The Maverick's Bride

by Catherine Palmer

  She looked away, doubting for the first time all the careful instruction in etiquette her governesses had imparted. “I am as proper as I can be, Mr. King. I was taught to be courteous to everyone. Especially to gentlemen who are my briefest acquaintances.”

  “I see.” Adam tried without success to suppress a chuckle. “All right, ma’am, I need to talk to you about two things.”

  “Two?”

  “This morning when I went to the consulate I only had one. Now I have two.”

  At that, Emma covered her cheek with her palm and turned away. But Adam’s hand closed around hers to draw her focus back to him. He ran his fingertips down her cheek and over her lower lip, and she closed her eyes, shivering at the sensation that raced through her stomach.

  “Emma, look at me,” he said.

  She opened her eyes as he cupped the curve of her jaw in his palm and stroked her cheek with his thumb.

  “This morning, I’d have stayed with you.” His eyes blazed with a blue fire. “If you say the word, I’ll put him in his place. He’ll never touch you again. I swear it.”

  “Please, you mustn’t do anything.” Emma knotted her fingers. “Two years ago, I heard the voice of God and I knew what I was meant to do with my life. My father disapproves. He’s trying to control my wayward behavior.”

  “By hitting you? What do you want to do that’s so awful—be a nurse?”

  “I’m already a nurse. I’ve completed my training at St. Thomas’s Hospital and now I’ve come to Africa.” The words came out in a rush. “I must find a hospital here. Do you know of any?”

  “There’s a camp hospital with the railway. They’ve got a couple of doctors—Dr. McCulloch, and another one. Dr. Brock, I think. I’m sure they’d welcome your help.”

  “It can’t be with the railway. It must be a place where my father has no influence. What about a mission hospital?”

  “Nothing near the rail stations. Farther into the interior, I think.” Adam took a deep breath before continuing. “That’s what I need to talk to you about, Emma. I need a nurse for my friend. Please come to my ranch and help me out.”

  “Impossible.”

  “If you’ll do it, I’ll take you to the interior. After you look in on my friend, we’ll find a mission hospital where you can be a nurse.”

  “If I go away with you, Mr. King, my father will know where I am. He’ll come after me. I can’t risk it. I must go straight to the hospital and seek sanctuary. Then—when my father and sister have returned to England—I’ll gladly go and look after your friend.”

  “No, it—” Adam looked away, his jaw clenched. “I think my friend is dying.”

  “Then you must go to the railway hospital. Let the doctors do what they can.”

  “I’ve had trouble with the railway. With one man in particular.”

  “Miss Pickering?” Nicholas Bond’s voice echoed through the railcar. Emma sat up and Adam grabbed her hand, his strong fingers weaving through hers.

  “Over here, Bond,” he called.

  Nicholas squinted in the dusk. “King, is that you? Is Miss Pickering there?”

  “Yes, Mr. Bond, I’m here,” Emma spoke up. “While walking, I crossed paths with Mr. King. How odd you should find us here, for we were just speaking about the railway.”

  Nicholas picked his way down the crate-littered aisle. “Your father is awake, Miss Pickering. He is asking for you.”

  “But you won’t tell him what she’s been doing.” With a final squeeze of her hand, Adam jumped down from the crate and lifted Emma to the floor. “If you’re half as smart as a bunkhouse rat, you’ll keep your mouth shut.”

  “Or?” Nicholas halted before Adam.

  “Let me tell you something, Bond.” Adam lowered his voice. “I’m not going to interfere between the lady and her father. But I won’t hesitate to interfere with you if you give me half a reason.”

  “Do you threaten me, King? You’ve seen what I can do when I’m crossed.”

  “I’ve seen your honorable way of handling things, you yellow-bellied—”

  Nicholas’s fist shot out and caught Adam on the jaw. The rancher’s head snapped back, sending his black hat to the floor. Adam righted himself and set Emma to one side. Stumbling against Adam’s guitar, she saw Nicholas swing again. Adam blocked the blow with one arm while his other fist found its mark in his opponent’s abdomen.

  Nicholas doubled over, and Emma cried out, “Stop it at once, both of you!”

