by Carol Finch
When Hawk's cheerful voice ricocheted through her head, Rozalyn pushed herself into an upright position— carefully. She feared at any moment she would lose the previous night's supper. Her head was pounding in rhythm with her heart and her insides were on fire! But she was not about to let Hawk know how greatly she was suffering for he would harass her for the entire day.
Forcing a feeble smile, she accepted the steaming mug and cautiously took a sip. "Thank you," she rasped.
"A bit under the weather, I see." Hawk chuckled as her trembling hands lifted the cup to her bluish lips.
"I feel fine," Rozalyn insisted grouchily.
"Odd, you don’t look it," Hawk observed. Then he offered her a slice of pemmican.
Rozalyn wasn't sure she could face another stick of dried beef, but she managed to choke down her breakfast, only to keep Hawk from mocking her.
"I don't suppose you recall what happened last night," Hawk commented between bites.
Warily, Rozalyn glanced in his direction to find him grinning from ear to ear. Had something happened? She could only remember talking to the pack horse in order to avoid conversing with Hawk, but she was not about to let on that she had no recollection of her actions.
"Of course, I know what happened," she assured him, striving for a bland tone.
"Good, then would you mind telling me why you tried to fly from yonder tree?" Hawk questioned. Noting the shocked expression on her pallid features, Hawk bit back a chuckle. She didn't have a clue as to what she had done. "It seemed a bit unconventional and daring, even for you."
Rozalyn composed herself as best she could and then clambered to her feet. "I was simply experimenting with flight," she said as coolly as she could.
Hawk digested her response, not believing her for a minute. No sane person would take a headlong dive from a tree without a pair of wings, not even Rozalyn. Experiment indeed! "Why don't you just confess that you drank yourself into a stupor and very nearly killed yourself in the process?" He smirked.
Wheeling around, Rozalyn nailed him to the tree with her glare. Hawk was testing her temper and she could not tolerate his badgering, not in her present condition. God, she felt awful. Never again would she indulge in brandy. Besides, she couldn't even remember whether she had enjoyed herself.
"What I did last night was none of your concern. If you do not approve of my behavior, it makes little difference to me. I can think of worse pranks than attempting to fly," she muttered, stalking toward her mount.
"Such as brazenly offering yourself to me while you were swimming in brandy?" Hawk suggested, grinning rakishly. "Perhaps you intend to shrug off what happened between us, but it was a night I will long remember. . . ."
Rozalyn broke stride, and her mouth gaped as she pivoted around to face his ornery smile. My God, had she seduced the very man who had broken her heart, the man who was using her as a ploy to barter with her father? True, she had heavily indulged in brandy, but she hadn't completely lost her mind . . . had she? Rozalyn inwardly groaned at the thought of giving Hawk another weapon to use against her. Had she thrown herself at him like a shameless hussy, coaxing him to make love to her? Had she told that infuriating brute that she actually felt something for him?
After considering a sarcastic rejoinder, Rozalyn compressed her lips and decided it best not to rise to the taunt. She wasn't certain whether Hawk was teasing her or mocking her with the truth. Anything she said might make matters worse. Raising a proud chin, Rozalyn marched to her steed.
It was wicked of him to tease her so, Hawk decided. But he was giving Rozalyn exactly what she deserved for tongue lashing him during her conversation with the pack horse. Let her steam and stew. Let her wonder if she had offered herself to him in a moment of madness. That would teach her to drown her inhibitions in a bottle of brandy. She should fret after her careless stunt of attempting to fly from a cottonwood tree. When Rozalyn had taken that fall it had stripped ten years off Hawk's life. He had very nearly suffered a heart seizure, wondering if he would reach her in time. But the most disgruntling fact was, had the situation been reversed, Rozalyn would have stood aside to allow him to break his neck. At least he had cared enough to rescue her from impending doom. She would never return the favor. Indeed, she would applaud his tomfoolery and wish him harm.
Grappling with that thought, Hawk pulled himself into the saddle for the trek. "I lied," he confessed after an hour of watching Rozalyn squirm on her perch. "Even while you were behaving in a most unladylike manner you made no attempt to seduce me."
