Kelly could see a war of emotions—grief, anger, and worry—raging within Artis. Her face was blotchy and red with both rage and fever. She had to get Artis to calm down.
“Here blow your nose.” Kelly gave her a cloth. “Do you remember Philippians 4:8?”
Artis nodded that she did, but didn’t say anything.
“…whatever is lovely…think about such things,” Kelly quoted.
Artis blew her nose, and after she took a few deep breaths, she seemed less agitated.
“Good, now I want you to drink some more of this broth and then sleep.” She held the cup up to Artis’ parched lips once again and after two swallows, she laid her head down. “I’ve sent for the doctor. He’ll know what to do about your fever.”
“Bear, Bear, please come back to me!” Artis bit her lip and squeezed her eyes, as though she were trying to hold in her emotions.
“He will. I promise,” Kelly said.
“How can ye promise?”
“Because I know the Wyllie brothers. Someday, I’ll tell you how they rescued me and later how they saved the people of Boonesborough from some dreadfully bad men. They’re brave unyielding men, well used to fighting for their family. He’ll fight for you Artis.”
“With a strong hand,” Artis said, wistfully. “Our clan’s motto.”
“I saw Bear proudly wearing your clan badge at the ball. Did you give it to him?”
“Aye, I did. And he gave me a luckenbooth—the symbol of love and union between two people. Where is it?” Her eyes widened in panic.
“Be easy, it’s right here.” Kelly retrieved the beautiful brooch from a side table and handed it to Artis.
She clutched it against her palm, and laid that fist upon her heart as she closed her still wet lashes and fell asleep once again.
Chapter 28
Steller threw another log on his cook fire. He wasn’t too worried about one of those farmers deciding to chase after him. He’d seen the fear in Kelly’s eyes. She’d make sure they’d stay close to home to protect her. Just in case, though, he used dry wood because it burnt with little or no smoke. And after his long trek through the woods, they’d never find him here.
He’d shot the rabbits earlier and had them cooking over the fire for the last hour or so. His stomach growled and his mouth watered. The sizzling meat was almost done.
He wanted to cook himself a good meal because today he would start back toward Artis. He couldn’t wait to literally get his hands on her. He’d spent the three days getting here imagining ways to have his way with her. The thoughts fed his unrequited need for vengeance.
First, he would take her forcefully, shoving his rod into her, over and over, until her privy parts bled. He’d show her what kind of man he was—what she’d been missing all this time.
Then he would bugger her soul to hell.
He tugged one of the rabbits from above the fire and left the other to cook a little longer. He blew on the meat too cool it.
He’d almost enjoyed his three days in the Kentucky woods. At first, the silence had been a little unsettling. So were the occasional howls of wolves and the shrill yapping of coyotes. But now, as he leaned against a big oak tree and pulled strips of the hot meat from the rabbit, he found the forest peaceful and calming to his soul.
Sometimes he wondered if he still had a soul. If he did, he was sure it was long ago condemned. Maybe someday he’d give up his wicked ways and start a new life. But not yet. He still had things he had to do that some would consider sinful or depraved. Gratifying his need for vengeance was all he had left of his life.
He licked one of his greasy fingers and then glanced up when he heard something off in the distance in front of him—a log cracking perhaps. It was probably just a forest animal. But he’d better check just to be sure. He tossed the meat aside onto his camp plate and quickly wiped most of the grease on his breeches.
He stood and reached for the long rifle he’d taken from Kelly, which was leaning next to him against a tree, but it slipped from his still oily hand and fell to the ground. He bent to pick it up.
“Stay down,” he heard a deep voice growl, from right behind him. “Move away from that rifle, but don’t straighten up.”
Startled, he started to reach for the rifle.
“If ye move that hand another inch, yer a dead man. Move away from that rifle. Now!”
Steller shuffled a few feet to his right.
“Now toss yer pistols—all of them—behind ye.”
He threw a flintlock behind him.
“The rest of them now! And be quick about it,” the voice demanded.
