"Where's Skylar?" Hawk demanded quickly.
"She came out here, completely ignored me, bridled Nutmeg, and took off—hell-bent. I was coming for you, wondering if I should have been going straight after her instead."
"I'll go straight after her. She's expecting her sister to have either arrived in Gold Town and be heading here. She's trying to reach her. Willow, I need you to go back to the house and give Senator Dillman my excuses. Tell him he's welcome to stay as long as he wishes. In fact, have Meggie do her best to keep him there."
"I'll see to it, Hawk."
In seconds, Hawk was mounted on Tor.
Seconds too late.
Skylar had scarcely left Douglas property when the attack came.
They'd been waiting for her.
Too late she realized her mistake. She damned herself, realizing that again she had underestimated Dillman.
They came from the copse of trees to the west of the property line. This time, there were eight riders. They were all dressed in war paint, though even as she lay against
Nutmeg's neck to turn her horse and urge her to speed back toward Mayfair, she saw that they weren't all Indians. Dili- man had called upon the dregs of the army, so it seemed. And probably prospectors, too. Men who had come for gold and hadn't managed to strike it. Dillman promised them gold without digging. All they needed to do was kill one woman.
And make the murder look like an Indian attack.
Even as she rode back to Mayfair, she realized the men had stationed themselves behind her. As she tried to race back, she was circled.
She had so foolishly run. It had been time to meet Dili- man face-to-face, with Hawk. He hadn't denied her. He had merely been stunned. Because she had made no attempt to explain any of it before. Because she had never imagined that Dillman could break in upon her life here. She had felt...
Safe.
She was Hawk's wife.
But she had run away from Hawk.
And now ...
She tried to move Nutmeg to the left. A rider, his face painted black, was there. She forced the horse to rear. Nutmeg pounded down to the the right.
Then one of the men, laughing, leaped from his own horse to hers, dragging her down from Nutmeg ...
Down, down, down ...
Monsters had come.
Twenty-five
Hawk hadn't ridden more than five minutes before he saw a familiar figure racing toward him.
Sloan.
He continued forward until they met; both men reined in hard. "Did you come in from Gold Town? Did you pass Skylar?" Hawk demanded.
"Skylar's gone?" Sloan demanded in turn.
"She just rode toward town—"
"She isn't on the way to town. I would have seen her. Hawk, you have to listen to me. I overheard a conversation at the Ten-Penny. There's been a bounty out on your wife. Huge money, payable in gold, for Skylar. Dead or alive. That weasel Abel was passing the word on it. There was money, and power, behind the offer."
"Dillman!" Hawk muttered. "Dillman is in my house right now. He was trying to tell me Skylar is insane, that he was crippled because of her."
"He might be crippled, but he has the dregs of the territory out to find her."
"Did you see signs of a struggle anywhere—"
"I wasn't looking. I was trying to reach you."
"Let's look now. Time, Sloan, time might mean everything."
They kneed their mounts, rocketing mercilessly out along the trail once again. As they rode, they could see a wagon coming in the distance. Hawk slowed his horse, nearing Slown. "It's Henry's wagon. He must have Skylar's sister with him. That's why Skylar lit out of the house so wildly—she was afraid of Dillman getting his hands on her sister."
"We'll send him back to town."
Hawk shook his head. "We'll send him to the cabin."
But even as they rode closer to the approaching wagon, riders burst out from the westward edge of the forest. Shots were fired; the wagon started careening wildly.
"The whole damned world has gone mad!" Hawk exclaimed. He was unarmed, except for the knife he wore in his ankle sheath.
Sloan pulled his Colt army pistol from his holster. He fired off several shots, taking careful aim at the half-dozen painted men shrieking toward the wagon. The attackers, looking to the north, hadn't seen them observe the assault.
Hawk saw that Henry was no coward. He rose behind the reins of his small flatbed wagon, firing off his shotgun. Then he was hit in the shoulder. He fell back against the seat. The woman beside him, her face hidden by a wide- brimmed hat, shrieked, bending over poor Henry.
