This day proved no different from the days that had passed. Sometime around one o’clock in the afternoon, they chanced upon a shady glen edged by a small brook. After refreshing themselves in the water, the two sisters settled themselves beneath the spreading arms of a magnolia tree and fell into exhausted slumber.
Fancy never knew what it was that brought her awake, but she was suddenly heart-poundingly alert. Something had disturbed her, and frantically her gaze scanned their little glen. A terrified gasp came from her as her eyes fell upon a pair of moccasins . . . moccasins that encased a pair of rather large feet.
Panic and rage twisting through her, Fancy scrambled upright, her gaze moving swiftly up the tall, lean body in buckskins; another equally large, buckskin-clad body stood just behind the first. The Thackers! But when her eyes finally rested on the dark, granite-hewn features of the man standing in front of her, her heart gave a great leap as she realized that it wasn’t the Thackers who had found them. It was someone infinitely more dangerous to Fancy’s peace of mind—Chance Walker.
Chapter Four
It was no accident or mere coincidence that had brought Chance Walker to this lonely little glade where the Merrivale ladies had stopped to rest. He and Hugh had been searching for them since noon of the day after Fancy and Ellen had disappeared.
Chance, Hugh, and Morely had left Richmond with the imported horses two days behind the Walker party. Chance had known that it was only a matter of time before they caught up with the others. In confirmation of that, they had come upon Jonathan’s man, Simmons, driving a heavily laden wagon, the second day of their journey. They would have joined forces with him, but Simmons seemed oddly reluctant for their company. So, with a shrug, they had pushed onward. With no wagons and only themselves to worry about, Chance and his two companions could have overtaken the larger group quite rapidly, but the Thoroughbreds were not in as good condition as Chance would have preferred and he had not wanted to push them, especially the pregnant mares. It was obvious from the camp remains they found on the trail that his party was gaining on Sam’s group.
From the very start of their journey Chance had known that he was looking forward to overtaking Sam’s party. He had told himself that it was only because he enjoyed Sam’s company enormously and that he could amuse himself endlessly by tweaking Jonathan’s arrogant nose. But he knew in his heart that his eagerness to catch up with the others had nothing to do with any of those reasons. No, his anticipation had nothing to do with meeting the Walker men, but it had, he admitted reluctantly, everything to do with that haughty little creature with those great golden brown cat-eyes. . . .
To his intense annoyance, he had discovered that he could not get Jonathan’s baroness out of his mind. Her image tantalized him every waking moment of the day, and at night . . . at night she drifted seductively through his dreams, her exoticshaped eyes daring him nearer, her soft mouth taunting him.
Oh yes, he’d been quite eager to see the baroness again. When they had at last come across Sam’s camp four days ago, he’d felt a sharp stab of elation. Elation that had swiftly turned to icy fear when he had learned why the party was still encamped at high noon: the baroness and her sister had disappeared.
It had taken him several minutes to get the full story from a hysterical Constance. Sam and Jonathan were not present; they were away from camp, searching frantically through the forest for any sign of the two young women.
In grim silence Chance had listened to Constance’s terrifying tale, and he realized instantly that the ladies could not have simply wandered away. It was highly unlikely, with all the warnings Constance tearfully claimed they’d been given, that they would have willingly strayed out of earshot.
Everyone was convinced that the women were simply lost, but Chance didn’t think so. In his brief glimpse of her, he’d seen lively intelligence in the face of the baroness. Chance was bone-deep certain that she wouldn’t do something so foolish as to get herself lost in the middle of the wilderness. And if she hadn’t gotten lost . . . His mouth had thinned.
There were several reasons why the women could have disappeared so inexplicably, and he didn’t like any of them. And if his suspicions were correct, Sam and Jonathan were wasting their time looking for them in this area. By now, they would be, if still alive, miles from this spot.
