The Maverick's Bride

by Catherine Palmer

  Electing to ignore him, Emma started across the street.

  But Adam called out. “We’re going to the bank to get her money.” With a broad wink, he tipped his hat to Nicholas.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Approval to disburse your funds has arrived from the Bank of England in London, madam.” Mr. Richards looked up from the telegram he held. “Of course we cannot make the entire amount you requested…er, five thousand pounds…available to you at this time. It would deplete the bank’s resources. I’m certain you understand.”

  “I require only one thing from you now, sir. Your bank must cover my accounts immediately.” She took a list of that morning’s expenditures from her chatelaine bag. “Here is the record of my purchases.”

  He read the catalog of supplies. “The local merchants will not expect you to pay them today, madam. You could wait until the balance of your funds arrives from England.”

  “I prefer to establish myself as a reputable businesswoman in the protectorate. When my funds do arrive, you are to release them to no one but me. At the moment, however, I wish for you to draft a check for one thousand pounds, payable to Adam King.”

  “Of course, madam.” The banker pursed his lips, wrote out the check and handed it to Emma. “And if you should need other funds?”

  “I shall be traveling in search of my sister, but I’ll send…” Emma glanced down at her bare hands. She had left her turquoise gloves in the street. She slipped the brass ring from her finger. “I shall send this token as proof the request is mine. Do not entrust the money to anyone—not even my husband—unless that person has this ring in his possession.”

  “Of course, Mrs. King.” Mr. Richards took the ring in his round fingertips and held it to the light. “But this is not gold. It’s brass.”

  “As you see.”

  “Very well, I shall look for a brass ring, slightly bent. I’ll release nothing without it.”

  Emma returned the ring to her finger. “I intend to depart Mombasa at dawn and I shall not return until I have found my sister.”

  With a polite farewell to Mr. Richards, she stepped out of the bank to find Adam slouching on the carriage seat, his black hat tipped low on his forehead so that she could barely see his eyes.

  “Did you get your business worked out, Mrs. King?” he asked.

  “Nicely, thank you, Mr. King.” She handed him the check.

  He didn’t bother to read the slip of paper, but folded it loosely and stuffed it into his shirt pocket. Emma waited a moment, wondering if he would assist her into the carriage. He made no move, so she gripped the sides of the Stanhope and climbed up beside him.

  “You needn’t be miffed that I conduct my financial affairs in private,” she told him. “Secrecy is the hallmark of good business.”

  Adam straightened and took the reins. “Who taught you that one—your father?”

  “You taught me that one, dear husband.”

  With that, she leaned back and closed her eyes. They rode in silence. The sun was setting, and she felt so grateful for a reprieve from the heat.

  “Emma?” The deep voice dragged her from the depths. “Emma, we’re almost home.”

  She opened her eyes but saw only darkness. “Where am I? What time is it?”

  “You’re here, with me.” Adam brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. Then he bent and kissed the spot where it had been. “You fell asleep in the buggy.”

  At his touch, she sat up straight, her heart beating wildly. “You must not kiss me, Adam. It’s improper. We established the terms of our agreement.”

  “We established a marriage.” He guided the horse toward the house. “We did do that, didn’t we?”

  “It was a business contract, nothing more. I should think we’ve been over that enough times.”

  “And I should think we’ve been over this enough times.” He kissed her lips. The blue in his eyes mixed with the golden light of the lamps along his verandah, and they shone a catlike glow. “Emma, we’ve been dancing around each other for days now. All I can think about is you.”

  He dropped the reins and let the horse amble where it pleased as he took her in his arms. Dismayed, she stiffened. But only for a moment. Then melting against him, she nuzzled her lips against his neck. His kiss found her ear, his warm breath sending shivers through her…and she drew up sharply again.

  “Oh, Adam,” she exclaimed in a breathless whisper. “You must stop at once.”

  Instead, he took her trembling hand and covered it with kisses.

  Every shred of righteous indignation evaporating, Emma wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders. “I want you. I want you so desperately…but I can’t bear this fear, this confusion, this storm of remorse you stir up inside me.” She gasped out the words. “You’re going to destroy me.”

