Laurent began to laugh. It started as a low rumble in his chest, then grew louder as he threw his head back.
“Your brother was a fool. And you, ma petite, are an even bigger fool.”
“You vile, evil creature,” Evelyn shouted, and pounded her fists against the Frenchman’s chest, which only seemed to amuse him more. All around her, the gunfire slowly ceased, and the shouts of the men quieted.
“I believe we killed everyone,” someone said gleefully behind her. Evelyn turned her head as far as it would go. The man who had leered at her earlier stood in front of Laurent. The hungry, savage look in his eyes startled her.
“Let’s bring this boat to shore,” the man yelled to no one in particular, then fixed his evil eyes back on her. Evelyn shuddered. “Who knew that the greenhorn would offer more than just a fat wallet?” His hand reached out and he weaved his fingers through Evelyn’s hair. “What a delectable morsel we have here.”
“She will fetch a good price at rendezvous,” Laurent said.
“I’m thinking we need to sample the goods before then,” the man sneered. Laurent stepped back, keeping a firm hold around Evelyn’s waist.
“If I had not offered her my help, she would not be here now,” Laurent said firmly. “When we get to rendezvous, you can bid for her just like everyone else. Until then, she will not be touched.”
The other man opened his mouth to speak, and Evelyn heard a pistol being cocked right next to her.
“She will not be touched, or you will meet the same fate as her brother,” Laurent said in a menacing tone. “She is worth more as pure as she is.”
Evelyn listened as the men argued, but her mind and body were too numb to respond. Henry was dead. The last of her family was gone. She lowered her head, unwilling to look into the eyes of the evil men who had done this to her and her brother. Tears rolled silently down her face.
Henry. Why did you have to do this? Why couldn’t we just go on as before? As much as she wanted to see her parents’ killer brought to justice, it had cost more than it was worth. Evelyn wished a stray bullet had hit her during the gunfire. Death was certainly preferable than what she knew was in store for her.
Chapter 3
Alexander Walker rolled from his stomach to his back, and stared up at the cloudless sky. Stars twinkled brightly overhead; the only light illuminating an otherwise moonless night. Gripping his Hawken Rifle in his left hand, he laid it across his chest, fingering the familiar smooth trigger. He cradled the back of his head in his right hand, and closed his eyes.
The rhythmic chirping sounds of crickets surrounded him, almost drowning out the faint rustle of leaves in the underbrush. Probably a rabbit or vole scurrying around. The screech of an owl in a nearby tree silenced the crickets momentarily, and Alex seized on the opportunity to listen for anything unusual. Thankfully his companions had followed his suggestion and camped about a mile away. If his plan was going to be successful, he wanted to do it on his own, not with a bunch of crazy, trigger-happy trappers to ruin everything and possibly get them all killed.
Alex shifted his weight and stared into the blackness of the night. Visions of an auburn-haired girl crept into his mind. He gritted his teeth. Of all the times to be thinking about her, why now? Focus, dammit! He grimaced, and rubbed at the sore spot on his chest where the bullet from a hunting rifle was still lodged in the flesh below his collarbone. If the shooter’s aim had been a little better, it would have been a fatal shot.
This spring he had gone to St. Louis for the first time in six years to restock his supplies, which he ordinarily would have purchased through the Rocky Mountain Fur Company – his former employer. Now that he was a free trapper, he had to find his provisions elsewhere. While in the city, he’d made an impulsive decision to visit St. Charles. A young woman walking along the docks by the Missouri River had caught his eye. There was something oddly familiar about her. It had taken him a few minutes to try and recollect where he’d seen her before, when he suddenly realized who she was.
Henry Lewis’ sister, Evelyn, had blossomed from a spindle-legged girl into a beautiful curvaceous young woman. Her auburn hair was coiled properly atop her head and shimmered golden like the changing autumn aspen leaves in Jackson’s Hole. She paid no notice to the many men who stopped their work to watch her walk by. She had glanced his way momentarily, but there was no recognition in her eyes. She’d quickly averted her gaze and stuck her pert nose in the air. Can’t blame her, now can you, Walker? You must look a sight.
