"Come." Roughly he grabbed her arm and yanked her toward the flap. "Watch him die."
Hallie stumbled through the opening and blinked against the glare of a dozen torches. In the center of the semicircle stood Cooper.
"Cooper!" she shouted, and attempted to run toward him.
Last Horse jerked her arm and shoved her into a gathering of women. Their hands clasped her and held her securely.
Cooper's relief at seeing her alive entwined with fury at her appearance. Her dark hair hung in a tangled mass, and her face, bare arms and feet were dirty. How had he let this happen to her? Why hadn't he seen her safely home when he'd had the chance? She would never forgive him for the abuse she'd suffered. He would never forgive himself. All that mattered now was getting her out of here and back to her family.
The women clutched at Hallie, but she ignored their grasping hands and tried to pull away.
Cooper glared at the man he'd been raised with, the man he'd shared a lodge and meals with, the man he'd taught his own language and considered a brother. Last Horse had never been able to accept him. He'd resented the love and attention his father had shared with a white boy. If Last Horse had ever seen Cooper as an individual, it had been as one who'd come to damage his position in his father's eyes.
He took a minute to scan the faces of the renegades surrounding them, people he'd grown up with, people he'd fought beside, ate with and played with. People as proud and frightened as those on the reservation, with one difference. These had listened to Last Horse and believed it was better to die fighting than to give up.
Cooper sheathed his knife long enough to strip his shirt over his head. Grasping the bone-handled knife again, he moved forward.
The villagers formed a ragged circle around them. Cooper's attention never left his brother's spiteful eyes. Last Horse lashed out, and Cooper arched his body outward, avoiding the blade. Again his opponent lunged; again Cooper dodged.
He made a sweep of his own, scoring a slash across Last Horse's upper arm.
Last Horse sliced Cooper's trousers and they faced off once again, circling, circling.
Hallie covered her mouth with her trembling fingers, afraid she'd cry out and provide a deadly distraction. Blood streamed from Last Horse's cut, a gruesome shine in the torch glow. She grew dizzy watching the two men bait one another. Light flakes of snow swirled between them.
Last Horse moved in close, his blade leaving a thin streak of blood across Cooper's chest. Cooper's attention never wavered. He never stopped moving or feinting and lunging. Hallie feared her heart wouldn't take the strain. She forced herself to take several deep breaths to keep from fainting or being sick.
Good God, what would she do if Cooper was killed? The gathering would turn on Wiley next, and then her. Cooper should never have come. He shouldn't have risked his life for hers.
Hallie held her breath while the two men wrestled with one another, knife blades gleaming in the eerie flickering light. They landed on their knees, muscles straining, the sheen of sweat on their bodies.
A moment later they sprang apart, Cooper lunging to his feet. Crimson flowed from his side.
"Oh, God!" Hallie sobbed, and clutched the stone at her breast. "Don't let him die. I'd rather stay than have him die."
Cooper panted, his massive chest heaving with exertion, but his stance held life and strength. In the next instant Last Horse rolled into Cooper's legs, knocking him over hard. He met the dirt and came up on his elbow. Last Horse lunged at him and they rolled, vying for the upper position. One of the knives arced through the air, landing out of reach.
Hallie stared in dread.
Cooper came up on top, pressing the tip of his blade against Last Horse's throat. Last Horse, at his mercy, glared upward.
"The woman—is mine," Cooper said between clenched teeth. "Say it." Hallie scanned the faces of the crowd as they anticipated what would happen next. Would he say it? Would Cooper kill him?
"Say it!" Cooper demanded.
"The—woman—is—yours," Last Horse growled.
Cooper relaxed his hold.
The crowd seemed to release an audible sigh.
Cooper sheathed his knife and sat on his heels.
Hallie jerked away from the women and ran and held Cooper's head against her midriff, not caring that his wounds bled on her skirt. He enfolded her legs with his arms, holding her against him. She tangled her fingers in his hair.
A little sob escaped her lips and she clung to him for all she was worth, bending to touch her lips to the top of his head, breathing in his strength and masculine scent. She was safe. He was alive.
Last Horse's jerky movement caught her eye as he grabbed the knife. She reacted without thinking, pulling the derringer from her pocket and firing it. Last Horse's body jerked and his eyes widened, but still he lunged closer. Hallie squeezed the other trigger.
Cooper turned at the same time Last Horse fell forward against him. He lowered the limp body to the ground. The knife fell from his brother's hand. Cooper raised his eyes to Hallie's.
"I shot him," she whispered, then dropped the derringer.
Cooper picked it up, looked at her and stood. "You didn't have a choice," he said at last.
Her panicked gaze slid from his face to the crowd of villagers with snowflakes dusting their black hair. Would they kill them now? Would their hair hang from the tribe's belts like so many others before them?
One of the men spoke to Cooper. Cooper replied. A rumble of conversation passed through the gathering.
Cooper spoke again. The men concurred and nodded. Several others gestured and the crowd broke up.
"What did he say?" she asked.
"He said to take you and go."
Relief poured through her.
"I insisted I take Last Horse's body to my father. They agreed."
"They agreed?"