  But the Englishman’s face was a mask of fury in the dim light as he charged at Adam. Emma grabbed the guitar and tried to shove it between them. Nicholas ducked and the instrument slammed into a barrel with a discordant crack. Adam seized the momentary distraction to step backward and hoist himself onto a crate.

  “Mr. Bond, please!” Emma watched in dismay as the two men faced off. None of the three in the railcar could afford her father’s disapproval. She grasped Nicholas’s arm. “Truly, sir, you must stop this nonsense at once.”

  He clenched his fist, struggling to restrain himself. “This is not over, King. I assure you of that.”

  “Of course not.” Adam’s voice dripped venom. “One way or another, you’re going to pay for everything you did.”

  Lifting her skirts, Emma pushed past Nicholas and hurried down the aisle. This was why she must have nothing to do with their ilk. This was why she must have nothing to do with men.

  “Emma.” Adam’s deep voice drew her, but she did not stop. “Emma, remember what I told you.”

  “As if such a woman would remember you,” Nicholas taunted as Emma shut the door on them.

  The sun had set when the train squealed to a hissing halt. Nicholas had left the baggage car shortly after Emma. Saying little, he sat beside her father for the remainder of the journey.

  “Tsavo station,” he announced at last. “End of the line.”

  Emma stepped down from the train onto the lantern-lit platform. She put on her white pith helmet and shook out her khaki skirt. Eyes questioning, Cissy came to her, but Emma held her tongue.

  The platform was a bustle of activity as colonists and railway workers poured out of cars carrying boxes, chests, crates and other belongings. Coolies from India, working fast to earn a coin or two, streamed back and forth lugging loads of goods. For a moment Emma thought she would not see Adam again, but then she caught sight of his hat in the crowd.

  “Emmaline, Priscilla,” Godfrey said, drawing his daughters’ attention. “I should like you to meet our railway physician, Dr. McCulloch.” The stocky doctor’s strong handshake and warm smile encouraged Emma. She would talk to him later.

  She ventured a glance at Adam. He had led his black horse down from a car and was strapping on a leather saddlebag.

  “We deem it safest for your daughters to stay the night in the train, sir,” Nicholas Bond was saying. “There’s a sleeping car not far down the line.”

  Emma tried to listen as she watched Adam shove a long rifle into a leather scabbard on his saddle.

  “That will be suitable, will it not, Emmaline?” Nicholas asked. “Emmaline?”

  Her head jerked around. “Yes, of course. We’ll feel quite safe in the sleeping car.”

  Nicholas favored Godfrey with a slight bow. “I shall escort your daughters, Mr. Pickering. It will give you the opportunity to speak with Dr. McCulloch about the lion situation.”

  “Thank you very much, Mr. Bond.” Godfrey began to walk away, but stopped. “Emmaline, I shall visit your quarters later this evening. We have matters to discuss.”

  “Have we, Father?”

  His gray eyes went hard. “Good evening, Emmaline.”

  “Good evening, Father.” Setting her jaw, she hurried after Cissy and Nicholas.

  The platform was nearly empty of travelers now. The black horse had vanished and with it Adam. A sense of emptiness descended over Emma as she stepped into the car.

  “This car has rarely been used,” Nicholas explained, holding up a kerosene l
antern as they started down the narrow aisle beside the windows. He opened a door and showed them into a compartment with two narrow beds. Hanging the lantern on a hook by the door, he stepped back. “When the railway route is long enough, there will be night journeys. We keep this car on a side track for our guests. Dinner will be brought to you within the hour.”

  Emma placed her chatelaine bag with the gun in it on the cot’s rough gray blanket. “Thank you, Mr. Bond. You are most kind.”

  “Miss Pickering, may I speak with you for a moment?”

  She glanced at Cissy. “You may say whatever you like in front of my sister, sir.”

  “I beg your forbearance, Miss Pickering. Please step this way.”

  Emma hesitated, then accompanied him into the aisle. As Cissy shut the door, they were plunged into darkness.

  Nicholas took one of her hands in his. “May I call you Emmaline?”

  Emma leaned against the paneled wall beside her. She had learned to hate the name—her father used it so often in anger. Yet she saw no point in continuing formalities. “You may call me Emmaline if you like.”

  “Dearest Emmaline, I must apologize for my behavior this evening in the baggage car. I was inexplicably rude.”