Inwardly breathing a sigh of relief, Rozalyn straightened in her seat. "That was a rotten trick, Hawk. I am humiliated enough after carrying on like a lush. You needn't have added insult to injury by proclaiming that I tried to fly naked into your arms to appease some unexplainable craving brought on by the brandy."
"You did not approach me in a fit of passion," Hawk informed her curtly. "Though I would not have rejected you if you had. But as far as attempting to fly from a tree is concerned, you did that . . . and most unsuccessfully. Next time you insist upon resorting to such perilous antics, I suggest you use a net. Had I not reached you in the nick of time, you would have had reservations on a flight to your final destination." Hawk grunted disdainfully and cast her a pointed glance. "To heaven or hell, I cannot say, but I would be happy to speculate upon it."
"Strange, I thought this was hell and you were Lucifer." Rozalyn sniffed and looked at him scornfully.
The faintest hint of a smile bordered Hawk's lips before he nudged his steed into a trot. "For you, I suppose it is since you see me as such a vengeful dragon. But I have often heard it said that one gets what one deserves."
Rozalyn pulled a face at Hawk's departing back, but nothing seemed to melt the dragon's scales. Oh, how she would love to put that arrogant, bull-headed varmint in his place! He was delighting in making her miserable. And no doubt, he had split his sides laughing at her ridiculous behavior the previous night. Rozalyn swore she would never go near another bottle of brandy as long as she lived. She could make a fool of herself without the aid of liquor. Besides, the brandy had not helped her forget the man who haunted her, she thought dismally. As soon as the fog of whiskey parted she looked back on the past and she remembered how deeply Hawk had hurt her. Nothing could make her forget how agonizing that was.
The day would come when she and Hawk went their separate ways, and when they did, Rozalyn promised herself she would never give the frustrating rogue another thought. Somehow she would find a way to escape him, to return to the world from which she had come. Then she would begin to live again. But she wasn't going to fall in love again. Doing so had very nearly torn out her heart.
As the sun filtered through the canopy of trees that lined the North Platte River, Hawk came awake with a start. The sound of human voices filtered into, his drowsy thoughts, making him curse in annoyance. For more than a week he and Rozalyn had tracked northwest, following the river. They had veered around a scouting party of Osages without being noticed, but that had been their only contact with any form of human life. Hawk had become lax, for he was reasonably sure he had not been followed from St. Louis. But he was wrong, he thought as his keen gaze circled their surroundings.
He crouched in the heavy brush and then cautiously poked his head up to locate the source of the voices. A low growl of disgust erupted from his lips when he spied three men who were making their way along the river in a canoe. His narrowed gaze focused on the burly white man who sat between two Blackfoot Indians. Jarvis Ranes, or Half-Head as he was called by the trappers who roamed the Rockies, was paddling upriver. Hawk's blood ran cold as his eyes took in the white man's scarred face and the left side of his head where part of his scalp was missing. Aubrey had sent the most ruthless excuse for a man in pursuit of Rozalyn. The fool, Hawk thought sourly. Half-Head might bring Rozalyn back in one piece, but not without leaving brutal scars that even the discerning eye could not detect. The bloodthirsty mountain man who befriended memb
ers of the hostile Blackfoot tribe would make Rozalyn wish she were dead.
Hawk had heard tales about Half-Head's cruel use of women, and he had seen the results of Half-Head's mistreatment of women from the Crow tribe. Thinking of Rozalyn being forced to succumb to Half-Head's lusts turned Hawk's stomach.
He held his breath, hoping the threesome would continue upriver without realizing their prey were tucked safely in the thick brush that lined the stream. As the canoe glided through the water, he ducked behind a gnarled tree stump and waited for the danger to pass.
The sounds that had awakened Hawk had also dragged Rozalyn from sleep. She rolled to her feet, her heart alive with the hope of rescue, and her eyes darted to Hawk who was crouched in the bushes. Then she darted into the clearing to call for help. In her mind, anyone's company had to be better than Hawk's and she thought when she explained her dilemma and offered a sizable purse for her safe return to St. Louis, she would have nothing to fear.
