Savage Thunder ww-2

by Johanna Lindsey

  “There, you see, Vana, a perfectly good reason. And what’s more, Longnose has been temporarily misled thanks to the detour Colt insisted on this morning. We couldn’t be in more capable hands, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Vanessa nodded, but her attention was still on Colt, watching for his reaction. She couldn’t fault Jocelyn’s ageold tactics. She had let the man know his company was desired, had been shyly avoiding his gaze as if she didn’t dare look at him for fear her feelings would be blatantly clear, and now was using flattery. But none of it seemed to be working on the man, at least not as one would expect. If anything, the more agreeable Jocelyn was, the more disturbed he seemed.

  Did he grasp the situation and just want no part of it? Or were his the actions of a man who had decided he couldn’t have what he wanted? Now there was a thought, but one Vanessa couldn’t very well pursue.

  She wondered if she ought to mention it to Jocelyn. No, best let the girl proceed in her own way.

  Besides, the answer couldn’t be had without direct questioning, and Jocelyn might be straightforward on most subjects, but Vanessa hoped she had sense enough not to broach this one. The embarrassment that could arise didn’t bear thinking of.

  Neither woman could have known that Colt would have welcomed a little straightforwardness at this point, for he still didn’t understand the duchess’s motivations in the least. That she could want him, knowing what he was, was the last thing that might occur to him.

  But his wanting her was getting out of hand, and being this near to her again was just making it worse. It had been a bad mistake to come in here, even with his anger to sustain him. With the anger gone now, he needed to get the hell away and fast.

  He did just that the moment the tent flap opened again with the servant bearing the brandy on a silver tray. “Ladies,” was all he said in parting before stalking toward the exit. But he did first snatch the bottle from the startled maid. At least there was something of Jocelyn’s that he could have without guilt, and he damn well needed it tonight.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Fox the next several days Jocelyn saw nothing of Colt, though she had assurances from others that he hadn’t deserted them. He was simply gone before she awoke, and did not return until after she had retired for the night. It was not unreasonable that she should worry about him during these long absences as they moved through what was considered the very heart of Apache country, but it was unusual. There had been much to worry about these past three years, but not since Edward had she focused her concern on one man in particular.

  So when Colt showed up one afternoon to ride at the head of the cavalcade, Jocelyn was not the only one who felt there must be a specific reason for it. That he offered no explanation was typical of him.

  Getting voluntary information out of Colt Thunder was harder than finding water in this arid region. And if she hadn’t already guessed that her men had formed a distinct dislike for him, the fact that not one of them would appease his curiosity by questioning him proved it.

  She could have done so herself. It would only have been a matter of raising her voice a little since she was riding up with the driver of her coach while Vanessa napped inside. She thought about it for about two seconds. But she had caught a glimpse of his face when he rode up, and quite frankly, he had never looked more unapproachable.

  She couldn’t help feeling a certain apprehension now, an anticipation of something about to happen, especially as she stared at the rigid set of Colt’s back as he continued to lead them forward. It was still another half hour, however, before the tense waiting came to an end.

  There was what could only in very generous terms be described as a hill in the near distance, and on top of the tiny mound sat six mounted riders. Jocelyn’s front guards drew up the moment the small group was sighted, but when Colt continued on, she indicated they should follow. The strangers weren’t identifiable yet, nor were they doing anything except sitting there watching the cavalcade’s approach. If it was Longnose. well, Jocelyn almost wished it was. To bor-row one of the region’s more colorful phrases, this was one “showdown” long overdue.

  But no such luck. As they drew nearer the hill, it became clear that they were to be treated to their first sight of some genuine American Indians, but closer still gave an indication that these were not of the tame variety, not with so many cartridge belts in evidence, some used merely as belts, some crossed as bandoliers. Still, there was nothing to be truly alarmed about, not with so few of them. Her guard alone doubled their number. Even so, Jocelyn found herself holding her breath as the Indians began to descend their hill, slowly and in single file, and in a direction that would put them directly in the path the cavalcade now moved.