  “Inexplicably? On the contrary, sir, I’m certain you can explain the enmity between you and Mr. King.”

  He answered in a low voice. “I beg you not to think me rude again, but that is a private matter. A matter better left buried.”

  “It is hardly buried, sir. Your last encounter erupted into violence.”

  “The situation is complicated. Mr. King is an American, you see.”

  “I believe it is not a crime.”

  “In Adam King’s case one cannot be certain. He does not have the empire at heart. His concern is for his own interests—his ranch and his laborers. He will do anything to advance himself. The man has no scruples.”

  Emma tilted her head away, annoyed. She had no interest in half truths and evasions. Something serious had happened between the two men.

  “Where is Mr. King’s ranch?” she asked.

  “Not far. He purchased acreage along the route of the railway.”

  “Does he have an ill person on his property?”

  At that, his fingers stiffened, tightening on her hand. “Why do you ask?”

  “He said someone was ill. Perhaps you know who it is.”

  Falling silent, Nicholas dropped her hand and moved to the window. Pale moonlight silhouetted his nose and mouth. Even though the night was cool, a trickle of sweat ran from his sideburn. Brushing it away, he turned to face her.

  “Mr. King is thought to be a slaver,” he said. “The market for slaves is enormous in the Orient and Arabia. There’s an active trade from the African interior.”

  “But the queen—” Emma paused, a lump in her throat blocking the words.

  “Queen Victoria is opposed to slavery. The Americans abolished it years ago. But Mr. King is from a Southern state, I believe.”

  “Texas,” Emma murmured.

  “His conscience—if he has one—is overruled by the money slaves can bring. He transports them from the Uganda territory. The ill person he mentioned might be a favored slave—a woman, perhaps.”

  But he’s married, Emma’s heart cried out. Yet what difference would a female slave, a concubine, make to a man who bought and sold human flesh? Adam had denied a marriage, but his letter revealed the truth. If he had no scruples about slavery, why should he bother to remain faithful to an absent wife?

  “Emmaline, I tried to warn you. The man is a liar and a conspirator. You cannot believe anything he tells you.”

  Nicholas placed his hand at Emma’s waist and drew her closer. “I beg you to stay away from him. Indeed, I must make clear my growing affection for you. You cannot be unaware of my feelings.”

  She lifted her eyes to his. “Your attentions have not escaped my notice. But—”

  “Say no more,” he cut in. “You have two months in the protectorate. Time enough to prove my loyal, kind and generous nature. Give me opportunity to demonstrate the falseness of other men, Emmaline.”

  She had heard such words of avowal many times. Men were always in pursuit of an unmarried heiress, she had learned. Two months of Nicholas Bond’s persistent courting—the thought was enough to turn her dreams to dust.

  She stepped away from him. “Surely you can find another woman more willing, sir. Nursing—not marriage—is my life’s goal. Now if you will excuse me.”

  “Wait.” He caught her hand again. “I must have you know that a guard will be posted outside your window tonight. But do not leave the railcar under any circumstance. The lions are not to be taken lightly.”

  He lifted Emma’s face to the moonlight and pressed his lips to her mouth. The kiss was hard and possessive. Emma stiffened as a sense of panic rose in her throat.

  When he drew away, his eyes wore a dark pleasure. “Good evening, Emmaline.”

  “Good night, Mr. Bond.”

  Her mouth dry, Emma stood aside as he brushed past her. When the car door clanged shut, she closed her eyes and leaned back against the paneled wall.

  Dear God, she lifted in silent prayer. Why have You led me into this? What am I to do?

  Her eyes burned with unshed tears. Brushing her cheek with the heel of her hand, Emma hurried back to her compartment. She pushed the door open to find Cissy at the open window, her soft white nightgown ruffling in the cool breeze.

  “Sister, what are you doing?” Flying across the room, Emma pushed the younger woman aside and slammed the window. “Have you forgotten the lions?”

  Cissy’s face was a mask of pale shock. Her bright blue eyes blinked as she lifted her hand to her mouth.

  Alarmed, Emma grasped her sister’s shoulder. “Cissy, what’s wrong? You look as if you’d seen a ghost.”

  “I heard him,” Cissy whispered. “I heard him, Emma.”

