Savage Horizons

by Rosanne Bittner

  Caleb looked up, embarrassed at being caught watching, and the woman laughed. In that moment he hated her, hated all of them. He felt suddenly stifled and out of place, and longed for the freedom of the forest.

  “She says you may come up as long as you mean her no harm,” the French woman said. “Her customer is leaving now.”

  Customer. The thought brought a sick feeling to Caleb’s stomach. He moved up the stairs, and a well-dressed man passed him, turning and shouting up to the French woman, “Thanks, Marie. She was everything you said she’d be.”

  Caleb watched the man descend and go out the door, then looked up at Marie, who stood there smiling. “Remember now. If you get a piece of her, you pay.”

  He wanted to hit the woman, but held himself in check, following her to one of several doors along the hallway. She knocked, and a soft voice told her to come in. Marie opened the door and motioned for Caleb to go inside.

  Caleb went in, and his nose twitched at the smell of cheap perfume and the lingering odor of heated bodies and love-making—if it could be called lovemaking. The bed was in disarray, and a woman with long blond hair stood at a washbasin, her back to him. She wore a soft green shift of a very thin material, and he could see the outline of her hips beneath it, the slim dark shadow of the center of her naked bottom.

  She turned then, her eyes widening at his handsome, manly stature. A myriad of emotions ran through both of them. Caleb’s blue eyes drifted over her slender form. The robe was so thin he could see her nipples and the patch of hair between her thighs. Some of her blond hair fell over one side of her face, nearly covering one eye and cheek, and it was tangled and damp.

  “Hello, Caleb,” she said in a sultry voice. “I knew you’d come.”

  He just stared at her.

  She swallowed. “You look … wonderful. I always knew you’d turn into a marvelously handsome young man.” Her eyes moved over his magnificent build, coming to rest again on his beautiful face and blue eyes. She could not quite read his eyes. Were they full of hatred? Pity? Contempt? It seemed to be all those things and more.

  “Do you want me to stay, or send up a guard?” Marie asked.

  Emily held Caleb’s eyes steadily. “No,” she finally answered. “You can close the door, Marie.”

  The woman left, and Caleb stood there wondering why he had come at all. Emily folded her arms, watching him carefully.

  “Well? Say your piece, Caleb. Surely you have some reason for coming, probably to tell me how much you hate me for getting you into all that trouble.” She sauntered to a nightstand and picked up a thin cigar, lighting it and taking a puff, turning and facing him again, holding the cigar in her hand. “I don’t blame you, but I had little choice at the time. I was deathly afraid of my father.” She took another puff on the cigar, walking to a window. “Dear God, how I hated him!” She whirled. “You were lucky, you know. All you got was one beating and then you could leave and never come back. I never had that privilege.”

  His eyes softened a little as she moved to another table, pouring herself a drink. He wasn’t sure at the moment whether to hate her or feel sorry for her. If not for her cruel father, she might have turned out differently.

  “Do you want a drink, Caleb?”

  “No,” he finally spoke up. “Whiskey and Indians do not mix. Nor, I suppose, do Indians and white women.”

  His words were bitter. She sighed, quickly drinking down her own shot and setting the glass back down. “I’m sorry, Caleb,” she said, meeting his eyes. “I really am.”

  He stepped closer, his eyes still unreadable. “Because of your trick, I never saw Tom Sax again,” he hissed. “I had to leave him alone and lonely, and then he was killed! Maybe if I had been there—”

  “If you had been there you would have died with the rest of them,” she interrupted coldly. “Don’t be a fool, Caleb! What happened would have happened whether you were there or not. Do you really think your presence would have changed anything? Could you have fought off all those Indians single-handedly? No one escaped that day, Caleb. No one. It was either death right then, death by torture, or enslavement. I should know. That’s where I got this.”

  She flung back her hair, exposing the cheek it had hidden. An ugly, wrinkled scar ran from her cheekbone back to her ear, and from the temple down to her jawbone. Caleb’s eyes widened in shock at the terrible disfigurement, and he felt his hatred vanishing.

