“Could hit be Hurons?” Juicy asked the Shawnee.
John’s lips lifted in a sneer. “No Indian leaves such an easy trail to follow, but I told my braves to be on guard. River man got Morning Sun.”
“Oh, my God! That sweet little gal!” Mister Swanson said hoarsely. “We can take the boat and—”
“No. I go. Light Eyes go,” John said firmly. “She his woman.”
True spoke. “Hit’s best. John an’ Sloan. They’ll get her.”
“But iffn . . . iffn . . .” Juicy sputtered.
“We’ll get her, Juicy,” Sloan spoke calmly, although his insides were tied in knots. “You and True look after things here.”
“We’ll do hit, Sloan. Bring back the lit’l purty.”
CHAPTER
* 22 *
When Cherish regained consciousness, she was lying on her back. The rag had been removed from her mouth and someone was washing her face with snow. She sputtered and spit. When she rolled her head, it felt as if it would explode. Her stomach roiled and she gagged.
Memory came rushing back, followed by pain in every bone in her body and even worse . . . black despair. Would she ever see Sloan and Orah Delle again? Would she ever hear Juicy call her the little pretty?
“Ya’ve come to. Open yore eyes, gal.” A hand circled her throat with strong fingers.
Cherish kept her eyes closed, hoping they would think she had swooned.
“Open yore eyes, I say, and don’t ya let out a peep. I’m gettin’ tired a foolin’ with ya.”
Hurry, Sloan. I can’t hold out much longer.
Suddenly she felt a hand go up under her skirt. Terror knifed through her. Her eyes flew open. Her vision was blurred, but she could see the face that loomed close to hers—the face with its broken nose and loose lips—the face of the man who had hit her.
“He, he, he,” he chortled. “I knowed it. I knowed ya was playin’ possum.”
The foulness of the man’s breath made Cherish gag. She struggled and tried to turn her head. Two hands curled around her forearms and jerked her to her feet. Her head whirled and her stomach churned. She feared she would be sick. She managed to control her stomach, raise her head and focus her eyes.
“Please . . .” she whispered.
“I ain’t a carryin’ ya another step, gal. Ya make up yer mind ta walk or I aim to slit yore gullet right here an’ now.” The man jerked her and pain shot through her head. “What’s it ter be?”
The pain in her head was almost unbearable, but she managed to answer. “I can walk.”
Harry was pleased with his success. He looked over his shoulder and spoke to his companion.
“Didn’t I tell ya she’d walk, Beecome? Didn’t I tell ya that?”
“Ya told me, ya stupid, stinkin’ whore’s son,” he muttered under his breath, then louder, “Let’s go. Them Cherokee is long gone. We been a ’unkered down here fer more’n an hour. My bloody ears is a freezin’ off.”
The broken-nosed man gave Cherish a push. She stumbled and would have fallen had he not grabbed her shoulder.
“Keep goin’,” he snarled.
Somehow Cherish managed to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Her jaw hurt. The pain was so severe that she was afraid it was broken. She wondered how much longer she would be able to endure this torture. Into her dulled mind drifted the thought that these men were utterly ruthless and she would probably die, but not before these cruel animal-like dregs of the human race did unspeakable things to her.
Sloan, Sloan. Where are you?
Her brain cleared and she thought for a moment of the tall bronze Indian. Would he be concerned about her? Would he be able to follow the tracks over the frozen ground?
She made up a game to keep her feet moving and to keep herself from going mad. Sloan would come for her. She prayed he would come. With each step the words pounded in her head. Sloan will come. Sloan will come. The words became so imprinted in her mind she began to mutter them aloud.
“Sloan will come. Sloan will come.”
The man behind her gave her a vicious shove. She fell to her knees and was unable to get to her feet. He seized her by the shouldors and yanked her upright.
“Quit yer blasted jabberin’ an’ walk. I ain’t atellin’ ya agin.”
Darkness came. They pushed on through the eerie woods, where the trees stood like tall silent giants. Cherish thought they must have walked miles and miles from the settlement in the bend of the Ohio. They moved through a gully where the snow was so deep it came up over the tops of her moccasins and chilled her legs. They climbed over rotted logs and took a path where the ground sloped upward away from the river. At this place the brush was thick and the frozen branches clawed at her face. With her bound hands beneath the blanket, she was helpless to ward off the stinging blows.