Sloan picked off two of the attackers with his Colt while they thundered down upon the wagon. Bullets sizzled by their ears in turn. Hawk would have been hit straight in the heart, but he had learned how to ride as a Sioux. When the bullet came, his body was on Tor's side, and the lead ball of death hurtled on by him. He straightened and came upon one of the dressed-up white men in time to leap from Tor's back and hurtle his opponent to the ground before the man could get off a shot. His wife's life was at stake. His own life, now, too. He reached his knife in seconds.
He killed the man with merciful speed, then stole his pistol. It was out of date, but it had three shots left. He spun just as he heard a rustling behind him, shooting another painted white man who would have attacked him. He rose, just in time to see Sloan leaping atop the step of the wagon to kill the last of the attackers, a man now bent over the woman, trying to wrest her from the wagon. Sloan wrenched the fellow up to a stand with a grip upon his shoulder, then felled him with a blow against his neck. The man silently catapulted from the wagon. The woman kept shrieking.
"Stop it!" Sloan shouted, holding her back taut to his chest, grappling her arms to her sides and twisting her around so that she faced Hawk. "Hawk, this isn't—" "Hawk! You're Hawk! Oh, my God, get this man—" "Sabrina?" Hawk said. She was striking. Auburn hair now wild and tangled around a beautiful face. Her features were something like Skylar's, but her coloring was completely different. Her figure was an hourglass form. Together, the sisters were like a perfect pair of fairy-tale princesses, Rose Red and Rose White, perhaps. "Hawk, this woman—" "Lord Douglas, this man—" "She isn't Sabrina, Hawk, she's—" "I am Sabrina Connor!" the woman exclaimed. "She's not! She's—"
"Who the bloody hell is this wretched bastard?" she hissed.
Hawk's brows shot up. "Sabrina Connor, a very good friend and associate, Major Sloan Trelawney. Sloan, my sister-in-law, Sabrina Connor."
Sabrina Connor had something of her sister's fighting spirit about her as well. She stamped hard upon Sloan's booted foot.
"Will you let go of me, please, Major?" Sloan grated out, "I still don't believe—" "Wait!" Hawk said, putting up a hand when it looked as if both would begin arguing again. "Riders coming
again, from the south. Sabrina, see if Henry is breathing; Sloan—toss me Henry's gun."
He ducked down, taking aim at the half-score of riders now coming toward them. Sloan sank down as well, his Colt leveled upon his arm.
They came into view. Dillman's two aides first. Then two other men, white men, strangers to the territory. They had a look about them. Professional gunfighters, Hawk thought.
Behind them rode Dillman.
With Skylar seated before him on his mount.
For a crippled man, he was riding damned well.
"Are you going to shoot, Lord Douglas?" Dillman called out. "It wouldn't be a very good idea. I'd kill her before you could even pray to hit me."
Hawk stood, shoving the pistol into his holster. The group remained perhaps twenty-five feet away from him. He met Skylar's eyes. He could see them clearly at this distance. They were filled with misery and more. A wealth of sorrow that she had involved him in this. Love. Aching. She didn't move, but he could see it all there. So much that he had missed for so long. She wanted to come to him ...
She sat dead still. Staring at him with those silver eyes. They misted. "Hawk, I'm so
sorry—" she began.
"I nearly had to kill her to get here, Douglas. Or do they call you Hawk. Lord of the Plains! She thought she could keep you safe if she bargained well enough with herself. But then, I'm a gambling man. I've always been a gambling man. If this territory wasn't filled with idiots, she might be dead now, and you might be a grieving young widower. I hate to be forced to show my hand. If you'd agreed that she was mentally unbalanced, I'd have been happy to take her back east and leave you a free man. Unfortunately, this territory is filled with incompetent fools."
"Not everyone would have been fooled, no matter what your offers of gold might have accomplished. You wanted to escalate the Indian problems in the West, didn't you, Dillman?"
Dillman shrugged. "I don't give a damn about the In- dians. They don't need me to escalate their problems. Let's just say that I meant to use a situation already well under way. Sabrina! How nice to see you. What a pity you hadn't the good sense to figure out where a decent future awaited you!"
