Love's Revenge (Entangled Scandalous)

by Avery, Joan

  Andy had begun to whimper. She released the trigger and, setting the gun on one of the upholstered chairs, faced her son and Fiona.

  Katherine warned herself not to lose control. Good sense and calmness were necessary if they were to get through this alive.

  “Hush love. Come here, Andy.” She knelt and took the child into her embrace, calming him. “It’s all right darling. We’re just playing a game. That’s all. Aren’t we, Fee?”

  “Yes, it’s just a game, Andy.” Fiona’s voice quivered a bit.

  Andy smiled. It must have been an exciting game to him.

  Outside the war cries began again. High pitched and piercing, they reminded Kate of a wolf pack on the prowl. But a new and more disturbing sound had been added to the uproar—the thundering hooves of horses.

  The howls and shrieks grew in intensity. Words screamed in insult hung in the air, building on one another until the fear they instilled was palpable. She didn’t know the meaning of the words, but she knew their intent.

  “Fiona, play on the floor with Andy. Play train with him. Make noise, but stay low. Do you understand me?” Katherine’s orders brooked no refusal.

  Outside the whoops and screams reverberated, bouncing against the surrounding hills and coming back to double the clatter.

  Fiona fumbled with the train, her hands shaking, but she did as Katherine ordered. Katherine picked up the revolver again and made her way to the back of the Pullman car.

  Fiona’s Choo-choo-choos came out strangled with tears. Her timid attempts paled in comparison to the frightening screams outside. They had grown closer. Much closer. Kate peered out the back door of the car.

  Nothing could have prepared her for the barbarians. Thundering down the grass-covered knoll, they moved relentlessly onward toward the train. Naked and feathered. Painted so that they were unrecognizable as human. They resembled the rising of the damned, more spirit or goblin than man.

  These creatures shook their rifles and feathered lances high over their heads as they charged. They rose on the haunches of their powerful horses ready to do battle. It was as if man and beast had become one. These were spirits from Hades eager to steal the souls of their enemies. She raised the Colt, prepared to defend Andy to her death.

  The screams and curses now filled the small space in the car, suffocating her. They grew closer, much closer. She could see them clearly now. Broad and sturdy of body, much like their fierce horses. Black hair almost to their waists. Their faces contorted with hatred. Their twisted mouths still spewing spiteful epithets. They were circling toward the back, skirting the main body of the train.

  She reached out and, with a shaking hand, opened the rear door of the train. She stepped into the open doorway. She held up the Colt. It wavered in her unsteady grasp. She would have to wait until they were closer to be accurate.

  They came whooping by with a speed that astounded her. A blur of feathers and hide. All passed her but one man. He hung low under his horse’s neck suspended by a foot in a loop in the horse’s mane. The amazing horsemanship would have won her admiration if he hadn’t held a rifle pointed directly at her. Their eyes met only for a second. But it was enough. Defiance and pride met her own implacable stare. For the briefest of moments, there was a standoff. A recognition. An acknowledgement.

  She didn’t fire the Colt and the Indian didn’t fire the rifle. Instead, the brave threw himself back atop his horse and, waving his rifle, circled his men. They drove their lathered horses up the rising hill to the top, and then turned to face the train.

  Kate took a step out onto the back platform of the car. The wind caught her hair and loosened several tendrils from its tight chignon. She held her head high. The Colt at her side was cold in her sweaty palm. She shivered in the autumn air but felt herself breathe once more.

  The braves made no move to leave. It was quiet. Frighteningly quiet. Andy’s laughter floated out to her. Then Fiona’s shhhh to quiet him. Yes, quiet, Andy. They mustn’t know you are here. Where was Stephen now? It was his selfishness that had put them in jeopardy. His demands that saw them now in the wilderness and under attack. Not that it mattered now. She would defend her son with every ounce of strength she had.

  The brave whose eyes she met, apparently their leader, reared his horse and yelped. He was joined by the others. It had begun again. She raised the Colt. She would not retreat into the train car. The brave might see that as cowardice. She would meet them on their own terms.

