By Love Alone

by Judith E. French

  "Don't pay no mind to him." Jonas uncinched his saddle and slipped off the blanket. "He's just mad at his own self 'cause he left Annapolis without ya the first time." He examined the bay gelding carefully for any rub spots on his back and led him to water.

  Bill chimed in, "Said he was glad to be shut of you. We was miles west when he changed his mind an' we turned back."

  "He was shook up some when he got there and found out that old devil Reynolds almost got his paws on ya."

  Kate got to her feet unsteadily and went down to the stream. The bank was smooth and sandy. She knelt and splashed the cool water on her face and arms. It felt like heaven. From the corner of her eye, she watched as Pride led his chestnut stallion to drink.

  Despite the weeks they had spent in close contact on the ship and the time she had known him in London, Kate felt him almost a stranger. He looked taller, broader in the rugged buckskins. His hair was drawn severely back and caught with a beaded strip of rawhide, and he wore a hat made of animal skin. There was a wild, untamed look about him that frightened her.

  It's only Pride Ashton, she reminded herself. He's a gentleman, no matter what he looks like now. He's only trying to scare you.

  "What are you staring at?"

  Kate's chin went up and she longed to pick up one of these smooth rocks and heave it at his head. "What happened to your clothes? Why are you dressed like a savage?"

  "We're going where there are no roads. What would you have me wear? Satins? Silk?"

  "I'm sorry I bumped your chin. Thank you... for saving me from Captain Reynolds. I'd have killed him, you know, before I let him touch me."

  "I know. You don't have much regard for your neck." He hobbled the chestnut and let him graze on the sweet, thick grass beside the stream.

  Kate slipped off her thin slippers and stockings and let her feet dangle in the water. "Why did you do it?"

  Pride took a long rifle from his saddle and primed it with powder from a horn container that hung around his neck. "You stay close to camp with Jonas. Bill and I will try to bring down something fit to eat." His eyes narrowed. "None of your tricks. You're out of your element here, Kate Storm. You'll have to learn to depend on us until you develop some common sense, if you live that long." He strode off into the trees without looking back.

  Kate dried her feet on the grass and put her shoes and stockings back on. The little clearing was beautiful in the early morning light. The sun warmed her body and the cheery song of a bird overhead raised her spirits. She went over to where Jonas was cutting wood with a small ax. "What's that bird?"

  Jonas put two fingers to his lips and imitated the orange-and-black songbird's whistle so perfectly that Kate clapped with joy.

  "That's it exactly. What's it called?"

  "Oriole. That's the buck; his lady wears softer colors. Pretty, ain't he?"

  She nodded. "Can I help?"

  "Look around an' see what squaw wood ya can pick up." He grinned. "That's little branches an' twigs for starting a fire. Dry wood's best, dead but not rotted."

  "Is it safe to build a fire? Won't it attract Indians?"

  "None round here. None we got to worry about anyhow. 'Nother day's ride, be a different story. Might stumble on an Iroquois war party. Only make one mistake like that." His eyes twinkled. "Knew a fella lost his wig that way. Scared the brave half out of his wits, having a scalp come off in his hand thataway. Didn't even stop to tomahawk the fella. Don't guess they'd take your hair though."

  A musket shot rang out. Kate flinched.

  "Easy, girl. That's Pride's long rifle. We'd better get this fire crackin'."

  The two men returned shortly, bearing a yearling doe between them. They dropped it by the fire. Pride motioned to the deer. "Butcher it, Kate." He pulled a wicked-looking knife from the sheath at his waist. "We'll broil the liver for breakfast."

  Kate backed away. "Not me. I don't know how."

  "You never hunted in England?"

  "Of course I hunted. I've killed bucks with neater shots than that one, but the gamekeeper always did the butchering."

  "Skinning's squaw's work, if there's one nearby." He flipped the ten-inch knife into the dirt at her feet. "Get to it."

  Kate recovered the weapon and tested the steel's edge with her finger. It was razor sharp. "Aren't you afraid I'll use it on you?" she dared.

  Pride shrugged. "You can try."

  Bill and Jonas exchanged glances, then turned away to busy themselves with the packhorse. Kate nudged the dead deer with the toe of her slipper.

