly horrified by the sight of the two.
Wilderness Trail of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 1) Page 10
