The Maverick's Bride

by Catherine Palmer

  “You okay, ma’am? We heard a—”

  An air-splitting roar stopped his words. Emma stiffened. Clutching the pistol in her cold fingers, she stood.

  Cissy. The word formed on Emma’s lips, but the sound never reached her ears. She had to find Cissy. Somewhere in the night, her sister wandered alone and unarmed. One of the two man-eaters had not yet made a kill.

  A second roar sundered the night. Emma ran toward the sound, lamp in one hand, pistol in the other. Shouts rang out behind her, but nothing could stop her now. She had seen what the lion could do. She could not allow that to happen to Cissy. Her sister was still alive. She had to be!

  As she ran through the dark brush, she nearly collided with the chestnut horse. Emma set the lamp on the ground and caught the leather reins. Pushing the pistol into her pocket, she jerked her skirts above her knees, set her foot in a stirrup and heaved herself onto the saddle.

  “Wait—that’s my horse! Hey, Red!” The shout sent the chestnut skittering sideways as Emma grabbed its long mane.

  “Emma!” Adam’s voice was far away as she rode into the night breeze. “Emma, come back! Soapy, where’d she go?”

  “Emmaline. Emmaline!”

  The black sky melted into a purple glow, and still Emma rode, calling her sister’s name. As the hours wore on, visions of the guard’s limp body and Cissy’s pale face kept her focused.

  Her sister had to be alive. Emma must find her.

  She rode much of the night with eyes closed against thorny branches that tore at her sleeves and skirt. But as the sun peeked over the distant escarpment, she lifted her head to a sky streaked with orange, pink and lavender.

  Only then did Emma give in to the sorrow that threatened to engulf her. Cissy, her beloved, beautiful sister was so childlike, so trusting. Even now, that perfect body might be lying torn to shreds by a killer lion.

  As the horse ambled along, Emma wiped her cheek. Where was she now? She had come so far, searching through the night, for nothing. Peering across the tall grass, she felt a tremor of shock. This was the African bush country. And she was alone. As lost as Cissy.

  In the distance, zebras tugged mouthfuls of grass, oblivious to the woman in a tattered white shirt, wet suede button boots and a khaki skirt damp to the knees from the long dewy grass. Rolling grasslands studded with scrub thorn trees stretched away on every side. Against the sunrise a grove of bright green thorn trees wound like a snake toward the horizon. A stream ran among them, Emma surmised.

  Far to the south she discerned a great mountain like a cloud of purple smoke on the horizon. A sudden squeak turned Emma toward a gray squirrel peering at her from a rocky perch. The sharp-faced creature had no tail, but it sat upright as it crunched a beetle and dropped iridescent blue shells onto the stone. The satisfied munching reminded Emma of her own hunger.

  The horse plodded onward, and as the sun climbed in the cloudless blue sky, Emma grew hotter. She had no idea where the Tsavo railway camp lay, but a river might lead to people. People meant civilization. At least in England they did. She shook her head as she thought of herself in the heart of Africa.

  As the tired mare picked her way through the grass, Emma patted the damp neck. Riding had been a rare pastime on the country estate. Her father thought it unladylike. True, her legs ached from the chafing saddle and her back protested the unaccustomed posture, but Emma was relieved to find she could control the horse by tugging the reins as she had seen carriage drivers do.

  By now the sun was well above the horizon. The plains animals vanished in search of shade. The grove of thorn trees still seemed miles away, and Emma wondered if she would reach it that day. Her body begged her to stop and rest, but she was too frightened to consider it.

  As the hours wore on, her thirst grew unbearable. Black spots darted before her eyes. Vultures circled overhead. The mare began to falter and stumble.

  As she floated through mists that sifted across her vision, Emma’s mind wandered. She was walking with Cissy beside the Thames as boaters plied the green water. Now they were having tea with Aunt Prue. Cissy giggled in her bright pink organdy gown. They were children, running ring-o-roses around their mother’s skirts as she strolled beneath oak trees at the country estate. And they sang a favorite song.