"What a pity I didn't have the damned good sense to realize what a lying pathetic fake you were! You're riding damned well for a cripple, Dillman."
"Indeed, I am. I have a will of steel, girl, and of course, I had your capable, tender care—until recently. Ah, well. Is the driver dead?"
"No," Sabrina said. "But he needs medical attention—"
"See if he's blacked out. It might do well to leave the attorney, since he must have been struck by these painted fools on the ground here before they let themselves be killed by a pair of half-breeds."
"Dillman, just what the hell do you think you're going to get away with?" Hawk demanded.
"This is Lord Douglas," Sloan spoke out, "And I am a U.S. Army major, not a drunken prospector or desperate agency Indian."
Dillman smiled, showing them the knife that he'd been pressing against Skylar's side. It was tipped with blood. Hawk almost made a move. Thought better of it. Dillman was trying to goad him.
"Don't let him get away with this!" Skylar suddenly cried out. "Hawk, whatever happens to me, shoot the bastard! Don't let him bring you and Sloan and Sabrina down, too!" She broke off with an involuntary shriek of pain. Hawk took a step forward. Sloan leaped down from the wagon, catching his shoulders.
"We can take them all if we just wait for the right moment!" Sloan said, switching to the Sioux language.
Sloan was right.
"What do you want?" Hawk demanded.
"You have a cabin in the woods, I understand. Let's go there. I take your weapons, of course, gentlemen. Major,
Lord Douglas, mount your horses, please. And keep your distance from one another at all times. The big fellows here with the feral eyes are George and Macy. Between them, they've logged well over a hundred kills. In fact, they're wanted for murder in several places, but I can take care of that for them." He brought the point of his knife up to Skylar's throat. "Well, gentlemen—do we ride?"
The man he had called Macy dismounted from his horse and seized Sloan's and Hawk's weapons. He didn't seem to realize Hawk carried a knife at his calf. One small point in their favor.
Hawk turned to help Sabrina Connor down from the wagon.
"Sabrina, dear, you ride with Macy," Dillman said.
"I'd rather be dragged," Sabrina replied.
"That can be arranged," Dillman assured her.
"Get on the damned horse with him!" Sloan snapped to her.
Sabrina had little choice. Macy was large and powerful and could handle the weapons and Sabrina quite easily.
Hawk and Sloan mounted their horses. Henry was left behind. Dillman ordered his men to collect the bodies of the white men who'd dressed and painted themselves as Indians for the attack on the wagon. They were thrown over the haunches of their mounts to follow along with the group heading for the cabin—to be disposed of at a better place and time, so it seemed. Dillman would want to leave no evidence of white involvement in an Indian raid.
Hawk moved ahead on Tor. He met Skylar's silver gaze once again. He had a chance to speak to her very softly, very briefly as he passed by her.
"I slay all monsters!" he promised.
"What?" Dillman snapped.
"I said you're a damned monster!" he grated.
Dillman smiled. "A damned good monster!" he agreed. He laughed aloud then, enjoying his own joke.
They began to ride to the cabin.
Willow was just about to mount his own horse. The senator had been joined at the house by two other men who spoke with him briefly before helping him from the house. They had all been polite and courteous to Lord Douglas's household; they had made Willow damned suspicious. Now neither Hawk nor Skylar had returned, and Dillman had been gone nearly an hour, and he was growing worried.
Just as he mounted his horse, he heard his name. He looked to see a number of men coming toward him. He was stunned to see his brothers riding toward him, leading a horse-drawn wagon. He never mounted his horse; he hurried toward them.
"Henry Pierpont's inside, shot through beneath the shoulder," Ice-Raven told him.
"He's going to make it," Blade said, "but he'll need some care right away."
"We'll get him in to Meggie—"
"Call the women to get him in," Ice Raven said. "Willow, he came to, raving a little, when we found him. Someone just staged an Indian attack on him. He was bringing Skylar's sister out to Mayfair. They were having a nice ride when they were suddenly attacked by painted bucks."
"An Indian raid—" Willow began incredulously.