Alex absently ran his fingers through the thick bushy hair that covered much of his face. No one else had recognized him, either. What the hell had he been thinking? Six years away from civilization, and they would welcome him back with open arms, with him looking like a wild savage? He’d barely escaped with his life after his unknown attacker shot him. Curiosity about Evelyn Lewis after seeing her at the riverfront led him to her folks’ farm. He wasn’t sure what he’d find there, but a strange desire to see her again had overruled any common sense at the time.
No matter how often over the last several months he told himself to get her out of his mind, he couldn’t shake the memory of Evie’s beautiful face. After seeing nothing but Injuns and trappers who looked as wild and unkempt as he, Henry’s little sister had been a feast to his starving eyes. She had to be married already, he told himself forcefully. Regardless, she was not for the likes of him, and he was never going back to St. Charles.
A sudden grunt and loud scraping noise to his left made him groan silently. Gritting his teeth, Alex raised his head slightly and focused his eyes into the darkness. A human form inched awkwardly on the ground in his direction.
Dammit! He could think of only one person who didn’t have the brains to do what he was told. The movements were too loud and clumsy to be made by an Injun. Why the hell hadn’t that fool Yancey listened and stayed behind with the others? The stupid greenhorn had been following him around like a stray dog ever since his return from St. Louis a month ago.
Alex listened for any other possible sounds that weren’t made by the nighttime creatures of the wilderness. Nothing. All seemed quiet at the moment. Slowly, quietly, he laid his rifle on the ground. In one lightning fast move, he leapt to his feet and pulled his hunting knife from his belt. Before the man crawling toward him had a chance to react, Alex bent over him, and pinned him to the ground with one foot on his spine. He gripped his opponent’s hair and forcefully yanked back. Hoping to prevent a scream from his victim, Alex held the sharp blade of his knife to the man’s throat.
“You’d be dead if I was a Blackfoot,” Alex growled quietly into the man’s ear. “I should do us both a favor and kill you right now.” For emphasis, he pulled the man’s head back further. Alex held him in what was, no doubt, a painful position for another minute. “When I let go, keep your mouth shut,” he warned. Loud, quick gasps for air were his answer.
Slowly, Alex eased his hold on Yancey’s scalp, and pulled his knife away from the greenhorn’s throat. Disgusted, he pushed the man’s head into the dirt.
“You don’t start listening, you’re gonna be dead, and get the rest of us killed, too,” Alex said coldly, and walked away to retrieve his rifle.
“The others dared me to sneak up on you,” Yancey gasped, a quiver in his voice.
“Keep your goddamn voice down,” Alex hissed. “I ain’t in the mood to die tonight because of your stupidity.” He glared into the darkness. For all he knew, the fool had already alerted the band of Blackfeet who were camped not a hundred yards away. Their campfires had burned down long ago, and Alex was ready to execute his plan. For two days, he’d tracked this group of Injuns who had stolen not only his saddle and packhorses, but those of several of his companions as well. Luckily, no one had lost their hair in the skirmish with the Blackfeet that day, but he wasn’t about to let them get away with his horses.
Last fall, after nearly six years of working for the Rocky Mountain Fur Company, he’d finally decided to strike o
ut on his own, and his pack animals carried all his worldly possessions, not to mention a year’s worth of back breaking work in the form of beaver pelts that he planned to sell at rendezvous in a few days. He’d be damned if he was going to lose it all to a bunch of cutthroat Injuns. His friend and mentor, Daniel Osborne, had convinced him that he’d be better off as a free trapper rather than busting his back to stuff the pockets of William Ashley and his partner. Even after the company was sold to Jed Smith and the Sublettes, who were all experienced mountain men, he still had to turn in every beaver pelt he brought in while in their employ.
“Keep low and stay behind me,” Alex cautioned the inexperienced Yancey, and led the way back to his hiding place behind several downed lodgepoles. He dropped to the ground and leaned his back against a log, motioning to the greenhorn to do the same.