He flung one more.
“I said the rest, I will na ask ye again,” the man warned.
He pitched the other two and could hear the man picking them up and sticking all four in a belt.
“Ye can stand erect now, but keep yer hands in the air. And turn so I can see yer slimy face.”
Steller turned slowly. Before him stood one of the biggest men he had ever seen—a heavily-armed hulk of a man. Not only did he have the pistols, he had a long rifle, at least two knives he could see, and a wicked looking hatchet.
Bloody hell! Where had this man come from? And why? The man’s speech sounded as though he were from the Highlands too.
“My Highlander friend, ye are welcome to share my meal. Ye do na have to rob me,” he tried.
“I am na yer friend and I am na a robber.”
“Well then, may I have yer name?”
“No.”
The man just kept staring at him with narrowed flinty eyes. The face was a mask of carefully controlled rage, his ire revealed only by the muscle that clenched along his firm jaw. He held his head high and his massive shoulders back. He kept his stance wide and wore tall moccasins. No wonder he hadn’t heard this man sneak up on him. Moccasins were much quieter than boots.
Growing nervous, Steller swallowed, even though the man wasn’t holding one of the pistols in his hand. “As ye can see, I’m just a weary traveler, passin’ through Kentucky.”
“What is yer name weary traveler?” the man asked mockingly.
“It’s Patrick Steller,” he answered hastily, and then at once regretted giving the man his real name.
“Yer a long way from any of the main roads in Kentucky. Did ye get lost, Mister Steller?”
“Aye. But I think I’m headed in the right direction now.” He tried to keep his tone light and friendly.
“Tis a fine animal ye have there. Where did ye get him? And what is the horse’s breedin’.”
So that’s what this man was after. His horse. He was nothing more than a common horse thief. He couldn’t let this man take his horse and leave him stranded out here in the middle of bloody nowhere.
“He is a fine stallion. I bought him in Virginia,” he answered smoothly. He ignored the question about breeding. “But he can be a wee bit high headed, as most stallions are inclined to be. He still needs a lot of training to make him level headed. He’s pitched me more than once,” he lied.
“Tell me more about ye, Mister Steller.”
“Well, I am a respected lawyer in Virginia,” he lied. “But I am movin’ my practice to Kentucky—Louisville perhaps.”
“What is your legal opinion of habeas corpus?”
Steller had no idea what habeas corpus meant. “Och…ye must be hungry. Can I interest ye in some of my tasty rabbit?” He gestured toward the meat still sizzling on the fire.
Bear was enjoying his verbal torture of the man. He wanted to confirm what he knew in his heart—that this man was a deceiver. That his black heart spewed lies as easily as his lungs released a breath.
As a brother of William, he’d learned quite a lot over the years about the law, including that a writ of habeas corpus demands that a prisoner be taken before a court to determine whether the custodian has lawful authority to detain the prisoner. It had been common legal practice for hundreds of years.
“Ye did not answer my question about t
he meanin’ of habeas corpus. Tell me. Now!”
Steller stiffened and just stared at him, looking annoyed.
“And ye could not tell me the horse’s breeding,” Bear added in the same cool tone.
Infuriated now, the man’s lips tightened and his dark eyes heated.
Growing impatient, Bear took a step toward Steller. “Now ye’ve proved what I already believed. Yer a bloody liar. And a thief. And a murderer. Why did ye lie about being married to Artis?”
Shock registered on Steller’s face. Then mockery tainted his stare. “You have na idea what Artis’ past is. I do. I was there. How do ye know she’s not married to me?”
He squinted his eyes and gave Steller a penetrating glare. “Tell me the truth if ye do na wish to die this day.”
“I…” Steller stammered. His features contorted with hatred. The man’s overly bright eyes clawed at him with talons of anger as he yanked a long knife from his belt.
Bear withdrew his hatchet. “The truth!”
They stared at each other across a palatable cloud of contemptuous hostility.