  “Destroy you?” He drew back. “Is that what you think?”

  “You’ll try.”

  He was a man, wasn’t he? And hadn’t she learned by now the true nature of men?

  She covered her face with her hands. All she could see before her was the woman in the locket. The curls, the unsmiling mouth, the staring eyes. Clarissa.

  The horse had come to a stop near the verandah. Emma grabbed her chatelaine bag and stepped down from the carriage. Unwilling to speak even a word of farewell to the man who had turned her life topsy-turvy, she threw open the door and hurried to her room.

  “Howdy, howdy!” Carrying a lantern in one hand and a steaming platter in the other, Soapy barged into the dining room Emma had just entered. “I’ve got your eggs just how you like ’em!”

  Miriam followed him like a wispy black ghost in the dim light of early morning. Emma watched them scurry around lighting lamps, setting plates and silver on the long table, filling glasses with fresh milk.

  “The fellers you hired for the trek are here, ma’am,” Soapy was saying. “They’re out by the stables puttin’ everything in order. Looks like a good crew.”

  Soapy was even livelier than usual. “This is the first wagon train I been on since seventy-eight, when my pa took us young ’uns out west to new territory. Ma had died of the fever right after I was borned. Then Pa up and died right after we had barely got settled. If the King family hadn’t took us in, I don’t know what would’ve happened.”

  Emma raised her eyebrows. Soapy was a wealth of information about Adam. “You lived with the King family?” she asked.

  “With their ranch hands. All nine of us kids.” Soapy looked out the window with a faraway expression. “Adam was like a second father to me. He ain’t that much older, but he acted kinda fatherly in his way of takin’ care of me. ’Course he always kept himself apart. Never lets nobody know what he’s really thinking, Adam don’t. He’s a loner. He won’t let on that he cares, but he does. That I know.”

  She wondered at this. His intentions toward her had seemed clear the night before. Adam was loyal to his friend and drawn to Emma. But what of Clarissa?

  Emma crossed to the window. The sun was rising out of the sea, a great ball of flame dripping with golds, oranges and pinks that spread out across the sky and onto the water. Soapy had gone back out with Miriam, and Emma closed her eyes in the silence of the room. There was only the smell of eggs and bacon and hot coffee, only the sound of the waves lapping on the beach.

  “Emma…”

  She turned to see Adam walking toward her, his hat in his hands. “Emma, there’s something I need to tell you,” he said. “I’m sorry about last night. You made it clear how you felt, and then I just did what I wanted to anyway. I’m sorry.”

  Emma held her breath as she gazed into the deep blue eyes. She shook her head and sighed. “Oh, Adam. I don’t know what to do about you any more than you know what to do about me.”

  “Hot sausage! Fresh mango juice! Whoa, there. Excuse me, folks.” Soapy stopped in his tracks, his eyes darting between Adam and Emma.

  “Looks like a great breakfast, Soapy.” Adam broke from his stance and walked acros
s the room. He pulled out a chair for Emma, then took his own place at the table.

  “This is our last decent meal till we find that sister of yours,” he told Emma. “Miriam’s had a hand in this breakfast. You ought to taste what our camp cook thinks are eggs.”

  Soapy gave a snort and hitched up his pants. “Now just a minute there, boss. Them’s fightin’ words!”

  The wagon train set off down the road between the rows of palm trees just as the sun climbed into the pale blue sky. Adam had greeted the six Africans Emma had hired. He helped them hitch the teams of oxen that pulled the wagons laden with supplies. A string of horses followed.

  One wagon held the shipment Adam had received in Mombasa. The five crates were strapped with steel bands and padlocked. Red dust rose as the caravan made its way onto the open plains. Before long they had left the sea behind to follow a narrow, rutted trail leading toward the German-British territorial border.

  As days of travel stretched to a week, Emma rode Soapy’s horse. She became skillful at guiding the surefooted filly around antbear holes, beneath thorn trees, over narrow gullies, up and down steep ravines.

