by Carol Finch
Rozalyn could tell by Arakashe's firm tone that the subject was closed. Perhaps the chief thought Aubrey deserved to die, but Rozalyn feared the news of the Crow attack would ignite a war between Indians and whites. If Aubrey died a new feud would begin, one that encompassed more than one family's bitter hatred for another. It seemed an already intolerable situation had worsened. Perhaps she could be with Hawk again, but at what price?
Rozalyn slumped on her steed, and as she did so an another unpleasant thought came to her mind. Perhaps Arakashe had decided to avenge Rose Blossom's death by making Rozalyn suffer through a life without the man she loved. Was the chief that vengeful?
Her eyes swung to Arakashe, whose face was set in a determined frown, and suddenly she wondered if she knew the chief at all. He seemed so distant and remote, so uncaring of her feelings and so preoccupied with his own. Perhaps his bitterness toward Aubrey had surfaced after smoldering for many years. Indians were complex, superstitious souls, after all. Perhaps Arakashe believed he was following the commands of Morningstar. In any case, he had set his mind, and nothing would deter him.
Rozalyn recalled how simple life had been when she'd been flitting about the streets of St. Louis, cavorting with Harvey Duncan and his rowdy friends. Now she stood to lose her father and perhaps even Hawk. To make matters worse, another war between Indian and white could break out on the western frontier. The situation was a dire one. First she had been miserable and lonely without Hawk, but now she was apprehensive of the repercussions that would follow Arakashe's decision to set her father and his men adrift and to force her to live with the Crow.
"Arakashe, you must listen to me," Rozalyn pleaded frantically.
"It is not a Crow woman's place to offer advice," Arakashe snapped, his dark eyes nailing Rozalyn to the tree where he had deposited her. "You will do as I command . . . without question or complaint. If I decide to give you to one of my warriors, then you will accept him as your husband. If you refuse to do my bidding, life with the Crow will not be pleasant for you. You will be called by no other name than Mitskapa. You will dress like the Crow and follow our customs. There can be no friendship between us if you will not accept me as your father and the chief of our people."
Angrily, Arakashe gestured toward the pallet and then sank down on the bedroll that lay beside it. "Sleep, Mitskapa. Tomorrow we will learn the fate of the man you once knew as your father."
Begrudgingly, Rozalyn eased herself onto the pallet, thankful that Arakashe trusted her enough not to tie her down. Although she might face his fury, Rozalyn silently made plans to sneak from camp when the chief had given way to sleep. She wasn't certain how she would go about setting her father and his men free, but she had to try, even if her efforts provoked Arakashe's wrath. Eventually, the chief would apprehend her, Rozalyn knew that, and she wasn't anticipating the confrontation, but there seemed no other way to aid her father for Arakashe wouldn't listen to reason.
Pretending to sleep, Rozalyn lay as still as a corpse until she heard Arakashe's even breathing. Then, carefully, she inched away and climbed to her feet to retrieve her pony. Casting one last glance over her shoulder, she disappeared into the shadows of the night, leaving Arakashe sleeping on his pallet.
Just before dawn Aubrey was nudged awake by one of the Crow braves. With his hands bound in front of him, he was shuffled into a keelboat, along with the rest of his men. The fleet, set adrift, was swept sideways across the swift channel before the boats were caught in a whirlpool and spun around the jutting boulders. When the captain less fleet surged back into the stream, it was drawn into the current that led to the falls, and Aubrey knew he had little chance of surviving the drop to the river two hundred feet below. A knot of apprehension coiled in his belly, but at least the end to his misery was in sight. Perhaps this is what I deserve, he thought to himself.
When the keelboat veered sideways once again before lurching ahead in the powerful current, Aubrey heard the crack of timber on the far shore. To his amazement, a huge tree crashed into the channel ahead of the fleet. When his astonished gaze circled back to shore, his jaw sagged for Hawk strode toward the riverbank, Bear-Claw and four trappers following in his wake. The last two people Aubrey would have expected to save him from disaster were Hawk and his father.