The movement behind him caught Hawk's attention, and he snarled in disgust when he saw Rozalyn scampering toward the departing men. Hawk pounced like a tiger upon his prey, but Rozalyn's cry for assistance came forth before he could clamp a hand around her mouth. When Hawk forced her to the ground, knocking the wind out of her, Rozalyn gasped for breath. She could not voice another word, but it didn't matter. The threesome had heard her muffled yelp and had changed direction to seek out the sound.
Rozalyn was yanked to her feet so quickly her head spun, and before she could locate her tongue and make use of it, Hawk tossed her onto the back of her horse. As the steed galloped away, Hawk catapulted onto its back and tugged on the rope to force the pack horses to follow.
"You little fool," tie breathed down Rozalyn's neck. "Your cry may lead to your own death as well as mine. If you knew who your father sent to retrieve you, I doubt you would find my company so distasteful."
"Anyone's company has to be better than yours," Rozalyn muttered, but when Hawk's arm fastened about her, she relinquished her attempt to jump to freedom.
"Not Half-Head's." Hawk snorted derisively. "The man makes me seem a saint."
"I cannot imagine that." Rozalyn's tone was caustic.
"Believe it," he barked sharply. "Half-Head lives with the Blackfoot Indians who are constantly at war with the whites and every other tribe in Wyoming territory. He kills his own kind to prove to the Blackfoot that he is their blood brother. And when Half-Head has a craving for women he has no objection to resorting to rape. In fact, he prefers it that way . . . with every woman."
Hawk let his comment flutter off into the breeze as they thundered through the maze of trees that lined the river. Rozalyn felt a shiver of revulsion dart down her spine. Perhaps she should be more discriminating in the future when she sought assistance. But she began to wonder if Hawk was purposely frightening her to prevent her from escaping. She wouldn't put it past him. How could she know for certain that this Half-Head was such a vile brute? And where had Hawk dreamed up such an odd name? Rozalyn had not seen the men's faces. She had only heard their voices. For all she knew President Jackson might have been coming to rescue her from her abductor's clutches.
After Hawk pushed the horses until they labored, he slowed them to a trot. He didn't dare stop moving, not when Half-Head was in hot pursuit. Although the enemy was afoot, Hawk was taking no chances. He could never let his guard down when that frightful beast was stalking him. His gaze drifted back over his shoulder. No doubt, Half-Head knew who had kidnapped Rozalyn. The burly brute would delight in settling his score with Hawk, and he would gladly accept money after having his way with Rozalyn. Damnation, Hawk muttered under his breath. Aubrey had sent the most ruthless henchman he could find to avenge Rozalyn's abduction. If DuBois cared anything at all about his daughter's safety he would have looked elsewhere for assistance, but he hungered to see Hawk dead and that obsession had overshadowed his concern for his only daughter.
Hawk's apprehension delighted Rozalyn. She had never seen him so cautious. Spitefully, she wished she could be the one to instill such anxiety in him. That would provide some consolation for the pain he had inflicted on her, the agony she had endured by remaining in his company when she was still so vulnerable.
"So you are afraid of this Half-Head fellow," Rozalyn prodded.
"I respect his abilities," Hawk answered. "Half-Head and I had a scuffle that he swore he would not soon forget."
"A number of people seem to have grudges against you," Rozalyn taunted. "It does make one wonder where the fault lies when so many enemies long to loose a bullet with your name on it." A thoughtful frown knitted her brow. "How did this Half-Head come by his name?"
"His given name is Jarvis Ranes," Hawk explained, casting another apprehensive glance over his shoulder. "But he came by that name when he lost half his scalp in battle."
"I suppose you are the one who raised half his scalp and caused him to become known by such an uncomplimentary nickname." Although Rozalyn was merely taunting Hawk, a wary frown appeared on her features when he did not immediately respond to her remark. She peered over her shoulder to survey the chiseled expression carved on his bronzed face, and she knew at once that she had hit upon an exposed nerve. The deadly gleam in his eyes told her all she wanted to know. "It was you, wasn't it, Hawk?" she choked out.
"If I had not been interrupted by his two Blackfoot friends I would have lifted all that murdering bastard's scalp." There was venom in Hawk's voice, and it made Rozalyn shudder uncontrollably. "Half-Head brutally killed two of my friends for the fur pelts they had collected. And what he did to my friend's squaw is not a tale fit for your ears. I would have seen Half-Head lying in a pool of his own blood if time had permitted."