"There might have been Indians involved, but it wasn't an Indian attack. Henry said that they didn't know he had come to after Hawk and Sloan came upon them and killed the supposed Indians. More men came. Threatening to kill Skylar. They took Hawk, Sloan, Skylar, and her sister."
"Where?" Willow demanded.
"To Hawk's cabin in the woods."
"How many of them?"
"Henry didn't know," Blade supplied. "Several. And he thinks some of them are hired killers."
"I'll call the women to come for Henry," Willow said. "Three full-blooded Sioux. I imagine we can stage an Indian attack of our own."
Ice Raven nodded. "As long as we don't have to go through the paint thing again," he told his brother.
Willow smiled grimly. ' 'No paint. No bows and arrows. Guns, and we shoot to kill. And if it's that Dillman who staged this thing, I want his scalp."
"Hawk just might want that one."
"Hawk will want his heart on a platter," Willow said. He started toward the house, then paused briefly. "What brought you two out here now?"
Ice Raven looked at Blade, then back to Willow. "Crazy Horse had a vision. He cannot come to the whites. He asked that we come see about Hawk."
"Ah," Willow said.
He was Sioux. He was not about to question the wisdom and truth of a vision.
Skylar felt as if she moved within a dream. As if nothing were real. A numbness seemed to have settled over her; the mistakes she had made in the past seemed to play over and over again in her mind. The years of living with Dillman. Of knowing he had killed her father. Slept with her mother. Laughed because there was nothing she could do.
She had escaped him. She had hurt him and escaped him, but she hadn't killed him. Because she didn't want to be him. Now she was paying for her mercy not only with her own life but with the lives of her sister, her husband, and a man who was surely one of the best friends she would ever have.
Dillman wasn't letting up his hold on her. It didn't matter. His knife was biting into the flesh at her side now and then, but at the moment, he was scratching her. Just enough to let her know how badly he could hurt her. She was certain he wouldn't enjoy the kill half so much as he did the anticipation of it.
Sabrina rode near her. Another mistake. She had never emphasized how important it was that Sabrina never use her own name. But she was certain that nothing she could have done would have mattered. Dillman was a man with connections. He could have discovered the contents of thei
r telegrams no matter what. And now Sabrina was with her.
She couldn't even touch her sister, hold her, hug her, one last time.
She gritted her teeth together, furious with herself, glad of the next prick Dillman gave her with the knife. She was going to feel, and she was going to fight. She had fought before and lost. She was still breathing. She was going to keep fighting him.
Ahead of her suddenly was the cabin in the woods. Now, of course, memories flooded back to her in earnest. Fresh, sweet memories. Ah, but she hadn't found the events so sweet when they had occurred! She had assumed herself under attack by the strangest of Indians. She'd been afraid of so much, fighting so much, disbelieving so much—and she'd been so damned determined to stay out here, no matter what! He'd held her here for the first time. Touched her here. Made love to her here. Made her his wife here. The cabin meant so much to her. Dillman couldn't know that.
He meant to burn it down, she suspected.
"All right, gentlemen—and ladies," Dillman drawled. Skylar could feel his breath on her neck. "Into the cabin, if you will."
Hawk stared at Dillman, his features set in the chiseled- rock expression that gave nothing away. He dismounted from his horse but didn't head for the cabin. He approached Dillman. "I want Skylar. Now."
"Step into the cabin, let Macy tie your hands, and she is yours."
"I'll step into the cabin. No one ties me until she is mine. Dillman, admit it—you want to make it look as if Sioux, angry about my and Sloan's relationships with the whites, came in here and wiped us out. Or perhaps we're supposed to die as if the Crow were carrying out a vendetta against me. Either way, if you have to shoot me in the heart, it won't look good. And no one is tying me until Skylar is with me. Macy there may be one good gunfighter. But I'll bet he can also take one good look at me and know he's got trouble on his hands if I choose to make it happen."
Dillman shrugged. "Sabrina, it's too bad. I hadn't in- tended you to be a part of this, to have to die, but you've involved yourself. You, in the cabin along with the major there, Lord Redman, you right behind him. Then Skylar follows."
No Other Man Page 35