He was jostled from his musings when the keelboat in which he was riding clanked against the fallen timber and clogged on the barricade. But his eyes swung back to Hawk who had bounded onto the monstrous tree and was striding across this makeshift bridge. A wry smile pursed Hawk's lips when he peered down at the entrepreneur who had been bound in his boat.
"You seem to be in a bit of a scrape, Aubrey," he taunted.
"Toss me your knife," Aubrey ordered briskly. As he did so, he glanced toward the end of the log, wondering how many minutes it would take for the current to drag the boat into the channel and send it plummeting over the falls.
"I will be happy to accommodate you if you agree to my terms," Hawk said pleasantly, although he, too, was discreetly speculating on the length of time they would have to barter. He could tell by the frustrated expression on Aubrey's face that the furrier was furious to find himself so compromised.
DuBois gritted his teeth, knowing he was going to be on the short end of Hawk's proposition. "What the hell do you want now?" he queried acrimoniously.
"A market for my goods for as long as rendezvous is held in the Rockies."
When the keelboat slid free of the tangling limbs that had halted its course, Aubrey nodded begrudgingly. "A market," he ground out. "Now toss me your knife so I can free my hands!" Growling when he was upended by another keelboat that rammed him broadside, Aubrey wobbled to his feet and impatiently glared at Hawk, who still had not offered him the key to his salvation—a knife. Aubrey was so annoyed that he considered bounding from the boat, but he feared being squashed between the drifting keelboats before he could reach the fallen tree.
"I have another request," Hawk insisted, a slow grin working its way across his tanned features.
"Dammit, out with it," Aubrey growled in exasperation.
"Your blessing," Hawk said simply.
A wary frown creased Aubrey's perspiring brow. "My blessing?"
"If you will give your consent to let me marry Rozalyn, I will plead with Arakashe for your life and the return of enough supplies for you and your men to survive the journey to St. Louis."
"No," Aubrey snapped. His burning gaze drilled into Hawk who showed no signs of melting beneath its heat.
Hawk's shoulder lifted in a nonchalant shrug. "Well, it is your life." His unconcerned gaze swung to the end of the tree, toward which Aubrey's boat was steadily drifting. "After you have plummeted over the falls, I won't need your blessing, will I?"
That remark made Aubrey turn pale, and when the keelboat lurched into the current and bumped along the fallen timber, he swallowed nervously.
Hawk grinned. "You haven't much time. Would you like to reconsider?"
When the boat slammed against the tree, toppling Aubrey, he let out a defeated sigh and climbed back to his feet. "Very well, speak to Arakashe on my behalf," he ground out.
"Do I have your blessing?" Hawk prodded.
"You have my consent since I have no other choice," Aubrey begrudgingly corrected.
After Aubrey had forced out these words, Hawk told the other trappers to tie down the keelboats and let them bobble with the current. When the floating caravan had been secured, Hawk hopped ashore and disappeared into the underbrush, leaving Aubrey to wonder if even he could persuade Arakashe to change his mind when the chief was set on vengeance. But it was Aubrey's only hope that the chiefs grandson had enough influence with him to do so. Exhausted, Aubrey collapsed in the empty keelboat and then braved a glance at the roaring falls. He could not help but wonder if Hawk's attempt to parley with Arakashe would only prolong the inevitable. If the chief refused to compromise, Hawk would not defy his grandfather. Afer all, what did Hawk have to lose? In that case, the
wily trapper would be rid of his nemesis. His absent gaze drifted to the shore where Bear-Claw stood, staring intently at him. Damn, the man was delighting in his predicament. When the other trappers' backs were turned, Aubrey wondered if Baudelair would stroll across the fallen tree to sever his lifeline. That possibility in mind, Aubrey wondered how long he would be bobbing on the river before Arakashe or Bear-Claw terminated his existence.
When Hawk rode into the clearing and prepared to ford the river at a shallow point, he spied Arakashe galloping toward him, a distraught expression on his face. A troubled frown etched Hawk's brow. Something was amiss. After his last night with Rozalyn, an idea had hatched in his mind, and he had appealed to the Crow chief for assistance. When Arakashe had agreed to intercept Aubrey's fleet and hold him hostage until Hawk arrived to save the furrier from disaster, the scheme had fallen neatly into place. Hawk could retrieve Rozalyn, the Crow would secure supplies which would sustain them, and Aubrey would think he had gotten off lucky.
