Black Serpent would also count many coup, but the best would be in making the white woman wish for a quick death as he took his revenge for how she had tried to poison him. She would die only after slow and painful torture.
Michael and his men watched from a short distance away.
"I don't like this," Pete said uneasily. "I don't know anything about Indian villages, but it appears to me there's no braves around in this one. I count maybe forty tepees but only one horse."
Joe Clyder said, "They're out huntin', getting ready for winter. Ain't nothing down there but women. Children. I don't know about the rest of you, but I didn't bargain to kill women and children."
"Fact is," Sterne Walters cut in, "as best I recollect, when we left Georgia we didn't bargain to kill nobody."
"That's right." Ethen Terrell said. "We don't even know your woman is down there, Blake, so how come we're goin' to ride in and gun down innocent people? I don't like the looks of this a'tall. I say we get out of here—and fast."
Sterne and Clyder mumbled in agreement, but Pete held up a hand for silence as he asked Michael, "What do you want to do? I agree with them, but if you think she's down there..."
"She's down there."
His reply was like the crack of a whip, swift, lethal. Following his almost mesmerized gaze, they saw her then, a girl with long, dark hair wearing a dress that looked like anything but Indian garb. She was walking from the camp toward a thicket of bushes at the edge.
Black Serpent also spotted her and turned to gauge Blake's reaction. Hurrying to where they stood, he said, "We will attack now. She is out of the way. Mount your horses and make ready to shoot and kill them all."
He was about to signal to his warriors, but Michael reached out and seized his arm. "No," he said through tightly clenched teeth. "There's no need to kill anybody. We'll ride down and get the girl, and if you and your men want to shoot up the place, do so. But we're getting out of here first."
Black Serpent's face became a thundercloud of rage. "We made pact," he hissed, Fists clenched. "You agreed to help us kill our enemy, kill Howling Wolf, the one who took your woman."
Michael drew his gun. "You're the one who took her from the fort. If not for you, she wouldn't be here."
A shot rang out, and Michael's attention was diverted just long enough for Black Serpent to seize the chance to lunge for the gun. The shot had been fired by Ethan Terrell, who had seen one of the Indians lift a rifle and aim at Michael. Struck between the eyes, the Indian fell to the ground, but the others were raising their weapons, preparing to fire.
Michael was grappling with Black Serpent, falling to the ground and rolling downward, while his men dove behind rocks for cover as the bullets started flying.
Jacie had frozen as the first explosion split the stillness, but only for an instant. Turning, she started running back toward the camp to alert Luke and everyone else, when suddenly, right in front of her, two men hit the ground, pummeling each other with their fists as they cursed and grunted mightily.
"Oh, my God!" Her hands flew to her mouth at the recognition first of Black Serpent, then Michael, but there was no time to wonder over the why of it, because Michael had suddenly landed a blow to Black Serpent's chin that knocked him unconscious. Scrambling to his feet, he grabbed her hand and took her with him as he too lunged for cover behind a rock. He had dropped his gun during the scuffle, and they were helpless as the others rapidly exchanged gunfire.
"Michael—how..." Jacie stared at him in shock, but then he pulled her against him to shield her, pressing her head beneath his chin and holding her tight.
All around were the zinging sounds of the gunfire, the stench of sulphur, and from beyond, the screams of the women and the cries of the children as they awoke in terror to the bedlam.
"Stay still," Michael ordered as she struggled against him. "My men are good shots. I see those Indian bastards dropping like flies." He spoke more to himself than to her, preoccupied with the hell exploding around them. He winced to see Joe Clyder hit, knew he was dead before he hit the ground as blood spurted from his eyes and nose. But the Indians were falling faster, as he saw Pete take three with successive shots.
It seemed to be ending. Michael dared think that it was. Still holding Jacie—tighter than he realized, for one hand had gone about her throat—as he got slowly to his feet, taking her with him. She was struggling to breathe.
"Let her go."
Michael froze. A man was coming toward him, and he had a gun. His hair was long and wild about his face, which was a mask of rage. His nostrils flared, the nerves in his jaw twitching as his lips curled back ominously.
"I said let her go, damn you," Luke repeated, the clicking of the gun's hammer an ominous sound in the stillness.
Above, Pete had seen what was taking place but could not fire, because Michael and the woman were in the way. "Move, Blake. Now," he screamed.
Michael did so, still holding Jacie, but he leapt in the direction of Black Serpent, who had only pretended to be unconscious and had managed to get his hands on Michael's gun, which he now held beneath him, waiting for the right moment to fire.
And he thought it was upon him—but that was in the precise instant that Michael fell to the ground beside him, hitting his arm to knock his aim off. The bullet went wild, but Luke was quick to react, firing his gun to hit Black Serpent in the forehead, killing him.
But before Luke could move to shelter, Michael's hand shot out to grab Black Serpent's and point the gun in his direction. Squeezing the dying Indian's finger, which was still curved about the trigger, Michael fired the weapon, and Luke went down.
The scream was ripped from Jacie's throat, and with strength she never knew she possessed, she tore herself from Michael's grasp to propel herself to her feet and run to where Luke lay, not moving. She was oblivious to Michael's frantic shouts amidst the cries and shouts of his men as they scrambled down the hill toward her.