After a hasty consultation among themselves, it was decided that Morely would stay with the Walker party and the horses and that Chance and Hugh would begin their own search. They would do so afoot, a common enough way of traveling through the vast untracked wilderness of the Colonies, carrying with them the supplies that they would need. A bow was slung across Chance’s broad chest, and some arrows were in the quiver on his back; he’d be able to hunt silently and not betray their presence to others. Chance wasn’t sorry to leave the horses behind; in the virgin wilderness through which they would travel, there were many places a man on foot could go that a horse couldn’t.
Sam and Jonathan arrived back at camp just as Chance and Hugh were on the point of departing. Even under the circumstances, Jonathan was not happy to see Chance. Sam was delighted. And after listening to Chance’s theory that there were only two explanations for the disappearance of the baroness and her sister, Indians or outlaws, Sam sadly concurred. Sam also agreed with Chance’s plan: Chance and Hugh would undertake to pick up a trail and find the two women while the others continued on their journey to Walker Ridge.
Jonathan had been furious that he had been excluded from the search party. Bitterly conscious of the prearranged meeting between Simmons and the Thackers in this area, he had already surmised what had happened to the women, but his lips were sealed. Knowing the men involved, he was certain the women were dead—or worse. While he intended to take his vengeance, he had already decided if this whole farce was not to be a total failure he had to wait until he had received the profits from the trading venture to move against the Thackers. The loss of the women was a terrible blow to his ego, and his private rage against the Thackers was very great—perhaps even greater because he could not give vent to it.
Staring across at Chance, his emotions carefully hidden, Jonathan had simply demanded that he be allowed to come with the other two.
Coolly, Chance had looked him up and down and said flatly, “You have spent too many months in London to be much help. You were never one for the wilderness anyway. I doubt you would last a day at the pace we will set. The last thing we need is a London dandy to worry over.”
Jonathan’s fists had clenched and he had taken a menacing step toward Chance. “By God!” he had exploded. “I ought to teach you some manners toward your betters.”
Chance had smiled, a cold glitter in his blue eyes. “Any time,” he had said softly. “Any time you think you are my better. . . .”
Jonathan had frozen, and with his mother crying and clinging to his arm, begging him not to risk his life in a brawl with Chance, he had spun on his heel and left the field to Chance. Once again Chance and Hugh prepared to leave.
Despite the scene with Jonathan, Sam had shaken Chance’s hand and said, “I pray God that you are successful.”
Chance had smiled. “I usually am, sir. If the women can be found, Hugh and I shall do so. Rest easy on that fact. Worry instead as to the state we will find them in.”
Sam had nodded grimly, and then, with Hugh at his heel, Chance had melted into the forests. Picking up the trail was not easy. Sam and Jonathan had trampled over many of the signs of the passage by the two women and their abductors. It took the two men several hours of searching in everwidening circles before they discovered what they were looking for: a scrap of pale yellow material clinging to a briar vine.
In the time that followed there were not many clues for them to find: a feminine footprint near a creek bed; a blue thread dangling from a branch; several strands of blond hair tangled in a bush. But with their keen eyes and extensive knowledge, slowly, methodically, and inevitably they followed the scant trail left behind
by the women. Darkness was falling that first day when they stumbled across the camp where the women had made their escape. It was too dark for them to continue their search, and reluctantly they camped for the night at that same spot.
The next morning Chance’s mouth had been grim as he and Hugh began to follow the obvious trail left by the women. The fact that their captors had abandoned the women seemed very ominous, and he feared that the pitiful trail he was following would end in tragedy.
But by the time they made camp that second night, Chance was hopeful again. It was apparent that the women had not been followed very far by their captors, and the painful thought of finding the baroness’s lifeless, mutilated body in some shadowy glade gradually faded from his mind.
As he and Hugh continued to follow the traces left by the women, Chance was conscious of a grudging admiration for the baroness and her sister. They might be delicate, pampered Englishwomen, but they had shown pluck and great daring in managing to escape from their captors.
Despite his growing optimism that they would find the women alive, it wasn’t until he and Hugh actually stood there looking down at the two exhausted ladies as they slept on the ground that the anguished knot deep in his belly finally loosened. They had found them, and they were alive.