Arakashe was to have accompanied Rozalyn to camp and to have awaited Hawk's arrival. But the chief was alone. Where was Rozalyn? He suddenly realized he should have explained his plan to her, but there had been no time. Hawk had not slept a wink that night, between making the arrangements with the Crow and then requesting the aid of his fellow trappers.
"Where is Rozalyn?" Hawk asked when Arakashe drew his steed to a halt in front of him.
"She must have fled during the night," the chief explained. Then he frowned worriedly. "I thought Mitskapa would come to the river to attempt to free her father. She pleaded with me to show him mercy. Where could she have gone if not to the river?"
That question was already beginning to haunt Hawk. Dammit, he should have insisted that Arakashe tie her down to ensure she stayed put or explain the plans they had made the last night of rendezvous. Confound it, he should have known better than to think Rozalyn would sit idly by when a disaster was in the offing. She had never been the type of woman who waited to be rescued.
Growling at this unexpected turn of events, Hawk wheeled his steed around and charged back in the direction from which he had come. If Rozalyn didn't appear at the river, he must gather his men and begin a frantic search for her. As the minutes ticked by, Hawk became more apprehensive about Rozalyn's welfare. She was probably unarmed and some catastrophe might have befallen her. Blast it, why hadn't Arakashe tied her to a tree?
When Hawk finally reached the men congregated on the shore, he hastily ordered them to search the woods for Rozalyn. The trappers scattered in all directions, leaving Arakashe and his warriors to stand guard over the floating caravan in midstream.
A sickening dread flooded over Hawk while he searched the woods, calling Rozalyn's name. Had he plotted and schemed to find a way to keep her with him without inciting a war, only to have her meet with disaster? Now that he had found a way for them to make a future together, he didn't want to lose her to a grizzly or a hostile Indian tribe. Dammit, was he not to enjoy any happiness?
Muttering at his lack of good fortune, Hawk fought his way through the thick underbrush. He swore if he was lucky enough to find Rozalyn alive and well, he would never let that unpredictable woman out of his sight again. She attracted trouble. No matter where she was or what she was doing, catastrophe was only a step behind her. Why hadn't he fallen in love with some shy, retiring Indian maiden who would be eternally at his beck and call, instead of a minx who would single-handedly fight off a party of Crow to rescue her father from calamity?
That thought forced Hawk to quicken his pace. If he couldn't find Rozalyn alive he wouldn't care what happened to Aubrey DuBois. It was only because of Rozalyn that Hawk had hoped to make the furrier believe he owed a Baudelair his life.
Suddenly, Hawk began to realize just how difficult life had been for both Aubrey and Bear-Claw. No wonder Aubrey had become so bitter. And no wonder his father had avoided contact with civilization. Each man had lost his life force when Bitshipe died, and each man had reacted to the tragedy in the only way he could. Bear-Claw had mourned his loss and had punished himself with self-imposed isolation. Aubrey had developed an armor of bitterness to survive. How would I respond if I lost Rozalyn? Hawk asked himself. It was one thing to be without her when he knew she was alive and well and living in St. Louis, but it would be an entirely different matter to know he would never see her again, to know that death, not distance, separated them.
Hawk gritted his teeth and blazed a path through the thicket. I will find Rozalyn, he assured himself. And God have mercy on the man or beast that dares to harm her, for I will not.
Chapter 31
A doleful groan bubbled from Rozalyn's lips as she raised her head. It took a moment for her mind to clear, but when she attempted to move she found herself staked to the ground.
What happened? she thought groggily. The last thing she remembered was stealing off from the camp while Arakashe slept. She had been riding through the trees in an attempt to return to the river to rescue her father when . . .
Rozalyn moaned when she laid her head back on the ground for there was a tender knot on the back of it. Had someone leaped from the shadows to knock her senseless? Confound it, she couldn't remember anything except charging through the forest on her paint pony. Yet, here she was in the middle of nowhere, staked in the grass, a gag in her mouth.