  They galloped on. Their whoops were punctuated by words hurled with disdain and anger. This time they did not head for the body of the train but straight toward Katherine. She was horrified and mesmerized as their forms became distinct, their faces human, if contorted. Their fierce screams became a single noise that left her senses numb. As if in a nightmare, they thundered toward her. There was a scalp attached to the leader’s bridle. God help them all.

  Her finger was tight on the trigger. She began to press down on the metal. They were almost within range. Scorn and contempt glowed in their eyes. She aimed at the leader. It would be her best chance of stopping them. Only a few more yards.

  Suddenly, startlingly, they pulled up their ponies, creating a cloud of dust that hovered around the hooves of the horses.

  The train whistled and a great whoosh of steam vented from the engine. Stephen was on the ground below her, his dark hair wet with sweat. He was watching the attackers.

  “Do not move, Katherine. Do only as I say.” For a long while there was only the whinny of the startled horses to fill the void created by the standoff. The Indians worked to quiet their restless horses. Several braves circled their ponies, patting their haunches and soothing them. Their leader kneed his pony forward.

  Kate lowered her gun without knowing why, only that things had changed dramatically in the scenario, and it had to do with Stephen.

  There was recognition on the brave’s face. That and more. Did she see admiration? Could it be?

  The leader’s brown face was broad as were the others. His nose was long and angular, but it was his piercing black eyes that captured her attention. They took in everything. She felt his scrutiny and flushed. He studied her as he would a fine horse, his eyes stopping at her fair hair. She shuddered and pictured its white-blondness fastened with the other scalp on his bridle.

  As her heart beat out the seconds, neither man spoke. She feared she would scream from the tension, but she took her cue from Stephen, who had not moved since he stopped at the back of the Pullman car.

  “No, Fee. Train. Choo. Choo. Choooo.” It was Andy inside. She could hear him laughing. The lead brave cocked his head at the muffled sound. Stephen stiffened.

  Dear God, she prayed, keep Andy quiet.

  Do something, she screamed at Stephen inside her head. He is your son. You must do something or we will all die.

  After an eternity, the lead brave raised his rifle high over his head. Katherine held her breath and tightened her grasp on the revolver.

  “Piah, brother of Chipeta, who is wife to the great Chief Ouray, greets the Englishman Worth.”

  She unclenched her hands and expelled her held breath, but her heart still beat too fast. The brave knew Stephen. But how? She shifted her attention to Stephen. She wanted see his face. His body relaxed as he spoke in turn.

  “Worth greets Piah, great warrior and brother of Chipeta, wife of Ouray, great Chief of the Nuche.”

  She studied the lead brave intently. He must have sensed her perusal, for he turned his head to look at her. “Your woman?” Piah said to Stephen.

  “No. My woman is dead. She is sister to my woman, come to take care of my son.”

  The Indian looked thoughtful. It was a moment before he spoke. “Show Piah Worth’s son.”

  She gasped. “No.” Indians took hostages. Made them slaves.

  “Katherine. Do as I say.” Stephen’s voice was deep and insistent. “Get Andy and bring him out.”

  “No.”

  Piah glared at her and
a question rose in his eyes—a question directed at Stephen.

  “Kate, you must trust me on this. Do you think I would put Andy in any danger? Bring him and quickly.”

  What did she know of heathens? She had no other viable choice. She placed the heavy revolver in her dress pocket and stepped inside the train car. Fiona’s eyes were wide. She had pulled Andy with her behind the settee.

  “Give me Andy, Fiona.”

  Fiona signed herself with a cross and kissed the boy before handing him over.

  For a moment Kate questioned her own sanity. What was she doing? Why was she willing to risk Andy’s life on the say-so of Stephen Worth? Perhaps she and Fiona should simply flee through the train and leave Stephen to fight his own battle with these men. That would be the sensible thing to do.

  Did she think he would let harm come to the boy? He had asked. She couldn’t know. How could she possibly know? She knew so little about this man.