“When do we attack?” Yancey whispered almost eagerly.
“We don’t.” Alex emphasized the word we in his quiet reply. “You’re gonna keep your sorry hide right here.”
“I’ve heard that the Indians call you Shadow Walker because you’re known to attack when they least expect it, but you can’t go against all those savages on your own,” Yancey protested.
Alex inhaled a deep breath and clenched his jaw. If he had any sense at all, he’d have followed through with his threat and slit the greenhorn’s throat a few minutes ago and been done with him. Memories of his first year in the mountains pushed to the forefront of his mind. Over the years, he had gained a reputation as a fierce fighter when his life or the life of one of his companions was threatened. Thanks to the man he considered to be his mentor, he was also an excellent tracker and marksman. But hadn’t he been the same stupid youth six years ago? Eager to prove that he had what it took to be a mountain man, he hadn’t listened to the more experienced trappers any more than Yancey was listening to him now.
A twig snapped in the darkness just beyond Alex’s hiding place, and he tensed instantly.
“Wha—”
Alex clamped a hand over Yancey’s mouth before the fool could finish his word, and cursed silently. Slowly, he reached for his rifle. Another twig snapped softly, this time only a few feet from his hiding place. Alex inhaled a deep breath, waited another five seconds that felt like an eternity, then sprang to his feet and swung the butt end of his rifle like a club through the air. With a dull crack, it connected with the solid form of a man’s head. Dropping like a felled log, Alex’s adversary hit the ground.
“Sweet Jesus,” Yancey gasped. “What was that?”
“Unless you plan to go under tonight, you’ll do what you’re told and stay put,” Alex growled, then leapt lightly over the log he’d been crouched behind for the last several hours. It was time to steal his horses back before the sentry was missed.
****
Evelyn swayed precariously on the back of the horse she’d sat on since before dawn. Her head pounded fiercely, and she thought for sure her skull would split in half at any moment. Her limbs felt about as heavy as lead anchors, and trying to focus her vision on anything became impossible. This morning was no different than all the others she had endured since that fateful night on the boat. The six mountain men had killed not only her brother, but all the rivermen on board, then brought the vessel to a halt at the riverbank.
Two more men had shown up at dawn with horses and mules. This raid had obviously been well planned out. After unloading much of the cargo from the boat onto the animals’ backs, they had set off away from the river, heading west. The forest around them was dense and often so heavily overgrown with underbrush, that traveling became nearly impossible in places. After only an hour, Evelyn had become hopelessly disoriented.
The idea of escaping her captors occurred to her every day, but she was never allowed a moment’s privacy. Laurent watched over her like a hawk, telling the other men in no uncertain terms that she was his prize, and that he would kill anyone who tried to come near her. At night, he tied her wrists to his own, and she was forced to sleep pressed up against him. On the first night, she had lain awake with fear, wondering when he would take liberties with her, but not once had he touched her in ways that were inappropriate.
While a small part of her had been glad that Laurent kept those other wretched men away from her, he had made it quite clear what would happen to her when they arrived at a place they called the rendezvous, whatever that was. It sounded like a gathering of some sort. The packhorses and mules were laden with the goods they’d stolen from the boat and would use in trade, and she was apparently the most profitable commodity.
One day had blurred into another as they trekked through the mountains. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d washed her face, much less the rest of her body, and her hair hung in limp strands down her back and past her shoulders. Laurent and the others no longer smelled bad, probably because she herself stank as much as they did.
The horse underneath her suddenly stopped, and Evelyn slowly lifted her head. She forced her heavy eyelids open, and tried to focus on her surroundings. Snow-capped mountain peaks rose in the far-off distance. The shouts and laughter of men, the barking of dogs, and horses’ whinnies all mingled into one distant echo. Spread out before her as far as she could see were countless tents of all shapes and sizes, along with makeshift structures made from logs and tree branches and covered with hides. Campfires crackled everywhere, enveloping the small valley in a cloudy haze. Several deer carcasses in various stages of butchering hung upside down from wooden racks, and the distinct smell of whiskey blended with the countless other unpleasant odors wafting through the air. White men dressed in buckskins and furs mingled with Indians who wore not much more than loincloths. Evelyn lowered her head again. No doubt they had arrived at their destination, and her horrible fate awaited her shortly.