  They slept under the starlight, each rolled in thick blankets to ward off the night chill. Emma slept between Adam and Soapy, with her head toward the fire. Adam kept a rifle beside him.

  They ate Soapy’s cooking, which was better than advertised. Usually he created a stew from the gazelles or impalas Adam shot each day to feed the men. They drank water from canteens.

  Emma marveled at the vast stretches of open land as they traveled toward the towering purple Kilimanjaro with its snow-capped peak. Herds of giraffes, gazelles, elephants and Cape buffaloes observed the caravan. A pride of lions sprawled in the shade of acacia trees. There were soaring vultures and marabou storks. But Adam knew the land was void of humans save the occasional wandering Maasai warrior or the rare village the wagon train happened to pass.

  They asked the few people they met about Cissy, but no one had seen her. With each disappointment Emma grew more despondent over the fate of her sister. If they didn’t hear even a rumor of the young woman, Adam knew prospects of finding her were dim.

  Adam spent the days riding at Emma’s side. He took it upon himself to educate her about the habits of each animal species they encountered. Then he taught her about the different tribes living in the protectorate—the Maasai, the Samburu, the Kikuyu, the Luo, the Wakamba—each with its own unique customs and language. She drank in the information and begged him to teach her Swahili, the tongue understood by nearly every group. As they rode, he pointed out objects and told her their names. Hour after hour, day after day, they conversed. Emma’s skin was burnished by the sun, even though she never took Adam’s hat from her head. She left her long hair hanging down her back, where it bleached a light silver gold.

  “We’ve been riding forever, it seems,” Emma said one afternoon. “By this map, the border station should be a short distance to the west.”

  Adam studied the peaks of Kilimanjaro—one smaller and jagged, the other rounded and snow-capped. “Just ahead,” he told her. “In those foothills.”

  Emma slipped her compass into the saddlebag. “I wonder if they will have a bathtub. I long for clean water and soap. I’m sure I’ve never been in such disarray. My hair is a tangle and my skirt is six inches deep in dust.”

  Adam knew she was speaking meaningless words to keep her thoughts from the reality facing them. She had to make decisions now, real decisions. “Emma, how are you going to feel if the soldier boy is still in the ranks? If he hasn’t deserted?”

  “I never know how I shall feel about anything until it happens. I only pray they will tell me the truth.” She pushed her hat back on her head. “Adam, do you know any of these Germans?”

  “Not many,” he said. “As a rule, they don’t come through Mombasa or travel the interior. Relations between the kaiser and your queen are unfriendly.”

  “Look, there it is!” Emma’s excited voice ended the discussion.

  Adam focused on a compound of whitewashed buildings at the foot of Kilimanjaro. The structures were bordered by a fence. Guard dogs set up a raucous barking at the approach of the wagon train.

  “Time to find out what they know about a missing English girl,” Adam said. But Emma had already spurred her horse toward the gate.

  As she neared the compound, Emma’s heart sped up to a frantic pace. Could Cissy be here, hidden away until the English government protested and turned the incident into a political scandal? Did Adam know where she was, as Nicholas had intimated?

  She looked at the man beside her. His narrowed eyes were focused on a group of approaching guards. Nicholas’s warnings rose to the forefront of her mind, and all she could think of was his condemnation of Adam. Her fears contradicted the man who had sung ballads by the campfire, the man who had taught her so much of what he had learned in his years in this land, the man who had protected her on the long trek. Was he instead the rogue Nicholas had painted—a slave trader who supplied ammunition and guns to native rebels, a traitor who worked with enemy Germans while living in English territory?

  “Good afternoon,” Adam said as four mounted men reined their horses before the wagon train.

  “Good afternoon to you, Herr Koenig.” The blond German in the foreground greeted him with a smile. “You are far from your home.”

  At the surname he used for the American, Emma’s doubts surged higher. “We wish to speak to your commander, sir,” she told the German.

  “Commandant Doersch is occupied today, madam. We are training a new battalion.”