  “Pretty, isn’t it?” she commented, turning back and pouring herself another drink. “You being there wouldn’t have changed a thing. You’d just be dead now. I’m sure Tom Sax would have wanted it this way, you still alive.” She swallowed the whiskey. “They took me for a slave, because of my youth and my light hair, I suppose. Then one of them decided to make me his wife—after several others had sampled me, of course. I had no choice in the matter. The one who ‘wed’ me was cruel, but I put up with him because I knew I’d be killed if I didn’t. Then my ‘husband’ decided to make sure none of the other men would mess with me, and he proceeded to brand me with a hot coal while I was tied and helpless. He said it was his mark, that I belonged to him, like a man’s horse.”

  The words came out bitterly, and Caleb’s angry heart turned to pity. He stepped closer behind her, reaching out and hesitantly touching her hair. “I am sorry, Emily.”

  She laughed with a note of sarcasm. “Well, then, we both have something to be sorry for, don’t we?” She shrugged and stepped away. “You had a right to hate me. I took advantage of your young, budding emotions. You weren’t the only one, you know, nor the first. You just thought you were.” She turned to face him, her eyes and smile hard. “I suppose by now you’re schooled in the ways of women and are no longer the eager boy who came to see me in the barn.”

  He smiled sadly. “I have been living among the Cheyenne. I took a wife. She was killed, but she left me with a little son. I will go back for him soon.”

  Some of the brittleness in her eyes vanished and she nodded. “I’m sorry she died, but it’s nice that you have son.”

  He looked around the room. “Why this, Emily? Your father is dead now you can make a life for yourself.”

  She threw back her head and laughed. “What kind of life do you think someone like me can have? What decent man would have a woman who was an Indian captive and branded to boot?” She sauntered away from him, still laughing. “I fooled them good, Caleb. You’d have been proud of me—a real warrior. One night while my Indian husband slept, I decided I couldn’t take another day in that filth, never knowing what he’d do to me next. So I took his hunting knife and I plunged it right into his heart.” She tossed her hair as she whirled to face him again. “It felt wonderful! I’m sure you know the feeling of such victory.” She ran a hand through her tangled hair. “And then I ran, just as hard and fast as I could run, through the dark forest with no idea where I was going. For some reason they never bothered coming after me.” She walked over and poured herself yet another drink. “At any rate, I was dirty and wore only a tunic. I had nothing. The first place I stumbled on to was a farm, run by an old widowed man.” She met his eyes again. “He helped me get farther east. He said he knew a woman who would help me. And she did. But she was a madam. Thus my illustrious career began.” She stepped closer. “But it’s not so bad, Caleb. I have a feeling I’d have turned out this way in spite of the Indians. I was already doing it back at the fort for free. It was the only way I could show my father just how much I hated him. I hope he’s up there on his golden throne looking down and choking on his own vomit!”

  He grasped her arms. “Come away from here, Emily. You do not need to do this.”

  She laughed again, the strange, insane look coming into her eyes that he remembered from the first day she had visited him at the fort. She grasped his wrists. “Caleb, sweet Caleb. Right now you remind me of that boy I knew years ago.” Her eyes softened. “I can’t leave here, Caleb. My life can never be any different. You just go on back to the Cheyenne and your li
ttle boy and forget you ever found me.” She reached up around his neck then, breathing deeply of his manly scent. “Unless you first want to refresh your memory on what it was like to make love to me.”

  Their eyes held and he was tempted. But he could not quite totally forgive her for what she had done at Fort Dearborn and making him leave Tom Sax. And for some strange reason, Sarah again crept into his mind and heart. Sarah would think it terribly wrong for him to bed this whore: that was all Emily Stoner was now—or ever had been, for that matter. He needed a woman, but he could not bring himself to lie with this one. There were too many bad memories.

  He pushed her away, keeping hold of her arms for a moment. “I wish you would leave here and change all this,” he told her. “But it is your choice. I cannot make your decisions for you. I must leave now. I am going to Saint Louis to see Sarah Sax again before going to get my son.”

  She struggled to hide the disappointment in her eyes, for she wanted to be bedded by him again, remembering how much he’d had to offer as a boy and knowing he surely had much more to offer as a man.