The man called Beecome stopped. “Ain’t we ’bout there, ’Arry?”
“Over an’ through that thar clearin’ is the place. The breed’ll be a waitin’ fer us. He’ll signal ol’ Finger ta brin’ up the boat.”
“The wench’d better be worth the trouble we took ta git ’er,” Beecome complained. “That settler ain’t gonna take kindly to this’n bein’ took. She’s family, she is.”
“How ya be knowin’ that?”
“She ain’t no doxy. That’s how I know. The other’n now, that bloody bitch was so ’ot she ’bout set the tavern afire.” Beecome blew on his hands to warm them. “I been thinkin’ on it. I’ll be bloody glad to be gittin’ to the boat.”
“Don’tcha worry none. The winds come up and blowed our tracks out. Think ’bout crawlin’ between this’n’s legs. That’s what I been a thinkin’ on.”
Revulsion convulsed Cherish’s stomach and it heaved. There was no way she could hold it back. She bent over to allow its contents to spill out, moaning with pain as she opened her jaws.
“I don’t like pukin’ women,” Beecome said angrily.
“She ain’t sick-sick. But I ain’t keerin’ if she is. I’m gonna have me a fine time with ’er.”
“Yer just a stud, ’Arry. A bloody stud. Ain’t ya got nothin’ on yore mind ’cept shovin’ it in a woman?”
“Ain’t nothin’ better to be havin’ on my mind or shovin’ it in, either.” Harry’s laugh was nothing more than a dry chuckle. He poked Cherish in the back with his elbow. “Huh, gal?”
Cherish turned her head painfully and stared at the two men with utter loathing. She hated them with every fiber of her being. Somehow this gave her strength and she plodded on, more determined than ever to stay alive and endure until Sloan came for her.
Beecome continued to complain. “We ort to waited and got the other’n. This’n won’t last. The other’n’s been tried. I was wantin’ to give ’er what she bloody well asked for. Flippin’ her skirts, shakin’ ’er arse—”
Harry stopped and turned. “If yer a wantin’ the other’n, go get ’er. I say we be lucky to get outta thar with our hair. Them Shawnee ain’t ta be messed with. Iffn not fer them comin’ we could’a burned out that settler and took all three of them women. They’d brin’ a good price at the Injin slave market up along the lakes.”
“Is it what yer goin’ to do with this’n?” Beecome asked.
“Finger an’ the breed’ll have a say. Could be we’ll keep ’er till she’s wore out.”
Cherish listened. Then she heard a small whimpering sound and realized it came from her. She heard an evil chuckle and knew it came from Harry.
They came to a clearing and waited a few minutes before Harry gave a signal. It was a poor imitation of a hoot owl’s call. The men moved about restlessly while they waited. Harry called again. Beecome pushed Cherish against a tree and held her there with a hand against her chest. He muttered obscenities against the cold, against Harry for getting him into this situation, against Cherish.
At last, from a distance, they heard an answer to Harry’s call.
Harry laughed. “Tol’ ya. Didn’t I tell ya they’d be he
re? Didn’t I tell ya?”
Beecome grinned with relief and Cherish’s hopes faded.
The snow on the ground made it easy to see the silhouette of the man when he came through the trees. He moved slowly, and in the heavy fur robe he looked like a great shaggy bear.
Beecome cursed him under his breath as he approached.
“Goddamn greasy Injin! Smells like a bloody boar’s nest, he does.”
Harry walked a short distance to meet him, but the bear of a man ignored him and kept on coming until he stood near the tree where Beecome was holding Cherish. His putrid odor radiated like an aura around him. She turned her head away in an effort to breathe sweet, clean air.
“Come,” the man said, his voice guttural. “We wait for Finger.”
“Come where, ya stinkin’, bloody redskin?” In his agitation Beecome seized Cherish’s arm and shoved her to her knees. “Ain’t Finger here?”
“Finger come. We wait.”