  “Lavender’s blue dilly dilly,” Emma murmured through parched lips. “Lavender’s green. When you are king, dilly dilly, I shall be queen.”

  Her mother’s skirt transformed into a shady thorn tree. Beneath it, a pride of lions feasted on a carcass. Emma caught her breath and pulled on the reins.

  One lion licked its lips. Four striped legs lay splayed on the ground. A zebra.

  As Emma stared, the limbs became human legs and arms. The head no longer bore stripes, but a thick mane of golden hair around a pale, blue-eyed face.

  Screaming at the gruesome vision, Emma dug her heels into the mare’s sides. As she did, a lion bounded to its feet with a roar. Averting her eyes from certain death, she rode head down. The mare stumbled along until suddenly her hooves disappeared beneath her. Emma tumbled onto the grass. Knives of pain thrust through her sides and ripped into her stomach. A black fog gathered before her eyes, and she was lifted up into a silent emptiness.

  A throbbing heartbeat in her ears brought Emma to the threshold of consciousness. A black curtain hung before her eyes. And there was a smell—a pungent smoky smell that caught at her stomach and twisted it into contortions of agony.

  But it was the touch of a bare human palm on her cheek that made her sit up screaming. Coming fully awake, Emma struggled to stand, pushing away the hands.

  An urgent voice murmured something as strong arms captured her. Still she fought them, unable to see even though her eyes were wide open.

  “Emma.” The voice was one she knew, and she twisted around to see countless pinpricks of light sparkling in a band across the inky sky. She began to distinguish a man—firm jaw, strong nose, tall hat.

  “Adam?”

  “I’m here, Emma. Thank God I found you. I’ve been looking since last night.” The dark face turned in profile. “Some friends of mine found you here beside Soapy’s horse. Old Red stayed with you, although she’s in pretty bad shape herself.”

  Adam reached across to stroke the horse’s velvet cheek. Nearby, a fire crackled, and Emma noted dark shapes reclining around it. With a start, she remembered her search, her frantic journey across the wilderness.

  “Cissy!” she cried out. “Have you found my sister?”

  “Not before I left. Don’t fret, Emma. They’ve sent out four big search parties. Everyone’s looking for her.”

  She nodded. Cissy was not dead. Something in Emma’s heart reassured her. Somewhere, somehow, her sister was safe.

  “Sit with me now. You need to rest.” Adam helped her onto a blanket on the grass. He wrapped his arms around her and stroked her hair.

  Emma longed to tell him about Cissy’s quest, about the lion and the guard, but all she could to do was relax against Adam’s broad chest. Lulled by his gentle fingers, she closed her eyes as the tension drained out of her.

  “Thank you for searching all night for me,” she murmured. “Now we must find Cissy and take her to Tsavo.”

  “Emma, your sister is gone.” Adam ran his hand down her arm. “You have to accept that she may be dead. I need to take you back to the railway.”

  “No.” Emma shook her head. “Cissy’s not dead. She ran away after Dirk called her, and then the lion came.”

  “The lion—you saw the blood on the grass?”

  “It was a guard. I came out of the train after Cissy, and…” Emma faltered. “The lion had the poor man by the throat.”

  “The night watchman? Are you sure?”

  “It wasn’t Cissy. My sister is alive. She may be with Dirk.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “Dirk Bauer. Her suitor. He’s a German soldier. Cissy insisted Dirk was outside the railcar calling her name.”

  “Did you hear him? W
as the fellow really there?”

  Emma looked down. “I’m not sure. I heard something. It sounded like a man calling, but it might have been the wind. Dirk should be at the border with his contingent.”

  “Emma.” Adam’s voice was so low she could barely hear it. “There’s something I have to tell you. Before I do, I want you to take heart about your sister. It’s rough in the wild, but she could have lasted this long. You survived, didn’t you?”

  “Barely.”

  “What I need to tell you is about your father.” Adam laid his hand on her shoulder. “When you and your sister left, your father went down. He collapsed. And then he…then the doctors carried him into the railcar.”