  But in her heart. In her heart, she knew she trusted him in this. He would not put his son in jeopardy.

  Andy was still teary eyed and fretful.

  “Do you want to see Indians, my love? Come, Mama will show you the Indians.”

  The boy’s eyes lit up and she felt like a traitor. She would kill anyone who threatened the child—anyone. Especially Stephen Worth.

  Andy settled down in her arms. He played with the strands of her hair that had escaped with the wind. She kissed his cheek. She would not cry. She would not give the heathens that satisfaction.

  When she reached the platform, the silent impasse that had followed her departure was broken. Several of the warriors spoke to each other. One let out a whoop and she jumped. “This is Worth’s son?” Piah demanded.

  “Yes, he is my son.”

  “He wears Worth’s hair and eyes. It is good. It is good to have a son to ride to battle.” Piah nodded his approval. “He will gain much coup and wear his feathers proudly.”

  “I hope he will wear them as proudly as Piah does.”

  A low guttural sound signified the brave’s approval. Piah reined in his horse and the animal reared up. He shouted instructions to the others and they pulled their horses around and galloped back toward the rise. About halfway back to the rise, Piah paused, his horse nervously pawing the ground.

  Then he charged.

  She gasped. Stephen still held his rifle at his side. He did not raise it. In fact, he did not move. She was frozen in place. What was happening? Weren’t they friends? They had not acted like enemies.

  She held Andy closer to her. The boy was fascinated by the approaching Indian. Stephen still didn’t move. Wasn’t he going to defend himself?

  She fumbled in her deep pocket. She needed the Colt revolver and she needed it now.

  “See, Mama.” Andy’s tiny hands pulled her face away from her desperate search for the gun.

  “Yes, Yes. I see, Andy.”

  She couldn’t put Andy down. She couldn’t master the heavy gun with one hand. She couldn’t help what was about to happen.

  Piah whooped and hung low over his horse. His rifle was braced against his shoulder and pointed at Stephen. Clods of earth flew behind the charging pony.

  The other braves had reached the top of the bluff and had paused to watch.

  Every motion, every heartbeat lasted a lifetime. She wanted to scream at Stephen to protect himself. Protect them all. Was he a coward or martyr?

  Piah screamed an epithet and unexpectedly switched the rifle to his other hand. With his foot securely in the loop of the horse’s mane, he reached out and grabbed the red kerchief from Stephen’s neck. He whooped, exhilarated, and pulled up his pony. He held up the red cloth and the other braves atop the hill acknowledged it. Their rifles held high above their heads, they yelped, and, for the first time, fired their weapons.

  Piah looked at Katherine. With the bandana still in one hand, he braced his rifle on his hip and fired it into the air. She jumped, her heart racing out of control. As Piah rode toward the band that was even now disappearing over the horizon of the hill, her legs began to shake uncontrollably.

  …

  Stephen watched Piah and his small war party until they were gone. Katherine was white as a ghost. Only Andy was unperturbed. The boy smiled and waved to the departing Indians. In two strides, Stephen was beside them on the platform.

  “Give him to me.”

  Katherine released Andy. She looked like she would be ill.

  The stillness was broken by the train whistle and the car jerked into movement. Kate covered her mouth with her hand.

  “Fiona!” he bellowed as he entered the Pullman car.

  The Irish nursemaid peeked out from behind the settee.

  “They’re gone, girl. Take Andy and put him down for his nap and stay with him.”

  Fiona was still white with fear but she nodded and stumbled to her feet. She took Andy, who was rubbing his eyes with his small fist. “Stay with him. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, sir...but Miss Barker?” Fiona asked.

  “I’ll take care of Miss Barker. You take care of Andy. Is that a deal?”

  “Yes, sir.” She dipped a wobbly curtsy and with weak legs headed to the next car and their sleeping compartment. Stephen made sure they safely crossed to the next car.

  Kate was still on the rear platform. The waves of dry grass behind her had turned golden with the autumn sun. She had released her hair as if it would release the tension inside her, but held the railing tightly, her knuckles white with the force of her grip. He couldn’t see her face. But her every muscle, every limb was strained to the point of collapse. He approached her slowly.