  "We'd like to eat some time today," Pride said sarcastically.

  Kate held her temper. "Look, I don't know anything about this. If you'll show me this time, I'll try to learn. I don't want to ruin the meat." The blue eyes were innocent. "There's a scent gland somewhere. I know if I cut into that..."

  "This is a doe. A buck's different." He squatted Indian-style beside the animal and held out his hand for the knife. "I'll show you once. Pay close attention." He inserted the point of the knife into the tough skin and began the bloody task.

  Bill brought green branches to cook the meat over the coals. He tossed Kate a sack and she unrolled dry apples and small flat cakes of cornbread and spread them on a clean cloth. In a short time they were enjoying the fresh broiled venison. Kate nibbled at hers at first, then downed several large pieces, surprised at how hungry she was.

  The remainder of the animal was cut up and suspended over the fire to cook slowly. "It wouldn't keep no time at all raw," Jonas explained.

  "We'll get a few hours' sleep while the doe's roasting, then cover some more ground," Pride said, stretching out on the grass. "Jonas, you take first watch."

  "Why did we ride at night?" Kate asked, as she and Jonas cleaned up the scraps from their morning meal. "It doesn't make sense."

  "He wasn't sure if the captain was goin' to send some of his crew huntin' fer us. Best to put a few miles 'tween our backs an' Annapolis. Pride likes to ride at night. That's the Injun in him. Always does the unexpected."

  "What's it like, Pride's home?"

  "Best you wait and make up yer own mind, Miss Kate.""He said his mother lived there," she persisted. "That she was an Indian."

  "Menquotwe Equiwa. It means Sky Woman in Shawnee. She mostly goes by her English name, though. It's Rebecca. Mistress Rebecca is a fine lady. You'll like her."

  "Not if she's anything like her son. Does she speak English?"

  "Some."

  Pride raised up on one arm. "How are we supposed to sleep with you two chattering? You'd best rest while you can, Kate. You'll be a long time in the saddle."

  Kate retreated to a deep hollow of grass and curled up in the warm sun. The sky was a bright, brilliant blue, laced with fleecy white clouds. Small insects droned lazily around her. In a short time she drifted off to sleep.

  The next two days' journey was much like the first. They traveled by night and slept in the day. On the third afternoon, Kate rode the gray packhorse, his lead strap securely knotted to Pride's saddle. The weather continued fair and clear, a welcome change from the storms at sea.

  Sometimes they followed a rough track and sometimes they cut through thick forest or open meadows. The ground became more hilly as they traveled west. Kate was awed by the beauty of the untouched land; it seemed to go on forever. And never once did they see or hear another human being.

  The weeks in prison had left Kate soft, but despite aching muscles she refused to give Pride the satisfaction of hearing her complain. Slowly, her body hardened to the ride and she began to enjoy the feel of the horse beneath her. Bill and Jonas were good companions, pointing out colorful birds and game as they rode. Pride, however, remained as distant and cold as he had been that first morning. Any attempt to mend the breach between them seemed hopeless.

  "Send me home to England," she'd pleaded. "My brother will pay any reward you ask. I've no wish to go to your plantation, or to stay in this godforsaken country another day longer than I have to." She would no
t admit to him the magnificence of the wilderness or her joy in it. England was home. England was where she belonged, not here.

  "In England you are condemned to death. I bought you as an indentured servant. You may as well learn to like Maryland. You'll be here for the next twenty years."

  The black eyes were emotionless, so lacking in any human mercy that Kate began to wonder if the man were truly sane. "You can't keep me here against my will," she protested. "I said you'd be repaid."

  "And I said you talk too much. This is dangerous country. Better to keep your eyes open and your mouth shut if you don't want to end up skinned alive by a Mohawk."

  That night, Kate nodded in the saddle until Pride took her up before him again. She dozed off and on. When daylight finally came, they were alone in the forest. "Where are Bill and Jonas?" she asked sleepily.

  "Gone."

  "Gone where?" She looked around. The packhorse was still behind them.

  "We've been gone a long time. They've got business to tend to for me." He kicked the chestnut into a trot. "Not far to the house." The stallion tossed his head, still full of spunk despite the extra weight of two riders. Pride guided the horse downhill and onto a well-worn path. "There! Through the trees."