  “He’s dead, isn’t he,” she said flatly—a statement of fact, not a question. “Father saw the blood on the grass and thought it was Cissy. He believed the lion had killed her. I didn’t stay to explain. And now he’s dead.”

  “It wasn’t like that, Emma,” Adam told her. “Your father was worried about you. He didn’t want to lose you.”

  “You’re wrong.” She shivered as a chill wind blew over her. “My father loved Cissy.”

  She left Adam’s arms to stand alone in the darkness. Her father was dead. How many times had she thought she would welcome those words? And now? Now she felt cold and empty. She felt nothing—not even the presence of God, who had sustained her through so many years of disappointment and pain. Her once-shining path to the future had vanished in a mist of confusion, dread, sorrow.

  A movement from the fire drew her attention. Emma glanced over at the cluster of men. Or were they women? Light danced on elaborate braids and long, pierced earlobes.

  They conversed in a rhythmic language as one rose and nodded at Adam. Emma knew by the ropy biceps and sinewed legs that this was a man. He wore a beaded leather sheet fastened at one shoulder and carried a spear with a leaf-shaped blade.

  The rancher spoke several words to the warrior, who turned to offer Emma a long dry gourd. She accepted it, and Adam removed a leather cap from its neck end.

  “Take a drink, Emma. It’s not water, but it will do you good.”

  She lifted the gourd to her lips. A sour, nauseating odor filled her nostrils as a liquid that tasted of curdled, salty milk slid onto her tongue. Suppressing a gag, she managed to swallow. Once the concoction was down, her stomach began to unknot and grow warmer.

  “Thank you.” She told the African man as she pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her mouth. “Most unusual.”

  Adam’s grin softened his somber features. “It’s a mixture of cow’s blood and milk.”

  Emma felt her face drain, but she kept her voice steady. “Milk and blood. I see. And who are these gentlemen—your slaves?”

  He frowned. “They’re not exactly gentlemen, and I don’t have slaves. These are warriors from the Maasai tribe. Kiriswa shared his calabash with you.”

  The warrior said a few words to Adam, who translated for Emma. “They want to take us to their village for the night. It’s not far.”

  As he spoke, the men doused the campfire with dirt. In the sudden blackness, Emma knew a wave of fear. But a warm arm circled her shoulders.

  “I hope you’re good for a little more riding tonight.” Adam said. “I’ll protect you now.”

  He mounted the black horse, then bent over to lift Emma up behind him. She said nothing as she slipped her arms around his chest and felt the horse begin its rhythmic stride.

  As night closed around them, Adam found it hard to keep his attention on the ride. Emma had rested her cheek on his back and her soft hair brushed his neck. There was something about the way she molded against him, her arms wrapped tightly and her hands warm on his chest.

  Any man would be interested in a woman like Emma. What he didn’t like to admit was the growing certainty that she was more than just another woman. He had begun to care what happened to her. Snapping off the thought as though it were poison, he returned his focus to the trail and the line of tall men walking in silence ahead of the horse.

  “You’re wearing the same shirt and vest you had on earlier,” Emma said, her voice drowsy. “Did you look for me a full day without stopping?”

  “I wanted to get you safely back to Tsavo. I knew you’d want to be there—the situation with your father. You feeling all right, Emma?”

  “I feel…odd.” She was crying, he realized. Where her cheek rested on his back, his shirt was damp. “I can’t imagine my father dead. I hardly know what to think. Life has always been the same. I hoped and planned, but I doubted it could be different. I should mourn my father, yet I can only think of Cissy.”

  She fell silent, and Adam covered her hands with his. “Try to believe your sister is alive,” he said.

  “I do believe it and I must find her. I shall need help doing it.”

  Before he could think of a response, he saw the warriors break into a lope. A fire glowed red in the distance. One man began a low chant, echoed by the others.

  As they neared the light, Adam distinguished the outlines of low earthen mounds surrounded by a high fence of piled dead thorn brush. The group entered single file through a narrow opening to find the trampled area inside almost deserted.

  The warriors melted into the darkness, leaving Emma and Adam alone with Kiriswa. Adam kicked a leg over his saddle horn and slid down. He lifted Emma to the ground, set her on her feet and braced her to be sure she could stand. Then he spotted a gnarled old man sauntering into the clearing.