Harry laughed, trying to break the tension between Beecome and the Indian. He pulled Cherish to her feet.
“Come on, Beecome, let’s git ’er on down thar.” He stood back and waited for the Indian to lead the way.
“’Ow long’ll it be ’fore Finger gits ’ere?”
Beecome was irritated. What had seemed to be a good idea when they were drunk had been soured by the failure to capture the boat with the blond bitch on it, the long wait in the barn, the taking of the wrong woman, and the long cold trek in the snow. The whole thing was going to end up wrong, he was sure of it.
“One, maybe two hour. We wait in cave.”
“Two hours!” Beecome stopped and confronted the half-breed.
“Finger take boat to middle of river when Cherokee come this way. Boat drift down two, three mile. Finger pole boat back. Send me up shore to tell.”
“’Ow far’s the bloody cave?” Beecome growled.
“Not far. Build fire, cave warm.” The man who resembled and smelled like a bear turned and waddled on down the hill toward the river.
For the first time since she had been abducted, Cherish allowed the tears to come. The pain in her head and in the arm Beecome had twisted when he shoved her to the ground, the agony in her jaw from the blow from Harry’s fist were nothing compared to the pain in her heart. She had been living on the hope that Sloan would come for her. Now the chances of his finding her had faded to almost nothing.
The half-breed led them down the hill, then up a short incline and around a large boulder. They entered a shallow cave. In the back, behind a pile of cut brush to shield its light from the river, burned a small campfire.
Harry pushed Cherish in ahead of him. She cowered like a frightened animal against the wall. Her terror-filled eyes welled with tears again and she closed them tightly. Horrifying scenes danced behind her closed eyelids.
Oh, God. Let me wake up. Let all of this be a terrible dream. If not, please let me die quickly.
Still complaining, Beecome demanded food from the half-breed. The Indian threw him a bag and Beecome sat, his back to the cave wall, and chewed the dried meat.
Something nudged Cherish’s leg and her eyes flew open. Harry stood looking down at her, running the tip of his tongue over his loose lips that spread in a wolfish grin when he saw her expression.
“Yer a looker!”
Cherish’s throat was dry with terror, and when she spoke the words came out in a voice she didn’t recognize as her own.
“You touch me and . . . and my man will kill you!”
“Yer man ain’t here, missy.” Harry’s voice was husky and his breath was coming faster. “I got ter see more a what I got.” He laughed as she struggled, and he pulled her toward him. He continued to laugh when she kicked him, and moved away easily when she tried to butt him with her head.
“Easy, gal. Easy. I don’t want to hit ya agin. It ain’t no fun a’tall humpin’ a limp woman. I jist want ter see whatcha got under that thar blanket.” He pulled the blanket off over her head and the shawl came with it. Her hair came tumbling down over her shoulders and face, blocking her vision, but she lashed out with her bound hands.
“Whoopsy, doopsy! Did ya ever see hair like that thar? It’s like fire. She’d brin’ a sack full of gold at the Injin market.”
Harry made an inarticulate sound in his throat and gave her a push that sent her sprawling to her knees. She stayed there, her long, tangled hair shielding her face. Hands reached down and hauled her to her feet. Her hair parted and she looked into Harry’s leering face.
“I ain’t a waitin’ fer ya much longer, gal.” Then, in a quick movement that caught her by surprise, he ripped open the front of her dress.
Cherish cried out and tried to cover herself.
“I said I was gonna look at what I got.” Harry viciously ripped her dress again and it hung down to her waist. Only her bound hands kept it from falling around her ankles.
Sobbing with terror and shame, Cherish tried to run, but he grabbed her hair and jerked her about to face him. He wrapped her hair around his hand and, twisting it up tight, held her head tilted up to him.
“Ain’t ya ever gonna learn, slut?” Then, in a gentler tone, his face coming closer to hers, he said, “Ya’ll like it, gal. Jist wait till ya see it. I got a thin’ in my breeches what’d put a bull to shame.”
Beecome laughed uproariously and slapped his hand against his thigh.
“’Ear that, Breed? ’Ear that? I seen what he got. It ain’t nothin’ but a little old bitty worm.”