And not, he thought with grim humor, exactly pleased to see them, either. The quickly masked expression on the baroness’s face certainly suggested that she would have preferred to be rescued by just about anyone other than Chance Walker. His lips quirked. His baroness certainly wasn’t a hypocrite; she didn’t like him, and even the present circumstances weren’t going to change anything.
Grudging admiration flickering in his eyes, he drawled, “My apologies that your charming host was not the one to have found you, Your Ladyship. But then if Jonathan had been looking for you, well, I fear you would never have been found.”
“It does not matter who found us,” Fancy said crisply, as she rose to her feet and shook out her tattered gown. “All that matters is that we have been found, and for that I thank you with all my heart.” Despite her sincere and deep gratitude, some imp of mischief made her add, “You were looking for us? You have not simply stumbled across us as did those wretched Thacker creatures?”
The good cheer vanished from Chance’s gaze, and Hugh audibly sucked in his breath. “Udell Thacker? He was your abductor?” Chance demanded roughly.
Unconcernedly helping Ellen to her feet, Fancy replied, “Mmm, yes, that was his name, Udell Thacker. I believe that the other cretin with him is called Clem.” Smiling sweetly at Chance over her shoulder, she asked, “Are they friends of yours?”
Hugh choked and hastily looked away.
“Not exactly,” Chance growled, not best pleased by her manner. Under the circumstances, a little more gratitude would have been expected and, he admitted ruefully, appreciated, but he should have known that his baroness would do precisely the opposite—bait him instead of placating him. And damned if he’d let her get the better of him.
Blue eyes suspiciously guileless, he inquired innocently, “Did you enjoy your stay with them? Other, er, ladies, have not found them, ah, polite.”
Fancy glared at him, suddenly tired of the situation. “We did not, as you know very well! From the moment that those wretched beasts made their presence known, it has been most, most disagreeable.”
Hugh spoke up. Gravely he said, “You are very lucky to still be alive, Your Ladyship. Few women who fall into the hands of the Thackers live to tell about it. And those who do . . .” He hesitated and then asked awkwardly, “They did not ...?” He cleared his throat, not certain how to proceed. “You were not . . .?”
Fancy shook her head, knowing precisely what the young man was attempting to ask. “No. They did not violate us, but only because we managed to escape before they could.”
Her big eyes fixed on Hugh, Ellen said shyly, “Fancy was wonderful! She hit that awful Clem over the head with a skillet!”
“And do not forget,” Fancy added softly, hugging Ellen to her, “that you threw the coffeepot at Udell. Had you not done that, we might never have escaped.”
“Resourceful of you,” Chance murmured, again admiring the women despite himself, this time for the way they were attempting to make light of their frightening ordeal. It was obvious that they had been terrified and were now exhausted and, he suspected, extremely hungry. Their faces were thin and worn, remembered terror lurking in the depths of their eyes; their clothing was torn and stained, hanging in tatters on their slender forms; yet both acted as if nothing untoward had occurred. Gently he said, “You have been very brave. Not many women, even those raised in the wilderness and used to its dangers, could have survived.”
Fancy sent him her first genuine smile. “Why, thank you,” she said softly. “That was very handsome of you.”
Chance was stunned by that smile, something warm and powerful unfurling within him. He stared bemused at her for a long moment, then seemed to shake himself and turned away. He glanced around the little glen and said gruffly, “We will camp here for tonight. You both are in need of rest and probably a good meal.”
Ellen laughed and clapped her hands. “Oh, yes. We have talked and dreamed of nothing but food these past four days.”
Chance smiled at her, liking the baroness’s younger sister. “You may have to make do with cornmeal mush unless I can find some game.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Ellen exclaimed, her blue eyes bright with anticipation. “Anything other than berries.”
Chance looked across at Hugh. “You stay here with the women. I’ll see what I can find.”
After placing his long black rifle against the trunk of a tree next to the large pack he carried, he unslung his bow and took a few arrows from a quiver, then disappeared into the forests.