  “Heard who?”

  “Dirk.” Cissy turned back to the window. “He was calling my name.”

  Chapter Five

  “Dirk?” Emma shook her head.

  “I know it sounds mad,” Cissy acknowledged. “But it was his voice. He was calling me. I heard him say, Cissy, Cissy.”

  “Impossible. By now Dirk is at his post on the border, miles and miles from here.” Emma tried to pull her sister away, but Cissy lifted the window again and leaned over the sash.

  “Be quiet and listen, Emma. I beg you.” Golden hair dancing in the breeze, Cissy stared into the blackness. Dismayed, Emma sat on the bed. She was powerless to dispel her sister’s imaginings. Powerless to disperse her own confusion.

  “There!” Cissy jerked back inside. “Just listen, Emma. Dirk is calling me.”

  “It cannot be him.” Emma crossed to Cissy’s side. She could hear nothing but a cacophony of chirping crickets and buzzing insects. Drawn to the light of the lamplight, moths and pebble-sized beetles whizzed through the window and smacked into walls. A lone African guard manned his station some distance away, his rifle resting against his shoulder. When a big scarab alit in Emma’s hair, she jumped back from the window.

  “Cissy, do be sensible.” She tried again to drag her sister inside. “We must shut the window. The compartment will fill with insects and we shan’t get a moment’s sleep.”

  “Shh! There he is again.”

  Against her better judgment, Emma returned to the window. This time she heard a distinctive sound. It was not a young man calling his lady, but rather a low, stomach-deep grunting. Heart stumbling, she focused on the noise. Yes, there was something outside. A sniffing, searching grumble. She reached for her chatelaine bag.

  Then she heard it.

  “Cissy! Cissy!”

  Or was it the wind? Was it the grass whisking beneath a lion’s tawny underbelly?

  “Cissy…Cissy…”

  “Oh, Emma!” Cissy threw her arms around her sister for an instant, then she ran from the cabin. “Dirk! Dirk, I’m coming.”
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br />   “No, Cissy!” Struggling to free the gun from her bag, Emma grabbed at her skirt, yanked the lamp from the wall, and followed her sister down the dark passageway. “Cissy, stop! The lion—there’s a lion. Dear God, please help us.”

  Just ahead, Emma heard the iron railcar door clang open and shut. Throwing herself against it, she fumbled with the latch. “Cissy, stop, I beg you. It’s not Dirk.”

  When the heavy door swung open, Emma stumbled down the dark stairs in pursuit of her sister. An earsplitting roar shattered the night, stopping her cold. Close on its heels came the sound of anguished screams. Emma held the lantern high. Before her on the grass stood an enormous lion, its powerful jaws clamped on the throat of the railway guard. He lay limp, his long legs and arms hanging on the ground like a rag doll’s.

  The huge cat eyed Emma.

  Slowly she lifted her pistol, pointed it at the creature’s head, and squeezed the trigger. But as the gun exploded in a blinding flash, the lion bolted into the night with the dead man.

  “What’s happening? What’s going on here?”

  The area around the railcar filled with running figures—Godfrey Pickering in his bathrobe, Dr. McCulloch with a rifle at his shoulder, Nicholas with a lantern in hand.

  “Emmaline, where is your sister?” Pickering took her arm and shook it roughly. “Where is Priscilla?”

  Emma sagged. “She ran off—the lion…”

  He clutched his chest. “A lion?”

  “Look!” Dr. McCulloch shouted. “Blood on the grass. A lion attacked here. Miss Pickering, did you see what happened?”

  “Did you fire that shot?” Nicholas dashed to Emma’s side. “Where’s the guard?”

  Emma pushed away from the men, feeling faint. Her healing skills could not save the poor man now. As she sank down in the grass, she heard a shout.

  Adam King rode his horse into the clearing, his pistol drawn. A short, barrel-chested young man followed on a smaller chestnut horse. Dismounting, Adam knelt in the grass beside Emma.

  “Are you all right?” His voice was almost a whisper. “Where’s your sister?”

  Drawn to Adam’s deep eyes, Emma saw his concern. The younger man crouched nearby. His shock of yellow hair bobbed as he spoke in the same slow tongue as his companion.