Dazed with pain, Cherish never heard what was said. The grotesque face close to hers no longer looked human to her. When she realized that two other figures stood beside Harry, their mouths open with lust, spittle running from the corner of the dark lips of the half-breed, she felt a scream build in her throat.
Harry released her hair and she fell back against the wall of the cave.
“Looky thar at them titties.”
Cherish heard the words through a mist of pain and humiliation.
“I’ve seen bigger titties on a nanny goat,” Beecome snickered.
“Go on, touch ’em,” Harry invited.
Cherish’s eyes glazed with fear as the rough fingers curled about her naked breasts.
“No! No!” she sobbed frantically. “Please . . . don’t. No!” She twisted and turned in a desperate effort to get away from her tormentors.
“Shut up!” a voice growled, and fingers found the nipple of her breast and squeezed viciously.
A thin shrill scream tore from her throat. The walls of the cave seemed to sway inward as waves of agony blackened and numbed her mind.
“Said, shut up!” A slap across her face sent her reeling, only to be pulled up for another slap that bounced her head off the wall. Her screaming stopped and was replaced by groans of pain. She waited, eyes closed, for the next attack.
An odd gurgling noise caused her to open her eyes. She saw Harry hanging in front of her, his mouth wide open, his hands clawing at his throat where his blood was spurting. Blood seemed to be everywhere. Warm and sticky blood covered her arms, shoulders and breasts.
She was mad. She had to be mad.
The motion, the grunts, the mouth hanging open. The weight of Harry against her—and the blood. Something snapped in her mind. Her face turned a ghostly white amid the masses of tangled red hair. She screamed and screamed until she whirled through a black void, spinning dizzily into oblivion.
CHAPTER
* 23 *
Consciousness returned slowly. Cherish heard groaning and, yielding again to darkness, drifted away.
When next she awoke and opened her eyes, it was to see Sloan and John Spotted Elk sitting calmly before a heap of glowing orange coals. Their faces were shadowed, and she struggled for some semblance of sanity, thinking that she was not alive, or if she was, she was dreaming and recoiling from reality.
She sank again into blessed darkness.
The third time she fought her way to consciousness moaning and sobbin
g wildly with terror. She screamed Sloan’s name over and over, and suddenly he was there, his arms around her, holding her, his reassuring voice in her ear.
“I’m here, Cherish. You’re safe now. Don’t cry, sweetheart. You’re safe with me and John. Don’t cry.” He murmured the soft comforting words.
“Don’t . . . don’t let them—” She sobbed and clung to him.
“I won’t let them hurt you. They’ll never hurt you.” He held her and stroked her hair.
It was several minutes before she grew still. She raised her tear-stained face, her eyes darting about the cave.
“Have they . . . gone?” she asked fearfully.
“Yes, my sweet, they’re gone. It’s over now. John and I will take you home.”
The shame and humiliation of what she had endured returned and she began to tremble anew. Fearfully she looked down, expecting to see her torn dress hanging to her waist, but it was pulled up over her body and her shawl was wrapped around her. Two strong arms were holding her against a broad sheltering chest and a strongly beating heart.
“I . . . went to the barn to see the cow. They were there, waiting for Ada, I think. They talked of the woman on the boat—”
“Shhh . . . don’t think about them.”
“I didn’t know how you’d ever find me, but I knew you’d come!”
“I couldn’t have found you in time without John.” He held her away from him and smoothed the tangled hair from her face. His face showed lines of worry and fatigue.
John Spotted Elk was sitting only a few feet away, but it was impossible to see his face clearly in the dim light of the fire. Cherish left the warm comfort of Sloan’s arms and slid over to him. Taking his hand in hers, she placed it against her cheek.
“I’ll never be able to thank you enough, John.”
The Indian removed his hand from hers and placed it behind her head. Ever so gently he drew the shining head to his shoulder. When it rested there, he stroked her hair.
“You do not thank me for breathing, Morning Sun. You do not thank me for seeking rest when my body is weary, or for filling my belly when hunger is upon me. I came to you as I do these things. I will always come to you if you are in need. We will speak no more about it.”
Love and Cherish Page 21