  Colt reined in this time, and everyone behind him immediately followed suit. After a moment, Sir Par-ker moved up beside him and they shared a few words; then Colt rode forward to speak with the Indians.

  Pearson, who was driving the lead coach today, leaned toward Jocelyn to whisper, “I thought these blokes were supposed t’ be skilled archers.”

  She could see what prompted the remark, since not a bow or an arrow was in sight. “These are modern times, Mr. Pearson. It’s not surprising they’ve discovered the rifle to be a more handy weapon for killing— game.”

  “Game’s a mite scarce in this area. Would they be wantin’ some food or such, do you think?”

  “That, or perhaps a toll for crossing their land,” she replied with a good deal of relief. “Yes, that would seem logical, wouldn’t it? What other reason could they. have.?”

  Her attention centered immediately on Colt as he reached the Indians, who had lined up to face him.

  Some words were exchanged, but the distance was too far for Jocelyn to hear any of them, and she could only wonder about the excessive use of hand motions between Colt and the Indian leader to emphasize whatever they were discussing.

  Fortunately, it didn’t take long. Colt yanked his horse about, and Jocelyn had already asked for assistance and was on the ground when he reached her. Unfortunately, his expression was so grim she was back to holding her breath again, at least until he had dismounted, took her arm, and led her a few feet away from the others.

  “They want your stallion,” he said without pre-amble.

  Equally to the point, Jocelyn replied, “Sir George is not for sale, at any price.”

  “I didn’t say they want to buy him, Duchess.”

  “But. you don’t mean they’re demanding Sir George in payment to let us cross this way?”

  “No, I don’t. TheyVe got no business in this area themselves. Those are renegade Apaches.”

  “As in the kind that ‘raid across the border,’ this side of the border?”

  The hesitant way she said that almost made him grin. “Now you got the picture.”

  She sensed his condescension and her chin came up. “And if I don’t choose to give them Sir George?”

  “They don’t usually ask before they take,” he replied patiently. “They spotted us yesterday and could’ve made the attempt to steal the stallion last night. I think they’ve taken you folks for Easterners, the reason for this brazenness on their part. They’re pretty confident you’re scared out of your minds right about now and will give up the horse without a hitch.”

  “Are they indeed?” she snorted.

  He did grin this time. “So what’s it to be?”

  “This is absurd,” she said, glaring over his shoulder at the group of waiting Indians. “What can they do?

  We outnumber them more than three to one. And need I remind you I am also a skilled shot?”

  He admired her gumption, but she didn’t really know what she was dealing with here. “You ever kill a man before?”

  “Certainly not,” she replied. “Nor do I have to kill one to disarm him.”

  She said that with such confidence he didn’t doubt it, so he said no more on that point. “Let me lay it on the line for you, Duchess. You can turn them away empty-ha
nded and they’ll go, but you can bet your sweet. they’ll be back with reinforcements. A few days from now, a week, you won’t know when, and it isn’t likely they’ll give warning either, since it’s to their advantage to attack at night, when most of us are asleep. Then they won’t just be after the stallion, but everything you’ve got, especially your lives.”

  “I won’t give up my stallion, for any reason,” she said with stubborn determination. “He’s the future of my stud farm.”

  “Lady, it’s not as if you need a business to earn your keep, is it? Or was I mistaken in thinking you’re so rich money has little meaning to you?”

  They were moving into dangerous ground here, if his tone was any indication. “Whatever wealth is at my disposal, life still needs meaning, Colt, and breeding the finest Thoroughbreds gives me that.” It was why she had finally allowed Sir George to cover the three mares after she made twenty-one, because she had thought her wandering days were over at last. More fool she.

  Suddenly an alternate solution occurred to her. “What if I offer them one of my mares?”

  His brows shot up in surprise. “You’d do that?”