  “Katherine.”

  She shook her head from side to side. She clearly did not want to talk.

  “Are you all right?”

  She turned to face him. Her hand was pressed once again to her mouth, her eyes welling with tears.

  She removed her hand. “Am I all right?” Her voice was choked with tears. “Am I all right? You have the nerve to ask if I’m all right?”

  “Let me explain.”

  “Explain?” Anger had replaced her fear. “Yes, explain to me how you could put your son at risk, put yourself at risk...”—she hurried on—“...put us all at risk without lifting a hand to defend us. That man had a scalp—a human scalp on his belt. Were you going to let those barbarians take Andy’s scalp or mine? Mine, no doubt, would be a unique prize.” She drove her hands through her hair, letting the glistening strands float behind her in the breeze. “No. You can’t explain your actions. You can’t.” Her last words were half whispered and garbled by tears. She had started to shake uncontrollably.

  …

  Stephen stepped forward and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Listen to me very carefully. You don’t have any idea of what just happened. You’re horrified that Piah had a scalp. And you have every right to be. It is horrible. But do you know where they learned that little trick? From the Spanish, Katherine. The Spanish, Europeans, the noble, enlightened Europeans, taught many Indians the power of a scalp. A scalp is a testament to a man murdered, but the Spanish didn’t do it in fear or for pride, or even from superstition. They collected scalps purely for money, to collect their reward from the nobleman who had bid the deed done.” He paused. “Who is the barbarian, Katherine? Who?” He searched her eyes for understanding.

  “I was so scared for Andy.” She sobbed.

  He pulled her to him. “There was no danger.” He was telling only half the truth. “Piah would not risk attacking a train this far from his camp. He was making his unhappiness known. He has much to be unhappy about. Can you understand that?”

  She shook her head from side to side against his chest.

  Stephen pulled her more tightly to him. “Perhaps someday you will. Someday you will.”

  Chapter Nine

  In the cool autumn air of the next day, the steam from the engine hovered low on the platform of the Denver station, creating white clouds through which everyon
e and everything moved. In the early morning light, the effect was ethereal. It gave Stephen the odd feeling that everything this morning was happening in a dream.

  He helped the fractious Kate down from the train. For a brief moment, he had the startling feeling of déjà vu. He wasn’t the only one.

  More than one person on the platform stopped their conversation to watch. His appearance in Denver after a two-year absence would have been reason alone for the interest. But it was Katherine on his arm creating the undercurrent of speculation and discussion. He would have to get her away before someone approached him and blundered out information he did not wish to share with her.

  “I don’t see the man I’ve asked to meet us. Why don’t you check on Fiona and Andy? I spoke to Fiona earlier. She was dressing Andy when I left them.”

  Kate nodded and started back toward the train. More than one set of eyes tracked her movement.

  “Well, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.” The loud outburst came from a bewhiskered, bow-legged mountain man who appeared out of a cloud of steam. The man’s graying hair and twinkling eyes brought a smile to Stephen’s face. Half Kris Kringle, half leprechaun, Dusty Krebs had proved a devoted friend these last two years. His broad grin was welcome enough for any man.

  In a split second, he found himself in the older man’s bear hug.

  “Peg’s nearly drove me from the house with her bothering and tsk tsk’n. Couldn’t sit down but she’d throw me out and dust the darned chair I was sitting in.”

  “It’s good to see you, old friend, and good to hear Peg’s not changed a bit either.”

  Dusty shook his head. “She near drove me crazy while you was gone. Thought she’d burst at the seams when she got your telegram saying you was coming with the boy. Since then, she’s been as expectant as a sparrow watching a worm hole.”

  He signaled a porter while he questioned Dusty. “Have you had time to get the things I wanted?”

  “Yep, we been bustin’ our butts to get things ready. Where are they?”

  “Kate went back to get the boy and his nursemaid. Do you have a carriage?”