"They saw what happened here. It was a fair fight. I won and let him live. He tried to kill me when my back was turned. Any of these women would protect her man the same."
"Oh."
"Where is your clothing?"
She gestured lamely at the scattered women walking back to their tents.
"Let's find you something."
She followed him into Last Horse's tepee. "There's something you'd better see," she said, and opened the trunk.
Cooper pulled out a shirt. "Wear this. And these." He shoved a pair of boots into her hands.
"Cooper, these are the clothes the stage robbers were wearing," she said, shoving her arms into the oversize shirt. "Last Horse and his men were the ones stealing from you."
His brow furrowed and he studied the items. "Are you sure?"
She nodded. "Once I saw this shirt and hat I remembered what they looked like on him. When I kneed him, his hat fell off and I saw his hair." She met his bewildered look. "I remembered his eyes the most, though."
"I traced your bracelet back to him," he admitted, and she hated to see the way he stood with his proud shoulders slumped. "He hated me that much," he said sadly. "I would have given him anything he needed."
"He blamed you for everything," Hallie said. "Even Plenty Wolves's death."
"I suspected that Last Horse was behind that final rebellion that got Plenty Wolves killed. Someone had tipped off the army to our whereabouts."
"He was hurting his own people," she said, pulling the boots on.
"He didn't see it that way."
She shook her head.
Cooper carried in her coat and gloves and handed them to her without ceremony.
She glanced from her warm clothing to his shuttered face. "You brought my things."
He shrugged. "Figured you'd be cold." He wrapped an additional fur around her and took another to roll Last Horse's body in. He brought a horse from the corral. "His horse was too tired from riding double, so I traded it for a fresh one."
Hallie stared at the horse with brass rings pierced through its ears and scalps braided into its tail. "I don'
t want to ride behind it."
"You won't." He led her to where Wiley waited with the horses.
"Miss?" Wiley wore a disconcerted expression.
Hallie hugged him impulsively. "Thanks for coming with Cooper."
"Are you all right?" he asked. "Did they hurt you?"
"I'm bruised and sore and tired, but other than that, I'm fine."
"You're right lucky."
"I don't know about luck." She allowed Kincaid to assist her onto the mare while Cooper tied the body to the Indian horse. "How did you know where to find me? I thought Indians covered their trails."
"They do. We lost the trail yesterday."
"Then how—?"
"He said his spirit stone told him where you were."
Hallie touched her stone and Cooper's head rose. He turned and met her eyes.
"You're cut," she said simply.
"Not bad." He wiped his ribs with a handful of snow and pulled his shirt and coat on. "We have to beat this storm."
She rode behind Cooper, who followed the way they'd come. Behind her, Wiley led the Indian horse. They camped where Cooper and Wiley had camped earlier and slept a few hours.
They awoke and discovered a small group of Oglala waiting for them, women and children and horses among them.
"What are they doing?" Hallie whispered.
"They're following us back to the reservation," Cooper replied. "Last Horse may have been the only thing keeping them out there."
Cooper led them out at first light, setting a persistent pace. The snow let up. They stopped only once to eat, sharing what little food they had with the Oglala. Cooper urged them onward. The moon appeared clear and full and he decided not to stop.
Hallie hurt everywhere. She was so exhausted she couldn't stay atop the horse. The moonlight wavered, and she dreamed of leering faces and burning sticks stabbing her skin. She awoke to the warmth and snapping sound of a fire.
Hallie turned her head and her neck hurt. She tried to speak, but her throat was dry and aching.
Chumani's face swam before her. "Sleep, Hallie, sleep," she said in her distinctive, clipped way. A cool cloth draped Hallie's forehead and she closed her eyes again.
The next time she awoke, the room was light and she recognized it as her room in the log house.
Cooper dozed in a chair by her side.
"Cooper?" she said, trying out her voice. It cracked.
He sat up and blinked, reaching over to place the backs of his fingers against her cheek and forehead. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I was carried over a saddle and beaten with sticks."
"I'm sorry about the way they treated you," he said.
Wincing, she tried to sit up. "It's not your fault."
He helped her.
"How long did I sleep?"
"You had a fever for a couple of days."
"Days!" She glanced down at the covers clasped to her chest and noticed the black-and-blue marks covering her arms. "Where are my clothes?"
"The little you had left were covered with blood."
At that, she remembered his cuts. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine."
"Show me."
"You're not an easy woman to convince of anything, are you?" He stood and pulled up his deerskin shirt, revealing a light bandage.
"Stitches?" she asked.
"A few."
"Chumani?"
"Kincaid."
"Well." Then another thought. "Where are the Indians who followed us?"
"At the reservation."
"Will the others who stayed make it through the winter?"
"They'll make it," he assured her. "They've been wintering in the cold for as long as the badlands have been here."
"Not this far west, though, have they?"
"There is better land," he agreed. He stepped to the chest of drawers, returned with an envelope and sat on the edge of the chair. "The mail came through," he said softly.
"Dogsled?"
He nodded.
She looked at the letter in his hands. "Who's it from?"
"Your father." He handed it to her.