  Kate's eyes widened. Set into the hill was a rough house of logs surrounded by a leaning split-rail fence. A half-fallen barn stood to one side, together with several smaller sheds and huts. A dozen shingles were missing from the cabin and the door hung crazily to one side. The single window was unglazed and covered with a rotting deerskin. "That's your house?" she stammered. "Ashton Hall?"

  "Well, what did you expect? There's been nobody to keep it while I was in England."

  Kate shook her head disbelievingly. "No, it can't be. You said your mother lived here. This place is deserted."

  Pride's voice sharpened. "Damn right it's deserted. I told her to put a garden in before she went off trailing her family. Just like a squaw! Come springtime they get itchy feet." He lifted Kate down and dismounted, wrapping the stallion's reins around the nearest fence rail. "Where the hell is my cow?"

  "Your cow? Where are your servants?" She glared at him. "You said you owned thousands of acres... a kingdom. This can't be Ashton Hall!"

  "I got you and the Bennets, and my mother if I can find her. That's enough of us to put in a corn crop. It's too late for tobacco this year. Bossy? Bossy!" A sorry-looking hound crept from the barn and began to bark.

  "Is that your dog?"

  "Red! Come here, boy!" The graying dog inched closer, lips drawn back in a snarl. One ear hung in shreds, a wound long healed. "Red! Damn you, it's me! Quit that growling." He turned back to Kate. "Just don't stand there, woman. Unload the horses."

  Ignoring him, Kate walked up to the house and pulled back the door. The interior was worse than the outside, if that were possible. Something scurried into the corner of the room as she stepped into the house. It was almost too dark to see, so she took a stick and pushed aside the deerskin at the window.

  One wall was dominated by a stone fireplace. A ladder and hole led to the second floor. A rough table lay on its side. The only other furniture in the room was a bench and a boxlike bed with rotting straw for a mattress. A few iron kettles and some woodenware were scattered across the floor. Kate took one look and flew out the door.

  "I'm not staying in that hovel a single night! I don't know what you're trying to pull, but I wouldn't stable my horses in that hole!"

  Pride pushed past her into the house. "Damn Indians stole everything again! Every time I go away this happens. When I get my hands on my mother she'll wish she'd stayed here like I told her to." He picked up a twig broom off the floor. "Here! You might as well start in. Water's down the hill that way. It's a good stream, never goes dry. We got a lot of work to do if we're going to make it livable by night."

  "I won't sleep in that place! I'd rather camp out under the trees like we've been doing," Kate protested.

  He spun around and grabbed her by the shoulder. "Listen, woman! I'm in no mood to take any shit off you. Take that bucket and fetch some water. Then start sweeping! I'm going to ride over to the neighbor's and see if he's got my cow. When I get back, this place had better look like you did some work, or I'll have the hide off your back."

  She picked up the bucket cautiously and backed out the door. He was mad! She was stranded in the wilderness with a madman! She ran down the hill in the direction he had pointed. As soon as she could, she'd steal a horse and ride east by the sun. Anything would be better than staying here with this maniac!

  An old trail led to the stream. Kate filled her bucket and started back for the house. Pride and the horses were gone. Kate's trunk sat by the rail fence along with several bundles. There was no sign of the iron-bound trunk or the dog. With a sigh, she went back into the cabin.

  For nearly an hour, she swept and scrubbed, setting the bench and table to rights and carrying out the foul straw. The house was damp but she had nothing with which to start a fire. She made three more trips to the stream for water before the pine floor was clean to her satisfaction.

  When the room was as fit as she could make it without soap or proper furniture, she ventured up the creaking ladder. The tiny room upstairs was lit by a single open window. The floor was bare except for a pile of acorns and the remains of a blanket. Those she threw out the window, then went back down for the broom and proceeded to sweep the room.

  The sky was clouding up as Kate carried in the trunk and baggage. There was nothing left to do, so she took a clean dress and underthings and went to the stream to bathe and wash her hair. Rumbling thunder hurried her along. A brisk wind turned the leaves upward and made the farmyard seem even more wretched as she ran back into the house.