"No, God, no." Jacie dropped to her knees beside Luke. Blood poured from the wound in his neck. She dared not try to lift him but bent to place her trembling hands on his face and pat gently, rocking to and fro as she whispered in anguish, "Please, God. Don't let him die. Please..."
Michael came to stand behind her uncertainly, ignoring Pete's anxious voice at his ear telling him, "They're all dead, so's Clyder, and we got to get the hell out of here, and fast. We don't see any men in the camp, but somebody will go for them. Hell, they might even be close enough to have heard the shootin'. Let's ride." He squeezed Michael's arm, hard.
Michael was jolted by Jacie's reaction. The dead Indian was her captor, yet she seemed to be slipping into shock from grief, and he did not know what that meant, was not sure he wanted to know. He attempted to draw her away. "We have to go now. Come along. It's over."
"Don't touch me!" She whipped her head about to scorch him with a reproachful glare, then swayed with relief to see her mother running from the camp and called to her frantically, "Hurry, Luke's been shot. He's bleeding bad."
"Jacie, we'll all be killed if we don't get out of here right now," Michael yelled fiercely.
Iris dropped to her knees on the other side of Luke, panic boiling. She had no idea who the men were or why they were here, had recognized Black Serpent and assumed he and his warriors had all been killed. She did not care about them, nor was she concerned with the white man who was tugging at Jacie. All of her attention was focused on Luke, who was losing a lot of blood. As best she could tell on hasty examination, the bullet had gone completely through the side of his throat. If she could get him back to her tepee and treat him, stop the bleeding, there was a good chance he would live, but she dared not say so, fearing the men hovering around would finish him off then and there.
"Can you help him? Can you save him?" Jacie begged.
Michael saw Pete and the others were already on their horses, waiting with his, impatient to go. He knew they were getting ready to leave without him. He grabbed at Jacie and gave her a ro
ugh tug. "I said, let's go, damn it."
"And I said I'm not leaving him, Michael," she wrestled against him as he tried to pull her away.
Amidst the horror surrounding, it suddenly dawned on Iris who he was—the man who had asked Jacie to marry him. Iris also knew that after traveling so far to track her down, he wasn't about to go back without her. She knew time was of the essence. If she did not start ministering to Luke at once, he was going to die, but she could do nothing while the men remained. If they knew Luke still lived, they would doubtless finish him off. She knew she had but one chance to help him, and God forgive her if it was wrong, but she had to take it.
Scrambling to her feet, Iris stepped around Luke to tear Jacie from Michael's feverishly clutching hands and hold her close and whisper the lie that might save Luke. "He's dead. And there is nothing here for you any longer. Go with this man who has come so far to claim you, Jacie. He loves you. He'll take care of you. Forget this happened. Forget me. Please. You have to do it. The warriors will be coming. I sent one of the older boys on Luke's horse to find them. They'll kill Michael and his men if they are still here. Don't let anyone else die. Go. Now." She gave her a gentle shove.
Jacie shook her head and flung herself against her mother. She was having difficulty thinking amidst the choking grief. Luke was dead. Her life, her love, was over. But she still had her mother. "I won't leave without you!" she cried. "Come with us. I'll take care of you."
"No." Iris pressed a finger against Jacie's lips to silence her plea. "This is my world. I will never leave it. Go back to your own and never look back."
Jacie felt a daze descending over her. Michael was drawing her away from her mother's arms, and Jacie allowed him to do so, for the expression on her mother's face told her it was no use to argue.
It was over.
"Blake, come on," Pete yelled from where he sat on his horse, holding Michael's by the reins.
Michael took Jacie and ran with her to his horse, lifting her up and then swinging up in front of her. She waved one last time at Iris, who stood beside Luke's body. "Dear God," she whispered brokenly to herself, "to find her after all these years and then leave her, it's not right. It's just not right." She crammed her fist against her mouth to keep from screaming.
Michael was hell-bent on getting out of there. Later, he would want to hear everything, like why she was so damn stricken over the Indian's death, but for the moment, there wasn't time, except that he could not resist asking as he set the horse into a gallop, "Who are you talking about, Jacie?"
And her next words nearly jolted him right out of the saddle.
"My mother," she said quietly, painfully. "I'm talking about my mother."
Chapter 26
Michael managed to convince himself that Jacie had, for the time being, gone daft. That was also what he told his men. She had been through so much the past months—it was enough to make anyone go crazy. The thing to do was to leave her alone, except to urge her to take food and water, and get her home as quickly as possible. Then there would be time for talking. For now, she could only withdraw and dwell on the horror she had endured, and when she was ready, she would put it all behind her.
But despite his pretense of confidence, Michael was an inner cauldron of turmoil. The image of Jacie's grief and hysteria over the dead Indian was burned in his mind. What had she been thinking? The man was a barbarian. He had taken her from another of his kind, yes, but that made him no less evil, for he had held her against her will.. hadn't he?
He could easily see that Jacie had not been relieved over being rescued. In fact, he'd had to force her to leave.