Rozalyn wanted to hear no more. Her eyes darted fearfully about her. At any moment she expected to see two savages and their ominous leader leap from the shadows. She voiced no complaint when Hawk insisted that it was far too dangerous to slow their pace or take time to rest. Perhaps being with him was not the worse of two evils, Rozalyn told herself. The grisly picture he painted of Half-Head was vivid enough to create nightmares, and she didn't want to close her eyes for fear of being haunted by her overactive imagination.
It was long past midnight of the second day before Hawk reined the horses to a halt and rummaged through the saddlebags for the dried beef that was to serve as their meager meal. Rozalyn was almost too weary to eat. But when he thrust the stick of tough beef at her and ordered her to chew on it, she complied. Nor did she protest when he dragged only one fur quilt from the pack horse to serve as their bed. That particular night she would fall asleep on Hawk's shoulder, content to lie in the protective circle of his arms. There would be no campfire to provide warmth, only the heat of their bodies molded together' inside a quilt cocoon.
Hawk's dark eyebrows lifted in surprise when Rozalyn snuggled up against him and laid her head on his shoulder. "I wondered if I would have to bind and gag you to force you to sleep this close to me." Hawk laughed softly.
The feel of his hard warmth was as cozy as any campfire, and Rozalyn was too exhausted by their hectic pace to rise to his taunt. "There are a great many things about you that I do not appreciate"—she sighed tiredly and her slender arm curled about his neck—"but I must admit that you make a most comfortable pallet."
As her supple body moved against him, he was aroused, but he controlled the overwhelming urge to take her honeyed mouth. This was not the time to lose his head, not with the gruesome threesome tracking them. Sleeping alone while Rozalyn was so close at hand had been a torture worse than death, but this was nine kinds of hell! Rozalyn was sprawled over him, her knee intimately situated between his thighs, her soft feminine scent warping what was left of his senses. She was so temptingly close, yet she might as well have been twenty yards away for all the good her nearness would do him now!
How the devil was he to sleep with Half-Head sniffing out his tracks and this alluring minx using him as her pillow? The answer to those discomf
orting questions buzzed through his mind until the sun raised its head. Hawk did not sleep at all. He merely lay on the ground like a stiff corpse, not daring to move for fear of arousing his male needs. To make matters worse, his eyes kept popping open each time he heard a sound, ensuring they had no unwelcome visitors creeping up on them.
Rozalyn moaned drowsily as Hawk scooped her up in his arms and set her upon her mount. After he swung into his own saddle, he gestured toward the northwest, touching his heels to the black stallion's flanks to start the pack train in that direction. A concerned frown creased Rozalyn's brow when she eased up beside Hawk. Dark circles surrounded his eyes and he looked very tired, as if he hadn't slept a wink during the night.
Rozalyn couldn't fathom how he could push himself without some much-needed rest. Her own muscles screamed each time she moved. She would have done almost anything for a feather bed and a brass tub—anything except facing the man Hawk had described as the devil himself.
The more she contemplated the man Hawk had described, the more prone she was to believe that he had not exaggerated. If this awesome mountain man feared another human, even a little, that man had to be a monster. Rozalyn was in no hurry to make Half-Head's acquaintance and she sorely regretted her blunder. If she had kept silent, they would not be fleeing like hunted animals.
"Hawk?" Rozalyn cast a sideways glance at her weary companion. "I'm sorry. . . ." Her apology was soft and sincere.
His broad shoulders lifted and dropped carelessly. "It is no matter. Half-Head would have discovered us sooner or later. At least now I know who your father has sent to dispose of me."
"Do you know why Papa hates your family so?" she inquired.
"No," he said simply. "But I hope to find out." A lopsided smile rippled across his lips. "At least I am not left to wonder why you have so little use for me. Your father accused me of scheming, but what you and I—"
Rozalyn cut him off. "It is all in the past." She was still nursing her wounds and she could not bear to hear Hawk's excuses. She didn't want to go through agony again. Once had been enough.