  “I don’t want to, but if it will keep them from attacking us at a later date, yes, of course I will. I won’t risk my people needlessly.”

  He slowly shook his head. “It won’t work. The leader of this raiding party has set his sights on the stallion. A horse like that would raise his prestige among his followers so much, he’s willing to die to possess it. But I’ll make a deal with you. If I can manage to send them on their way with you still in possession of all your horseflesh-”

  “Do you mean to tell me you’ve had another solution to this dilemma all along and failed to mention it?”

  “I guess you could say that. But I’m not doing it for nothing, Duchess. It’ll cost you—”

  “You can’t be serious!” she gasped. “After what I’m already paying you—”

  “— a filly from one of your mares. that is, if your stallion is the one that sired those they’re presently carrying.” N

  For a long moment she just stared at him. There was some surprise that he knew the mares were already carrying her future breeding stock, when they weren’t due to foal until spring. But mostly she was amazed at his gall. He couldn’t just get rid of those Indians as part of his job, could he? No, that would be too magnanimous of him, the blasted blackguard.

  “Is that your deal?” she asked tightly. “Those Apaches leave and bother us no more, and you get a mare from Sir George?” At his curt nod, she added, “Just how do you intend to get them to leave?”

  “That’s my business, Duchess. Is it a deal?”

  “Since you leave me no other choice—”

  “Good,” he cut her off, impatient now. “Keep your men here, and I would suggest you and the other women stay in the coaches and don’t watch.”

  Don’t watch? “Don’t watch what?” she demanded, but he had already turned back toward his horse and didn’t hear her, or chose not to answer. Whichever, she was annoyed enough not to ask again.

  Slowly she walked back to the coach and was about to join Vanessa, who must still be sleeping since she had yet to inquire why they had halted. And then Jocelyn stopped, even more annoyed to realize she was doing just what Colt had ordered her to do.

  She moved around the coach to the shaded side and stood there to see how long it would take Colt to convince the Indians to leave. It had better take the rest of the afternoon for what it was costing her. But it was no more than a couple of minutes before Colt was about-facing again.

  Jocelyn stiffened. That easy? That no-good, rotten opportunist! But no, he rode only halfway back. And one of the Indians followed him, dismounting when he did, about twenty yards away from both interested parties.

  So they were going to talk privately. Very well. She could see where that would be to Colt’s advantage.

  He was probably going to make certain ungentlemanly threats. After all, he was much taller than the Apache, and broader in frame. The full-blooded In-dian was in fact short and wiry, to the point of looking undernourished.

  But they didn’t do any more talking. The Apache, whose bare, knobby knees showed between his high moccasins and a yellowed cloth that hung halfway down his thighs, put his rifle down. His loose, long-sleeved cotton shirt was store-bought or traded, and he was one of them who wore only a single cartridge belt about his waist with a long-bladed knife stuck through it. Now that he was closer, Jocelyn also noted that his skin was much darker than Colt’s, his black hair worn much shorter, barely reaching his shoulders, and with a red headband to confine it. Small he might be, but he looked distinctly menacing as he stood there waiting for Colt to face him.

  Colt was meanwhile removing his buckskin jacket. Jocelyn hadn’t noticed before, but today his shirt was also buckskin, long, and worn outside his pants with a wide, elaborate belt over it. When he turned to hook his jacket over the horn on his saddle, she saw that the front of the shirt held some type of design in

  … Blast the distance. It looked like white-and-blue beadwork topping the shoulders, but she couldn’t be sure. The extra long fringes next to it flowed across the top of his arms, as well as all the way down the sleeves to his wrists, and each one seemed to have a bead attached to the end.

  He removed his hat next, and Joeelyn could only stare openmouthed as he parted his hair just behind his ears and braided each side. When the gun belt came off after that, she felt her first stirring of alarm. She took a step forward, only to stop as she watched Colt tear off one of the longer fringes and hand it to the Apache before turning his back on the Indian. What the devil.?