Fancy almost cried out in protest as his tall form slipped into the green gloom. Something about Chance Walker seemed to bring out the worst in her, yet she had felt bereft when he left. Telling herself that she was being utterly irrational, she looked at the young man who remained and smiled brightly at him.
“You have rescued us and we don’t even know your name,” she said softly.
Hugh smiled. “Hugh Walker, Your Ladyship. Chance and I are cousins of a sort—at least that’s what my father claims. Just about all Walkers in Virginia are cousins of some sort.”
“Well, I am very glad to meet you, Hugh Walker,” Fancy said warmly. “This is my sister, Ellen. Considering the circumstances, I think we can dispense with ‘Your Ladyship.’ My name is actually Frances, but all my friends call me simply Fancy. I hope that you will do so.”
Hugh stared at her, admiration obvious in his blue eyes. The baroness was not as he expected. Neither haughty, nor demanding, nor very old, and despite the circumstances, extremely pretty.
A slow, lazy smile curved his long mouth. “I’d be honored to be counted as one of your friends, Fancy.” He glanced at Ellen. “And I’m very happy to meet you, too, Ellen.”
Ellen gave a little sniff and held her head high, muttering, “Mistress Ellen, if you don’t mind!”
Fancy glanced at her in astonishment. Ellen never stood on ceremony and occasionally accused her of being stuffy. So why was she acting so stiffly to this very nice young man?
A gleam entered the nice young man’s eyes as he looked, really looked, at Ellen for the first time. The knowledge that the baroness’s young sister was also very, very pretty suddenly dawned on him. “Very well,” he said with mocking amusement, “Mistress Ellen it shall be . . . and you may call me Master Hugh.”
Ellen shrugged. Her nose at an imperious angle, she said, “Well, now that we have that settled, shouldn’t you be doing something, Master Hugh? Or are you just going to stand around and chat with us?”
It didn’t help Ellen’s frame of mind when, not the least put out by her haughty manner, Hugh asked affably, “And what would you wish me to do, Mistress Ellen? This is hardly the queen’s drawing room.”
<
br /> Ellen took in an indignant breath, very much aware that this far-too-handsome young man was amused by her. Feeling bewildered and mortified by her contrary actions, she said crossly, “I am aware of that. But are you just going to stand around and wait until Chance returns?”
“Chance?” he asked with a quirked eyebrow, laughter dancing in his thickly lashed dark blue eyes. “Not Master Chance?”
Ellen gave a sound like a thwarted kitten and turned away, just as Fancy recovered her wits and entered the fray. “I am certain,” she interjected hastily, “that Chance would not consider it impertinent. In fact,” she added with a speaking look at Ellen, “I think that this is no time to stand on ceremony.” Quietly she said, “These gentlemen have, no doubt, saved our lives. We owe them a great deal.”
Ellen nodded her blond head, shame flashing through her. Contrition in her big blue eyes, she looked up at Hugh. “I do not know what was wrong with me. I am not usually so horrid. Please forgive me?” A beguiling smile teased the corner of her pink little mouth. “And call me Ellen? Please?”
Hugh stared down into Ellen’s face. Even dirt stained and tired, she was undeniably lovely. And that smile of hers . . . His heart, normally the most reliable organ, seemed as if it would leap from his chest, and for a second he was struck dumb, his mind going curiously blank. It was Ellen’s gentle touch on his hand that brought him back to the present.
She had stepped closer to him, and, concern on her pretty face, she asked, “Are you all right? You look ... queer.”
Huskily Hugh said, “ ’Tis that smile of yours. You should not spring it on a man without warning, Ellen.”
“Oh, what a handsome thing to say,” she said happily, her smile deepening. “Now may I call you Hugh?”
He swept her a low, gallant bow. “I would be honored.”
Amusement in her voice, Fancy murmured, “If you two have worked out what you will be calling each other, could we please set up some sort of camp?”
A Heart for the Taking Page 8