Hallie took the envelope and stared at the familiar, neat writing. She tore it open and unfolded the paper. A cashier's check fell to the bed. She stared at the amount for a few seconds, then began to read.
Dearest Hallie,
Your mother and I were beside ourselves with worry when we discovered your absence. Your brothers were convinced you'd been to the Piedmont district trying to involve yourself in a story about the boxing tournament. I hired an agent to search for you. When the first telegram arrived, relating your impetuous plan, your mother fainted dead away.
She is highly distressed. The agency will send someone as far as Duluth to meet you and deliver you home. This should be enough to pay someone to get you there. Come home immediately. Your loving father.
"What does it say?"
She handed the letter to him. Frowning, he studied the script. "I can't make out all the words."
"It says he'll have someone waiting in Duluth to take me home."
"Someone you can trust? There's still a long way to go after that."
She lay back. "I'm sure it'll be someone I can trust."
He folded the letter and gave it back to her. "I did a lot of thinking the past couple of days."
She rolled her head to the side to look at him.
"The weather has been fair. If the mail can get through, I'm sure I could get you out of here."
"Is this enough money?"
"I don't want your father's money."
"But I owe you—"
"I said I don't want it."
"Take it for the reservation, then. Buy them clothing and hire a teacher." She held the slip of paper toward him.
He looked at it and back at her face. "I'll take it for them, don't think I won't."
She wiggled the check in the air.
He took it.
"When will we leave?" she asked.
"As soon as you're feeling strong and as long as the weather holds. A day or two. Pack only what you'll need for the trip. I'll send the rest on to you."
Hallie's gaze followed his broad form as he walked to the door. "I'll be ready."
He slipped out of the room and she closed her eyes. It would be that easy, then? In a week or so he'd have her to Duluth and turn her over to another man, who would take her back to Boston. At last she'd be gone, out of his hair, out of his house. He could get on with his life. Perhaps he'd bring home a woman from the reservation.
And what about her? She'd get on with her life, too. She'd have things back to normal in no time.
Normal…begging for scraps beneath her father's desk…trying to be seen and heard above the magnificence of the males in her family…turning down proposals from the young men her father and brothers foisted upon her.
A new thought occurred to her. Maybe she'd marry one of them. Maybe an interesting one would come along, one with blue eyes and skin tanned from the sun. Maybe…
She rolled over and buried her face beneath the covers. No matter how hard she wished, there wasn't a man like Cooper DeWitt in Boston. The longer she thought about it the more convinced she became; nowhere in the world was there a man who would make her feel the way he did. And even if there was, she wouldn't want him. She wanted Cooper. And he wasn't hers to have.
Chumani cared for her after that. The next day she got up and took care of herself. And the following day, Cooper knocked on the door and announced they'd be leaving at daybreak. "Say your goodbyes tonight."
Goodbyes. Hallie hadn't given any thought to telling Chumani and Yellow Eagle goodbye, and she resisted it. But leaving without a farewell would be cowardly and she couldn't bring herself to do that, so she and Chumani prepared supper in the house together one last time.
"I'll send you books," Hallie promised Yellow Eagle at the table. "All the classics."
The boy didn't reply. He picked at his food and excused hi
mself, going to sit by the fireplace.
Hallie laid down her bone fork. No one spoke, and the atmosphere grew uncomfortable. Cooper finished his coffee and Chumani poured him more. Hallie got up and went to sit by Yellow Eagle.
"We all have somewhere we belong," she said softly. "I don't belong here."
He looked up from breaking a stick into tiny pieces, and the hurt in his ebony eyes cut a ragged slice from the brave front she'd constructed. "Where do you belong, then?"
"Back in Boston," she answered. "That's where my family is."
"I guess if they need you, that's where you should be."
She nodded, ignoring the implication of his innocent words. "We'll still be friends, Yellow Eagle," she promised. "You can write to me. And I promise I'll write to you."
"Okay."
Chumani tried to give her the bracelet back, but Hallie insisted it should belong to her. They hugged and said their goodbyes, and Hallie went to bed with a heavy heart.
At daybreak she waved to Jack and, dressed in her warmest clothing, climbed atop the horse Cooper steadied for her. With their supplies tied to two extra horses, their journey began.
The sun reflecting off the snow in all directions hurt her eyes. She pulled her hood low and enjoyed the warmth penetrating her clothing. They traveled fast, but Cooper insisted on stopping for a noon meal with hot tea. They didn't stop to eat again until full dark. Beside a rock formation he constructed a tiny, slant-roofed tent only two feet off the ground, hobbled the horses nearby and built a fire. First he melted snow for the horses and measured each a portion of grain from one of the packs.
Next he opened a tin of meat with his bowie knife and heated it. They shared it and dry biscuits. He showed her how to wipe the plates and silverware with snow, dry them beside the fire and pack them away.
He lit his pipe. "Go lie down."
"What about you?"
"I'll be there in a minute."
She crouched before the shallow tent.
"You'll keep warmer if you take your clothes off and spread them over the top of the furs."
It was no easy task removing her coat and boots and outer clothing in the cramped space. She draped them over the top of the pelts as he'd directed, but kept her underclothes on and slid into the furs.
Badlands Bride Page 24