  She waited, hungry and cold, as the first drops of rain began to fall. What if he never came back, if he left her here alone to die? "Bastard," she muttered. There was a neighbor; he'd said so. She'd find her way there and convince them to take her back to the coast. Just then she heard the sound of wagon wheels.

  A huge farm wagon lumbered around the edge of the barn, driven by a blackamoor. Pride sat on the wagon seat and in the back were two more black men. One held a rope looped around the neck of a brown-and-white cow. The driver pulled the team up close to the cabin and they began to unload the household goods. Kate watched as they carried in a crude bedstead and bedding, two chairs, a tall butter churn, and armfuls of other supplies.

  "They had my cow," Pride said, as he pointed out where to set up the bed. The sagging shell of the old bed was tossed out in the yard. "I left the horses over there until I could get another fence up. No sense in chasing them all over the territory."

  The men completed their tasks quickly and silently, nodded respectfully to Pride, and then drove off in the wagon the way they had come. Kate looked about the crowded kitchen helplessly. There were piles of cooking utensils and bags of flour and cornmeal and jugs of vinegar and cider everywhere.

  "That cow needs milking. You'd better get to it if you're going to put this kitchen to rights before you cook supper. I'll take Red and see if I can bag us a rabbit or two." Pride picked up his rifle. "The house isn't bad, but there are still some cobwebs in that corner."

  "You want me to milk a cow?" Kate stared at him in horror. "A cow? Clean the kitchen? Cook? Who the hell do you think I am?"

  "My bondwoman."

  Kate's fingers tightened on a pewter mug and she hurled it at his head. He ducked and she grabbed the broom and attacked him with that. "You bastard!" she screamed. "You yellow, good-for-nothing, lying, backwoods bastard!"

  Pride twisted the broom from her hands and pushed her backward. She landed in the pile of feather ticks heaped on the bed and he gave a flying leap and landed on top of her, pinning both wrists. She exploded in a spitting, biting, kicking mass of white-hot fury.

  Seconds passed before he got a firm grip on her again. They were both breathless and their eyes were barely inches apart. "You will," he panted.


  She glared back, the blue Storm eyes cold as glacier ice. "I won't. You can beat me, starve me, or skin me alive. But I won't be your damn kitchen slave."

  The black eyes leered. "If you won't cook and clean, then I can think of another woman's chore you will do."

  "I'll cook," she relented. "But I won't do that."

  "Just like a female, always changing her mind." Laughing, Pride got to his feet. "We'll see, Katy, we'll see. For a woman your age, your blood's pretty hot. It shouldn't take you long to get lonely." He retrieved his fallen rifle and whistled for the dog. "Watch out for old Bossy. She kicks when you milk her."

  "If she kicks me, I'll cut her head off!"

  When she was sure he was gone, Kate threw herself on the bed and cried. It was a shameful thing to do. She was a Storm and no weakling, but there were times when nothing else helped. She rubbed at her eyes and sat up. She probably looked like something that had crawled out of a rat hole. She ran back to the stream to wash her face and pin back her hair.

  It would be getting dark soon, she'd have to hurry. Back in the house, she put one feather tick and blankets over the rope bed. The other two she dragged, one at a time, up the ladder to the little room overhead. She added a blanket and a candle. She'd sleep up here, as far from Pride Ashton as she could get. There'd be no opportunity for any intimacy between them.

  How dare he suggest that she hungered for his body? That she would offer herself to him under these circumstances? He would learn soon what she was made of. He had met his match in her!

  She went back down to the kitchen and looked for a fire-starting kit. With flint and steel she could light the wood in the fireplace. In the third bundle she found what she was looking for. Luckily there were enough dry twigs to ignite. Everything outside was dampened by the rain. Once the fire was going, she could light candles. When she was satisfied it would stay lit, Kate took a kettle and went out to confront the cow.

  The animal was tied to the split-rail fence. As Kate approached, it raised its head and let out a low pitiful moo. The eyes were round and large and stupid-looking. Cautiously, Kate walked around the cow. What side did one milk the thing from? One mounted a horse from only one side, so it stood to reason that there was a proper side for milking.