With a quick intake of breath, Rozalyn glanced up to see the renegade Blackfoot who had once terrorized the wilderness with the ruthless hunter, Half-Head. Panic flashed through her eyes before she was able to get a grip on herself.
A wicked grin curled the Blackfoot brave's lips as he stalked toward his captive and sank down beside her.
"We meet again, white woman." He chuckled devilishly. "While DuBois fights for his life against the Crow, his daughter will remain my captive."
When the bare-chested warrior laid his hand upon Rozalyn's breast, she flinched and drew herself as far away as the restraining ropes would allow.
"Soon I will learn why so many men fight for you," he assured her in broken English. "Once I have had you, I will sell you to the victors, to the Crow or to the Longknives. They will pay handsomely for your safe return, and I will profit from the goods they will offer for you."
Rozalyn glared at the muscularly built brave who waited, like a circling vulture, to play the situation to his advantage. The warrior counted on the fact that the victor of the feud, Arakashe or Aubrey, would pay dearly to see her returned. But Rozalyn wondered if Arakashe would consider her worthy of ransom after she had fled from the camp to save her father. If the Crow chief had become vindictive perhaps he would consider it fitting for Rozalyn to be abused by this renegade Blackfoot who roamed the wilderness, preying upon the misfortune of others.
Since she had been unable to reach the river, what chance would her father have? He would drown and Arakashe would probably turn his back on her because she had betrayed his trust.
Her musing ceased when the brave crouched above her, his wicked intention stamped on his bronzed features. The thought of what was about to happen nauseated Rozalyn. She had faced the threat of rape at the hands of two drunken trappers at the fort, and she had never forgotten her feeling of helplessness. She detested such abuse, and she itched to claw out the Blackfoot brave's eyes, to spit in his face. But she was bound and gagged and there was nothing she could do but endure his disgusting touch.
Rozalyn swallowed hard when he whisked his knife from its sheath and then severed the laces on the front of her doeskin dress, baring her breasts to his devouring gaze. Then she screamed and writhed when his callused hand made rough contact with her flesh. Although aware that her muffled cry served no purpose ... or so she thought.
Like a panther screaming in the night, Hawk issued a warning cry and then pounced. The Blackfoot brave vaulted to his feet wheeling to confront the intruder who flew at him so fiercely he was knocked off his balance before he could bury his knife in Hawk's heaving chest.
Helplessly, Rozalyn
watched the two men strain against each other, fighting for supremacy in the forest. She wondered why Hawk hadn't used his rifle to fell his opponent instead of charging in like an angered bull. But giving the matter further consideration, she realized the click of the rifle would have alerted the brave to an intruder's approach. She would not have relished having a blade held against her neck when the warrior realized his only hope was to use her as a hostage.
While Rozalyn was silently analyzing Hawk's tactics, the Blackfoot brave was fighting for his life. Hawk suddenly seemed to possess the strength of two men. A snarl on his lips, he sought revenge while the brave struggled wildly, hoping to inflict a knife wound that would slow his assailant. But Hawk was enraged. The sight of another man, particularly Half-Head's accomplice, attempting to abuse Rozalyn had him breathing fire.
On several occasions Hawk had seen the results of what Half-Head and his Blackfoot companions had done to women. The lingering vision sickened and infuriated him. He thirsted for blood. He wanted to put an end to the maimings and murders of this renegade.
When the brave lashed out with his sharp-edged blade, Hawk jerked away, catching the Blackfoot's oncoming arm in midair. Then, like a mountain lion pouncing on its prey, he coiled and sprang. With a pained grunt, the warrior doubled over and fell to his knees, clasping the knife that had found its target.
After Hawk was certain the brave would fight no more, he spun about to survey Rozalyn. Breathing a relieved sigh when he noted her condition, he strode over to cut her loose.
The moment her arms were free, they came around his neck, knocking him off balance, and Hawk chuckled when kisses rained on both his cheeks. "You wouldn't happen to be pleased to see me, would you?" he teased, as he scooped her up into his arms.