Then a distant movement in the timber beyond Steller caught Bear’s eye. A black blur, no two black blurs were moving toward them through the forest shadows. While Bear snuck up from the west, they’d been stalking the campsite from the east.
Steller came at him at a charge, yelling with fury, and wielding the knife with wild rage.
Bear easily side-stepped and then pivoted a few feet away. He did not want to use his hatchet on Steller. Not yet anyway.
He would need it for the bears.
Chapter 29
The forest vibrated like thunder as the enormous black bears barreled toward them, their fear-provoking jaws agape.
The smell of the roasting rabbits must have drawn them.
Steller turned around at the ominous sound. “Bloody hell.”
Bear stuck the hatchet in his belt again.
Steller’s stallion squealed in panic, reared, tore his bridle off the tree branch, and ran off.
“Shoot them!” Steller screamed.
Bear already had the larger male in the sights of his long rifle, but the animal, running faster than a horse, unexpectedly plunged in Bear’s direction and the shot missed.
“Ye damn fool!” Steller swore. “Ye missed.”
The bears were closing the gap between them with astonishing speed.
Bear threw down the rifle, giving Steller a black look. He didn’t have time for fools or time to reload. He glanced over at the rifle Steller had knocked to the ground. He didn’t have time to reach it. “Are the pistols loaded?” he shouted.
“Yes! Give me one!”
For a split second, Bear considered it, but his distrust for Steller was so great he decided against it. He grabbed two pistols and aimed for the head of the closer smaller bear.
He realized the tiny balls of lead would do little to stop the massive bears. The female looked to be the size of two men put together. The gigantic male, lagging a few yards behind the female, was even bigger. But if he could manage to shoot at least one of the fearsome beasts in the head, that would improve their chances.
Perhaps because Bear was the larger man, the male headed straight toward him. He could see intelligence and determination in the beast’s brown eyes. Steam puffed out of his drooling mouth. Rippling muscles foretold astounding strength.
He put determination into his own eyes, letting the brute know he was in for a fight. For this battle, Bear would have to call on his own savage inner fire.
When the bears were within range, he fired, then immediately fired the second set of pistols at the larger of the two bears.
But the black bears merely ran through the murky smoke of the flintlocks, as though only a bee had bitten them. Bear threw down the pistols.
Steller brandished his knife uselessly at the approaching female as she honed in on him. Terror swathed the man’s face. He wouldn’t be surprised to see Steller run. If he did, he would be a dead man. He might be anyway.
Bear drew his hatchet with his right hand and his long knife with his left. The muscles of his forearms hardened beneath his sleeves. He stood ready for battle, his knees slightly bent, and his stance wide. Fiery blood coursed through his veins.
He’d faced death at the jaw of a black bear once before, and had the scars to prove it, but he’d managed to live through the attack by keeping his wits and his weapons sharp. As a bear hunter for many towns in New Hampshire, hired by farmers who wanted to protect their livestock and children, he’d killed and skinned numerous bears before. But he completed those kills from a distance. Now, he would have to use his knowledge of bear anatomy to strike the bear where it would be most vulnerable.
In the next moment, absolute chaos erupted as both bears pounced and the men fought with howling biting balls of fur. Steller was soon screaming. But Bear couldn’t look. He had his own bear to fend off.
He lashed out wildly with both weapons and used his arms to protect his face. He also kept his body bent, trying to keep the vicious claws away from his organs. If the bear got to his heart or other vital body parts, he would be a dead man. After slashing the bear several times, and receiving several cuts on his arms, he succeeded in getting the male to back off long enough for him to take a much needed breath or two.
“Ye didn’t expect such a fight, did ye?” Bear sneered through clenched teeth.
He clutched both weapons tightly, his heart pounding harder than he could ever remember, as the bear bellowed and growled. Then, grunting, it circled around him, came at his right side, and threw one powerful swipe to his shoulder with an immense paw.