  “Entasupai,” the Maasai growled the familiar greeting and spat into his hand.

  Adam grasped it without hesitation and gave the response. “Hepa.”

  He took a moment to explain the situation, his effort at speaking the Maa language stumbling over the description of the railway, the missing sister and the dead father. Then he introduced Emma.

  “Sendeyo.” The man slapped his hand across his chest.

  Adam smiled. “That’s his name—Sendeyo. He’s the chief elder of the tribe.”

  Emma gave a polite nod. “So pleased to meet you, sir.”

  “Sendeyo asked if you’d like to sleep in one of his wives’ huts,” Adam told her. “Frankly, I’d recommend—”

  “No.” She caught his sleeve. “I can’t sleep now. There’s no time. I must speak to you at once.”

  “You need to rest, Emma.” Frowning, he looked down at her. Starlight silvered her soft shoulders, and the breeze played with her hair.

  “Adam, please.” She took his hand in hers. “I have a business proposal for you.”

  “In the middle of the night?”

  “I cannot delay. My sister’s life depends on it. I’ve been weighing this since you found me and it is the only solution. I have a proposal for you. Strictly a business proposal, you understand. We must marry.”

  Adam’s mouth fell open. He stepped back and took off his hat. Flustered, he turned on his heel and took two long strides. He glanced back, disbelief washing through him.

  Finally he managed to croak, “Marry?”

  “I need your help to find my sister. I believe Cissy may have truly heard Dirk. To learn if he’s missing from his post requires a journey to the border. Then I must go into the bush in search of them. Cissy needs me. She hasn’t a clue how to survive on her own. Or with a man she barely knows.”

  “You barely know me. What does a marriage between us have to do with finding your sister?”

  “You know the protectorate, Adam. How to speak to the people and find your way about.” Emma’s green eyes blazed hotter than the fire. “And you need money for your ranch. I need money, too—but unless I’m married, I cannot touch my inheritance. If you agree to the partnership, I shall pay you the sum of two thousand pounds. We’ll take the train back to Mombasa and make a draw from the bank on my affidavit of marriage. That will provide the funds I need to finance my search for Cissy. We must have supplies, horses, tents.”

  He was trying to think of a response when Emma spoke aga
in. “After two months, whether we have found Cissy or not…” She looked away, her face drawn. “No matter what, we’ll dissolve the partnership, and I shall pay you what I promised.”

  “But we’d be…married.” He shook his head. “For two months, you’d be my wife.”

  “Only the bank in Mombasa and its affiliate in England will know. You’ll soon be free of me.”

  “And you’ll be free, too.”

  “To find a hospital that needs my service, yes.”

  “Emma, I can’t—”

  “But you can! Think of it—two thousand pounds. For your ranch. Think what you could do with that much money. And all you would have to do is help me find Cissy. Please, sir, just help me.”

  Adam studied the brim of his hat in silence. He straightened the braided leather band and slid his hand through the crown’s center crease.

  The woman was crazy. Why would he even consider her half-cocked scheme? He’d be loco to haul a citified Englishwoman around the countryside searching for a sister who was probably dead.

  But Emma did have guts, and Adam was ripe for a challenge—if he could get what he wanted from her.

  He looked up. “I’ll do it on one condition. You come to my ranch and tend to my friend after our visit to the border.”

  “Impossible! If I stop even for a day, something might happen to Cissy. You cannot ask that of me.”

  He shrugged. “I’m not crazy about the idea anyway. Marriage isn’t much my style.”

  Shucking his hat onto the back of his head, he gave her a long look before turning toward his horse.

  “Wait!” Emma caught his arm. “All right, I’ll do it. I’ll see your friend. But I won’t stay long, Adam. You don’t know Cissy as I do. If she’s still alive, she’ll be frantic. She can’t do anything without help. She can’t fix her hair or lace her corset or—”

  “If she’s out in the bush with a runaway German soldier, she’s going to have a lot more to worry about than lacing her corset.”