  “Sure,” she answered. She sighed deeply as she followed him to the door. “What will you do after you get your son, Caleb Sax? Stay out in the wilds forever? There are a few better things you could do with your life, too, you know.”

  Caleb shrugged. “Perhaps.” He thought of Sarah again, suddenly anxious to see her. “I am not sure.”

  Their eyes held and hers teared a little. “Well, I suppose we’ll never see each other again.”

  He touched the scar with the back of his hand. “I suppose. Good-bye, Emily Stoner.”

  She smiled sadly. “Good-bye, Caleb. Good luck.”

  He saw a sudden, horrible loneliness in her eyes, and he was compelled to reach out and embrace her. They clung together in a moment of remembered childish fears and disappointments, two young people whose lives had been led by fate to their own particular sorrows and losses.

  “I’m glad you came, Caleb.”

  “I am glad, too. Good-bye.” He pulled back, giving her a reassuring smile, then turned and left. She watched him go down the stairs and out the front door, then closed her own door and walked to her bed, covering her face with her hands and bursting into tears. Moments later Marie was at the door.

  “I have another customer for you, Emily,” the woman yelled from outside. “You ready for him?”

  Emily sniffed and stood up, wiping at her eyes. “Sure,” she answered in a shaking voice. “Send him in.” She quickly tossed her hair around to hide the scar.

  Chapter

  Fifteen

  IT was a wonderfully warm day for February, even in Missouri, and Sarah’s birthday party was moved to the back lawn. There had been very little precipitation that winter, and that combined with a warm break in the weather left the lawn in fine shape for dancing.

  Terrence Sax had spared no expense preparing the party. His niece’s eighteenth birthday was an occasion to show off his wealth. All of Sarah’s friends were invited, as were many of his own. A small band was hired, and they even brought a piano, the instrument loaded up on a wagon and driven to the Sax residence.

  Sarah was almost embarrassed by all the fuss, but Terrence Sax insisted it was the least he could do. After all, turning eighteen was like announcing she had become a woman. But Sarah did not miss the eagerness in his voice when he talked about how soon she would be marrying. She knew who he would like her to marry, and she wanted nothing to do with Byron Clawson. But as Terrence kept telling her, Byron was the “most promising young man in town,” with a “great future ahead of him, probably in politics.”

  Sarah didn’t really care. Byron Clawson was not the kind of young man she wanted to marry, Harvard degree or not. He was nearly seven years her senior, and never failed to let her know he’d had many women already, as if the knowledge would impress her. Sarah didn’t believe much of what Byron told her. He was arrogant and always had whiskey on his breath, and something about him frightened her.

  What surprised her was that when she really thought about the kind of man she’d like to marry, she always thought of Caleb. She missed him desperately, and found she could think of little else but seeing him again.

  She was not in the mood for a party. She could not help wondering if Caleb had been wounded or even killed in New Orleans. How would she ever know? And what if he was never coming back? What would she do about Byron Clawson? It seemed like a situation she could not fight, but when she thought of Caleb she felt better, somehow protected. Caleb would surely think of some way to help her. But he still hadn’t come, and she was growing fearful.

  As she cut her birthday cake amid the laughter and talking of the crowd around her, she barely heard the small band or noticed the well-dressed people on the beautifully manicured lawn. Sarah moved away slightly from Byron, who had obviously been drinking before he arrived. He had been more attentive all afternoon than Sarah would have preferred. She felt like she was always running away from him. There was no use complaining to her uncle, for he had very happily shaken hands with Byron when the young man arrived earlier, and he had been eyeing the two of them eagerly all day.

  It wasn’t that Byron was ugly, although he was far from handsome. She could bear his thin frame and beady, gray eyes and even his long, sharp nose, if only he were not so cocky, and if only his hands were not so cold when he touched her. He wore his thick, blond hair in natural waves combed back from his face and held in place with something greasy, and she dreaded the thought of ever kissing his thin lips.