“Mademoiselle, the journey is over,” Laurent said gallantly, moving his horse up alongside the one she’d been given to ride. Evelyn didn’t respond.
“Why so sad?” he asked, and lifted her chin with his dirty fingers. “Today, you will meet with your future husband. It is not often that these men have the pleasure of bartering for a white bride. In fact, I believe it is almost unheard of. You will be the talk of this year’s rendezvous.”
Evelyn gave a listless laugh. Hadn’t she left St. Charles in order to escape marriage to a man she didn’t care for? Charles Richardson was looking pretty good to her right about now.
“Future husband?” she asked, her voice raspy and foreign-sounding to her own ears. “Don’t you mean you’re selling me to be a whore to these . . . these beasts?” She jutted her chin in the direction of the large camp, and almost lost her balance. If she fell from the horse, perhaps she would break her neck, and her troubles would be over. As if he had read her thoughts, Laurent snaked his hand around one of her wrists, steadying her seat.
“Mademoiselle Lewis, are you ill?” Laurent asked. He leaned forward in his saddle and studied her face. Was that concern in his eyes? Evelyn blinked and looked away. The man, if he could even be called a man, didn’t have a shred of compassion in him. Why would he be concerned for her health all of a sudden?”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Berard,” she spat, not hiding the contempt in her voice. “I’m well enough that you can sell me like a pig at market. No one will know, or care, whether I feel ill or not. I only hope that whatever ails me kills me quickly.”
Laurent’s face hardened, and he abruptly yanked on her horse’s reins and kicked his own mount forward. Following the rest of his men into the loud and boisterous camp, cheering men quickly surrounded the new arrivals. Evelyn tucked her chin toward her chest and closed her eyes. She couldn’t understand a word of what was said around her, and she didn’t want to know. Instinctively she kicked out her leg when a sudden hand groped at her upper thigh. The roar of laughter all around her became deafening.
“I have waited weeks for this moment, Laurent,” a menacing voice next to her startled her. She opened her eyes to see Oliver Sabin l
eering at her. He had made it no secret that he wanted her since the night he killed Henry. “You want to barter her, let’s get on with it. I have a packhorse laden with trade goods, and I’m ready to barter for her now.”
Several other men who apparently stood close enough to hear the exchange cheered. It seemed to only encourage Sabin, and he grabbed for Evelyn’s arm.
In a move faster than Evelyn could comprehend, Laurent pointed a pistol at Sabin’s head.
“Those trade goods you speak of belong to me as much as they do to you, mon ami. Remember that I was part of that raid, and the cargo belongs to us all equally.”
“Yet you keep the woman for yourself,” Sabin shouted angrily.
“I am the one who found her aboard the boat, so therefore, yes; she is mine to do with as I please. She was not part of the raid.” Laurent didn’t waver. His hard stare dared any of the men to contradict him.
“But very well,” he continued after several tense moments, and shrugged. He lowered his weapon, and reached for Evelyn’s arm, pulling her from the horse. A wave of dizziness swept over her when her feet touched the ground, and for a moment she thought she might black out. Laurent tightened his grip on her arm to steady her.
“Spread the word that Laurent Berard has brought this beautiful white woman who goes by the name of Evelyn Lewis to rendezvous, and I will entertain all offers for her.” Like a theater actor, he swept his hand out in front of him in a dramatic gesture, pronouncing Evelyn’s name in his peculiar French accent. He scanned the large crowd of men that had formed around them.
“Bidding will begin in one hour.” His words were barely audible above the eager shouts of dozens of rough and eager-looking mountain men. Evelyn couldn’t bear to look. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her head felt as if it was made of lead. All she wanted to do was sink to the ground and allow sleep to overtake her. Perhaps then this nightmare would end.
Teton Sunrise (Teton Romance Trilogy) Page 3