  A bilious panic rose in her throat. “But I’ve come from Mombasa to speak to the commandant.”

  “Have you authorization papers? Documents?”

  Adam leaned forward. “Now let’s be reasonable, Lieutenant Burkstaller.” With that, he launched into a string of German words, of which Emma—who had studied French and Latin—could make very little. The blond German nodded twice, then looked back at his companions.

  “Ja, ja,” he said at last. “Very well, you come inside. I shall speak to the commandant on your behalf.”

  As Adam moved his horse in line behind the Germans, Emma turned to Soapy. The cook grinned and shook his head.

  “I ain’t never seen the end of what the boss can pull out of his bag of tricks,” he told her. “Next thing you know, he’ll be talkin’ Chinese. I’ll get the wagons rounded up for the night. We can camp under them trees yonder.”

  Emma agreed to Soapy’s plan and followed the other men through the gates into the compound. As they dismounted, Burkstaller stepped into the main office building. Beyond it, a training ground displayed soldiers marching in formation. All wore the same uniform Dirk had worn on the ship, and Emma scanned their faces.

  “Commandant Doersch, I present Herr Koenig and his wife.” The lieutenant accompanied a slender man with graying temples. They halted a few paces from the visitors. “Frau Koenig brings a request from British authorities.”

  Panic fluttered in Emma’s breast as she dipped a curtsy. “Commandant Doersch, how good of you to see us.”

  “What is your request, Frau Koenig?” The man’s steel-gray eyes allowed no room for wavering.

  “May I speak with you in private, sir?”

  “Come with me.” He turned toward the office building. Adam started to follow, but Emma gestured for him to remain behind. No secret messages this time, she thought. Nothing spoken in languages she could not understand.

  “Commandant Doersch,” she addressed him when they stood in the shade of a verandah. “I must know if you have here a recent arrival by the name of Dirk Bauer?”

  A flicker of recognition sparked in the gray eyes. “What information do you have for me about this man?”

  “First I must know if he is here.”

  “Why is Bauer of interest to you?”

  “Is he here or has he gone? Sir, you must tell me. Lives depend upon your answer.”

  Em
ma noticed that Adam was deep in conversation with Burkstaller. How had he known the man’s name? And why had she been so foolish as to leave Adam’s side?

  “Frau Koenig, what do you know about Bauer?” Doersch asked. When she said nothing, he continued. “You expect a German commandant to give you—an Englishwoman with no diplomatic standing—information about my battalion? You waste my time. Return to your husband. I am busy.”

  He gave her a curt nod of dismissal, then stepped into the building and shut the door behind him. Emma stared after him in dismay. All this way to learn nothing? No! She pounded on the door. “Commandant? My sister is missing. You must tell me what you know.”

  “Emma.” Adam’s hand covered hers. “We’ve worn out our welcome. Come on.”

  “Let me go,” Emma exclaimed as Adam steered her off the verandah. “I can’t leave now.”

  “We have no choice. And there’s no time to lose.”

  He hurried her out the gates and across the open ground toward their companions. Tears of disappointment and frustration spilled down Emma’s cheeks as they entered the circle of wagons.

  Soapy straightened from the fire he had built. “Good news, boss?” He saw Emma’s face. “Uh-oh. What happened?”

  “A little run-in with the commandant.”

  “Maybe this’ll help.” Soapy lifted a kettle from the fire, poured a cup of tea and handed it to Emma. “I made it just how you taught me.”

  She took the cup and mumbled a word of thanks. Through tear-blurred eyes, she gazed across the empty plains. The late afternoon sunlight threw long shadows over the grass as the sky deepened toward darkness, shrouding the looming mountain in deep purple. What difference did anything make now? The meeting was over, and she had failed.

  “Emma?” Adam took a step toward her, his voice full of concern. “Drink your tea. You’ll feel better.”

  She could see the eyes of her hired men as they observed her from a distance. But she didn’t care what they thought of her tears. Cissy was dead. Suddenly she was certain of it. She had failed to protect her sister, failed to find her, and now she would never see her again. Never even know what had happened to her.