  A moment later she gasped when Colt faced the Apache again, and she wasn’t the only one to make a sound of consternation. Her guards were also whispering among themselves, wondering why Colt would let the Apache tie his right hand to the back of his belt, rendering that arm useless, but that was exactly what he had done. In another second they had their answer.

  The two men drew their knives for what could only be called a very primitive challenge. Colt had allowed himself to be handicapped, severely handicapped, since Jocelyn knew him to be right-handed.

  They both held their knives in fists, with the long blades facing outward in a stabbing, rather than a slashing, grip, yet it was slashing they did in this backward manner, the Apache first.

  He was quick, and agile, and definitely going for blood, but (hen so was Colt. Apparently the object of this combat was to slash each other to ribbons. Colt had the advantage of a longer reach, but that was all. His disadvantage was in not having that other arm for balance, or for blocking. If he should fall.

  The result didn’t bear thinking of.

  Obviously, the Apache came to realize that too, for after receiving several slashes across his torso, without scoring any in return, he changed his tactics. He began to leap at Colt, instead of away, and to try to get behind him. When that didn’t work, he tried to trip him.

  Jocelyn finally came out of her horrified daze and started to run forward, but was immediately blocked by Sir Parker. “You mustn’t, Your Grace. He said any interference on our part could draw their fire.”

  “But we have to stop it!”

  “It’s too late for that. Best hope those Indians understand some English when we have to deal with them after—”

  Her total loss of color silenced him. After Colt was dead? Did they all think he didn’t have a chance?

  No, he couldn’t die. She would give them Sir George.

  But it was too late. When she looked at the com-batants again, it was to see Colt already down, with the Apache on top of him. She nearly fainted with the realization she could never reach them in time to stop it. She could only watch, as the others were doing, as the Apache immobilized Colt’s only defense by holding his knife hand to the ground with his own left hand and prepared to stab him with the right.

  Jocelyn swung around, unable to bear witnes
sing the fait accompli, but it was a complete turn she made, for she couldn’t bear not knowing either. And in those mere seconds, Colt had pulled off the impossible.

  He was now on top, his knife at the Apache’s throat.

  “What? How?”

  Sir Parker seemed disgusted by the outcome. “The Indian didn’t have the strength to keep his arm pinioned. Thunder managed to bring his knife over to block the stab. The Indian lost his blade in the process, and his balance, since he was still holding onto Thunder’s wrist when it happened.”

  Jocelyn started to smile, but it wasn’t over yet. Or was it? Colt got up slowly, reached behind him to cut free his right hand, then offered his left to help his opponent rise. So he hadn’t killed the Apache, though the man’s lack of movement until then had made her think otherwise. But the defeated man refused his of-fer, got slowly to his own feet, and moved directly to his horse.

  , Colt waited there until the Apache had rejoined his companions and they had all ridden away. He then mounted up and returned to the coaches, annoyed to see the duchess still outside hers. When he stopped by her, her eyes seemed anxious as they roved over his body, looking for signs of blood. She also seemed relieved to find none, and that annoyed him even more. He didn’t want this woman worrying about him. Her concern worked like talons against his heartstrings, making him feel. Christ, just more frustration because he could never have her.

  “I’m glad you didn’t kill him.” She smiled up at him.

  Her smile brought out his worst frown. “Are you? Were he Cheyenne, I would’ve had to, for my people would rather die than face the disgrace of defeat. But Apache customs differ in many ways from mine.

  They prefer to live to fight another day, so I’ve allowed him that.”

  That got rid of her smile. “And if that other day brings him back to try for Sir George again?”

  “It won’t. I told him the stallion was mine. That being the case, as he saw it, his only chance to gain him was to kill me, which he failed to do.”

  “You mean you… he… Sir George would have…” She gritted her teeth for a second in extreme agitation, completely forgetting her soaring relief of a moment ago that he was alive and unhurt. “What, pray tell, would have happened if you had lost?”