And who was that squaw who had come running, whom Jacie had clung to in tears? In her delusion, Jacie had apparently thought she was her mother, which only reinforced his assumption that she had temporarily lost her mind.
***
As they passed through settlements on their journey east, they stopped overnight. Michael wanted to give Jacie a chance to have a bath, sleep in a real bed, and taste civilization again in hopes of hastening her recovery. He bought a wagon and a team of horses, so she would be more comfortable traveling. He also purchased new clothes for her in an attempt to make her feel better. But still she paid no mind to anything or anyone around her, locked within the tentacles of her deep and abiding sorrow.
After what seemed forever, they arrived in Atlanta. Michael first made sure Jacie was comfortable in a hotel, and then he went with Pete to see his banker. Withdrawing the promised bonus, he handed over an extra portion, explaining, "I want you to give this to Joe Clyder's family, if he has any. If not, divide it among the three of you. It's not right that he should die for nothing."
"He has a mother in Gainesville. I'll see she gets it." Pete shook his hand, started to walk away, but then turned, yielding to the curiosity he and the others had harbored all the way back. "Call me a nosy son of a bitch, Blake, but me and the boys want to know what the real story is about your woman. Was she with them Indians 'cause she wanted to be? She sure as hell went all to pieces over that buck you shot. And what happened to the man you said she left with? There's just something funny about all this, and since we'll probably never see each other again, I figure there ain't no harm in asking."
"No harm. But I can't tell you, because I don't know myself, and I'd appreciate it if all of you would forget everything. Frankly, it doesn't make any difference to me. It's finished now. I love her, and I'm going to marry her, and the less people know about what went on, the better. Do I make myself clear?"
Pete respected Michael and would do as he asked. "Count on me. And I speak for the boys, too. We wish you well."
Michael hurried to the hotel. He had waited long enough to ask questions, and he intended to get some answers, because everything had to be settled before he and Jacie arrived home.
He knocked on her door, but when she did not respond, he let himself in, for he had no concern for propriety at the moment.
It was a pleasant room, the walls covered in a blue floral wallpaper, white chintz curtains at the windows and a pink woven rug covering the pine floor. The bed had a lace canopy, and there was a skirted dressing table and a carved armoire. He had asked the desk clerk to see if fresh flowers could be found, and a huge vase of chrysanthemums stood on the bedside table.
There was also a marble fireplace, and a warm, cozy fire burned in the grate. Jacie was sitting in front of it on a brocade divan, staring into the crackling flames with a haunted expression. She was wearing the blue silk dressing robe Michael had bought at the dress shop next to the hotel. He noted with relief that she had at last washed her hair and brushed it down about her face. Perhaps it was a sign that she was finally coming out of her doldrums.
He went around in front of her, then dropped to his knees. "Jacie, we have to talk," he said quietly.
She did not look at him or acknowledge his presence. He took her hands and squeezed them until she winced. "Stop. You're hurting me."
Dropping her hands, he leaned forward to put his head in her lap and murmur plaintively, "That's the last thing I want to do. You're my life. You're the reason for every beat of my heart. If I don't have you, I will die."
Jacie had tried throughout the journey home to hate Michael for killing the only man she would ever love. But she could not, forced to admit he had believed he was rescuing her. He'd had no way of knowing the truth. Neither would he ever have imagined she could have fallen in love with a Comanche and want to spend the rest of her life with him. So she could not despise him. His only sin was loving her too much.
When she did not respond and made no move to touch him, he straightened to stare at her miserably and cry, "My God, Jacie, talk to me. Tell me what went wrong. You don't know the hell I've been through, worrying about you. To think you'd run away with any man never entered my mind, much less that you'd take off with the likes of a scoundrel like Zach Newton—"
"Zach?" She did look at him then, in stunned wonder. "Why would you think I lef
t with him?"
"Didn't you?"
"No. Who told you that I did?"
"Sudie. When you disappeared, I was out of my mind, but I finally managed to get enough out of her that I could figure out where you'd gone, and she said you left with someone."
"And you assumed it was Zach?"
"What else was I to think? There was gossip about the two of you, but I didn't hear about it till after you left. I came back from Charleston to find you had just dropped out of sight. Elyse went all to pieces, blaming herself. You don't know the hell you put all of us through, Jacie."
"What about my note? If you read that..." She fell silent to see his surprise, then realized what had happened. "You didn't find my note, did you? Sudie must have taken it when she took the necklace, because it was lying right next to it."
"Sudie took the necklace?"
"Yes, and she put it in the blanket with my other things. I guess she thought I might need it to sell for money to get home on."
Michael pulled himself up to sit beside her on the divan. "Maybe you'd better start at the beginning and tell me everything." He was not about to confide that if he had not believed she had taken his engagement gift, he would not have gone after her. "Please," he urged.
Finally, she began with Violet's deathbed confession and ended with how she had finally found her real mother. She described little of the events between.
Michael was stunned. After several moments of awkward silence, he was able to say, "God, I'm sorry. It had to have been awful for you. Oh, why didn't you come to me? How could you have gone off with that old fool Indian? I could wring his neck for deserting you," he added, furious.
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