  She was glad when a girlfriend pulled her away to open presents, while others served the cake and Byron Clawson took another drink from a tray one of the maids was carrying. Sarah opened gifts of perfume and jewelry and gloves, clothing, and from her Aunt Mary a short fur jacket. Finally came a small box from her Uncle Terrence. She opened it to find an exquisite diamond necklace.

  “Oh, Uncle Terrence, it’s beautiful,” she exclaimed. The man took it from the box and fastened it around her neck. “How can I ever thank you?”

  The man leaned closer and spoke quietly into her ear. “You can thank me by being nicer to Byron,” he answered. “Everyone can see how you’re avoiding him. It isn’t very nice of you, Sarah, dear. He’s very interested, you know. You’re the first young lady he’s been this serious about.”

  She turned to face him, kissing his cheek. “But I don’t like him. Can’t you tell he’s been drinking?”

  The man only chuckled, patting her shoulder. “All men drink a little, darling. You just have a lot to learn about men. Come now. Make your old uncle happy and give him a little more attention. Give him a chance, Sarah.”

  She sighed and looked down, putting her fingers to her necklace. “All right—just for tonight.” She looked at him and smiled then. “And thank you for the necklace.”

  Byron approached them, grinning at her with the leering smile she hated. “How about a short stroll, Sarah, dear?” he asked before looking at Terrence. “You don’t mind, do you, sir?”

  Terrence met Sarah’s pleading eyes, but warned her with his own that she had made a promise. “Of course not,” he answered.

  Byron thanked the man and took Sarah by the arm, guiding her toward a pathway that led through a thick stand of trees behind the Sax home. She followed unwillingly, not wanting to make a scene at her own birthday party. Others watched and whispered about how lucky Sarah Sax was to be eyed by the wealthy Byron Clawson, the most eligible bachelor around, but Sarah did not feel lucky at all.

  Byron led her along the pathway, grinning as he babbled about the warm weather. He led her down a little embankment to a place where a creek flowed and they were out of sight of the crowd. Byron took the opportunity to slip his arm about Sarah’s waist, jerking her around and pulling her tightly against himself, startling her with the sudden movement. She tried to pull away, but the movement only seemed to excite him. He laughed as he backed her against the trunk of a large tree.

 
“Sarah, Sarah,” he told her in a husky voice. “Don’t you want to be sophisticated like the women back East?”

  She turned her face away from his whiskey breath, terrified he would try to kiss her. “I don’t know what you mean. Please let me go, Byron.”

  She gasped when he nuzzled at her neck, gripping her wrists behind her so tightly that she was helpless. The tree bark was rough and painful at her back. “You’re eighteen, Sarah, and you’ve never been with a man, have you? That’s all that’s wrong, Sarah dear. But I can teach you.”

  “Please, Byron—”

  He quickly moved his mouth to hers, kissing her so forcefully that it hurt her lips. She twisted her face until finally he left her lips, but he kept her backed against the tree while his mouth moved down over her neck, searching for her young breasts, kissing the skin exposed by the green silk dress she wore.

  She struggled even harder then, her voice rising. “Byron, stop it,” she whimpered. “I’ll scream!”

  He raised his head, grinning. “You won’t scream and make a scene at your own party. Your problem, Sarah, is that you’re just afraid. Oh, I don’t mean to get under your skirts right here, but the next time I take you out, we could go to a hotel—”

  “There won’t be a next time,” she hissed, struggling furiously. “You’re drunk! You’re always drunk. And I can’t stand you. Now let go of me, Byron Clawson.”

  He only gripped her tighter, his gray eyes narrowing. “You haughty little bitch. You scream and I’ll tell them all you were the one who tried to seduce me, that you flaunted yourself and tempted me and then made a scene. I’ll make you look like the worst little whore in Saint Louis.” He shook her. “Why don’t you admit that you want to go to bed with Byron Clawson and be done with it, little Miss Sax? Are you that concerned about your reputation? Or maybe you really are teasing me on purpose.”

  He tried to kiss her again, but suddenly a strong arm circled his neck from behind, jerking his head and yanking him backward so hard that he was forced to let go of Sarah. He was dragged farther back, and a knife flashed in front of Byron’s eyes before coming to rest against his cheek.