Bear used his hatchet and every bit of strength in his arm to block the blow. His arm felt as if it might break so great was the force of the wallop, but with his other hand, he sunk his long knife into the bear’s side. He had to leave the knife where he planted it when the monster twisted away.
He pulled the knife sheathed in the Indian pouch hanging from his neck. Regrettably, it was much smaller, but he squeezed both the knife and the hatchet tightly in his hands.
A ferocious roar deafened him. The angered bear leapt at him and clawed at the side of Bear’s torso, ripping his buckskin shirt and his flesh. It tried to bite his side too, but he pivoted just out of the reach of the jaw’s razor sharp teeth. As he spun, he raised his arm in a sweeping arch and slammed his hatchet toward the bear’s back. The wood handle held in his hand reverberated violently, all the way to his shoulder, as the cutting edge sunk deep into the bear’s back and stayed there.
Bear stepped away and, holding only the small knife, stood ready for another attack. Behind him, he heard Steller scream again.
In pain and bleeding, the male tried to slap the hatchet off his back but was unable to reach it. Incensed, he rose on his hind legs, howled, snarled, and locked maddened eyes directly on Bear.
He looked like some sort of angered mythical god of the forest, draped in a shining black robe. Bear half expected a lightning bolt to fly from his colossal paws so great was the bear’s aura of power.
The forest god roared. Once more, the woods filled with a reverberating thunder that echoed off the trees.
The bellow sounded more like a gravelly devil than a god.
Bear would not let the animal bully him. He took a deep breath, filled his lungs, and teeth bared, let out his own booming roar.
The enormous animal would not be intimidated either. Blood pouring onto the ground from both wounds, it lurched straight for him. Bear was tempted to run, but knew that would likely be a fatal mistake. Even wounded, the bear still had the power to kill him. Instead, he stood his ground until the fiend reached him and, in a split second, it slapped the pouch knife out of Bear’s hand with one paw, and with the other paw knocked him several feet backwards. He felt a puncture to his scalp when the tip of a claw connected to his head.
Bear’s back slammed into the earth and air flew from his already heaving lungs. Time slowed as he laid
there trying to breathe, awaiting the bear, expecting the monstrous creature to maul him to pieces. He was seconds away from death.
He had only one weapon left. Only one slim chance at a life with Artis.
He had to do this for her.
He bent his knee and reached into his moccasin for his sgian dubh.
The enraged monster dove and straddled Bear’s body, lowering his head. Bear was literally facing death. The bear’s pink nostrils flared as it prepared to bite Bear’s face off. To taste his blood. To end his life.
Bear could feel the hot stinking breath of the brute gust against his neck. It smelled like the rotting meat of its last kill.
‘With a strong hand.’ Gripping the weapon with both hands, he plunged the blade between the killer’s eyes with all the strength he had left.
Only then, did the beast grow still and start to crumple.
Bear swiftly rolled and ducked to his right between the bear’s arm and shoulder to keep the heavy animal from falling on top of him.
Still on his knees, he peered over at Steller.
The disemboweled man was being drug away by the other bear. Even though he’d also been nearly scalped, Steller wasn’t dead yet.
His terror-filled eyes were open.
Bear lost his breath at the horror.
The female bear stopped and turned her mouth sideways. The creature’s big teeth started chipping away at Steller’s skull. He heard teeth crushing bone and saw pieces of flesh falling to the ground.
Steller’s eyes were still open but all the life in them was gone.
Bear quickly yanked his hatchet and knife out of the male and then stood. Staying bent, he stealthily stepped to where Kelly’s Kentucky long rifle still laid on the ground. He didn’t want to draw the female’s attention. He leaned down slowly to pick up the weapon and prayed it was still loaded. He could not take the time to check. He needed to kill the second bear before she came after him. He leaned his left shoulder against a tree to steady himself and slowly raised the powerful weapon to his shoulder. He carefully lined up the sights on the feasting bear.
He fired, killing the second bear with a shot to the head.
Frontier Highlander Vow of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 4) Page 18
