Cloudcastle

by Nan Ryan

  For one brief instant her fingertips and forehead pressed the hard male chest before her as she leaned to him and said into his shirtfront, "I'm not going to marry Ashlin."

  She was gone then, flying back up the stairs while Kane's astonished blue gaze followed the shapely bare calves and small feet rapidly retreating. He said nothing. He stood motionless there on the stair, long after her slender form had disappeared inside the bedroom and the heavy white door had slammed shut with a resounding bang behind her.

  Kane was halfway up the stairs. And halfway down.

  Half ready to rush back up and take her in his aching arms. Half afraid to trust her with his heart. Half elated to know she would not be another man's wife. Half disappointed that she would not be another man's responsibility.

  Kane lifted wide shoulders in a shrug of frustration and walked down the stairs.

  Natalie, her back against the closed bedroom door, her heart hammering in her chest, closed her eyes and listened, hoping against hope that he'd turn and climb the stairs. For what seemed an eternity, she heard nothing. Nothing but the snapping of the fire, the pumping of the blood in her ears.

  Silently she prayed, Please, God, please. Tell him to come back… make him… Her eyes flew open. She turned her head to listen, lips parted, throat tight. And she heard Kane's distinctive step on the stair.

  Going away. Leaving her.

  Natalie slumped against the door, head sagging on her chest. Her eyes swam with tears that did not fall. Then she straightened, walked slowly to the tall bed, and climbed between the sheets. She felt suddenly weary, more tired than she could ever remember being.

  The toast and tea cooled, untouched, on the tray. The fire burned low in the grate. And Natalie lay listless in her big white bed, her green eyes clouded. Unhappy and alone.

  At dusk Kane finally lowered the heavy ax. He stood for a while with the solid oaken handle gripped tightly in his hands. He looked at the huge log below him, grumbled a loud curse, and lifted the ax high over his head. With all the strength left in his lean, powerful body, Kane brought it down, burying the gleaming iron blade in the wood.

  He released the ax handle and looked at his blister-riddled bare hands. Shrugging, he lifted a forearm to wipe the sweat from his face. And he laughed at himself Since returning from Cloud West at midmorning, he had been chopping firewood, and he had chopped with unremitting vengeance. Now, everywhere he looked, pinon-pine logs were stacked neatly, row upon row, some as high as his waist. Enough firewood to last all winter.

  Grinning, feeling more than a little foolish, Kane looked about, surveying the fruits of his anguished labor, shaking his dark head. Tiredly, he headed for the cabin, his long arms weak, the broad muscles of his back aching.

  Inside he ate a cold supper, bathed away the sweat and grime, and dropped into his easy chair to sip a brandy and smoke a cigar, certain that by the time he finished, he could fall into an exhausted sleep.

  He sat quietly staring into the fire, lean, muscular body unwinding, relaxing. Tiredly, he sighed. His thoughts, as they had been all day, were on Natalie. Again he was looking down upon a fiery head pressed to his chest and hearing the words I'm not going to marry Ashlin.

  Kane drained his brandy glass. Cigar stuck between his strong, white teeth, he rose and crossed the room to his bed. Deftly unbuttoning his buckskin trousers, Kane stepped out of them and crawled naked between the sheets, leaning up on an elbow to blow out the kerosene lamp.

  He lay back then, lazily putting on the hot-tipped cigar. Eyes on the ceiling, he smoked the cigar completely down to the tip, snuffed it out, and turned his face into the pillow, closing his eyes. His eyes opened. Kane groaned aloud. The faint scent of lemon clung to the pillowcase where, until tonight, a fiery head of hair, rinsed in lemon juice, had lain.

  He missed her. Missed her much more than he would have imagined. For the past week his cabin—and his life—had been full. Now both were unbearably empty.

  A weary but confident Ashlin Blackmore stepped down from the Overland stage at noon the next day. Brown eyes bloodshot, golden hair disheveled, he put a hand to his aching neck and looked about, expecting Natalie to step forward, happy to see him.

  She was nowhere about and Ashlin felt a surge of irritation that his fiancée had not seen fit to welcome him home. His gaze drifted up and down the street, warily searching for another face. A face he knew was not there. Could not be there.

  Kane Covington's bones were already turning to dust beneath a snowy grave in the Cloudcastle cemetery, Ashlin joyfully reminded himself The thought cheered him no end, and he felt his weariness magically lifting. A quick bath at the mansion would revive him. Refreshed, he would ride to Cloud West to see his beautiful fiancée.

  Ashlin smiled in the bright midday sunlight. Perhaps he could persuade Natalie to become his bride this very day. Or tomorrow. Tomorrow would be better. Meantime, he could transport a load of gold out of the cave.

  Ashlin began to chuckle evilly as, without bothering to greet his faithful servant, William, he climbed into his gleaming, crest-emblazoned coach. Settling himself back against the tall leather cushion, he let his thoughts paint sensual pictures. He envisioned a naked Natalie, her flaming hair in plaits, lying open-thighed upon a bed strewn with glittering gold coins.

  Yes, tomorrow he would marry her.

  Natalie heard the resounding clatter of hoofbeats on the frozen ground, and stiffened. She knew at once that the lone rider was Ashlin. She rose, went to the tall bureau, drew a small pearl-handled pistol from the top drawer, and calmly loaded it.

  A robe of soft blue flannel tied tightly about her narrow waist, the revolver concealed in a deep pocket, Natalie descended the stairs, apprehensive but resolute.

  She opened the front door. Backlit by the blinding sun, Ashlin stood framed in the portal, smiling happily. He reached out for her, but Natalie took a step backward.

  "Ashlin," she said, holding the door wide. "Please, come in."

  "Darling, what kind of greeting is this?" his voice was gently scolding. The smile immediately left his handsome face. "You're not dressed. Natalie, are you ill?"

  "No, Ashlin, I'm not," said Natalie. "Take off your cloak and come into the drawing room."

  A strange unease tightening his chest, Ashlin Blackmore shrugged out of his fine cashmere cloak, unwrapped the white silk muffler from his throat, and followed Natalie into the warm, sunny room.

  She strode to the fireplace, inhaled deeply, turned, and announced, "I was shot, Ashlin."

  "My God! No!" he exclaimed. "When? Where?" He rushed forward. Natalie put up her hands. "Don't, Ashlin. I want to talk."

  "Certainly, darling, but you must tell me what happened. Where were you? Whom were you with? Who on earth would want to shoot you?" His face was flushed with shock and outrage.

  "No one, Ashlin."

  "No one? You just said… Darling, you're speaking in riddles. What are you saying? Tell me…"

  "I'm saying that someone mistook me for Kane Covington and shot me in the back."

  "No, that couldn't… Who found you? Took you to the doctor? Are you all right? Dear God, this is ghastly, unbelievable…" His words trailed away.

  "Someone in Cloudcastle wants Kane Covington dead. They rode onto his property to shoot him. They hit me by mistake and Kane saved my life."

  Ashlin again started toward her. "Darling, this is horrible. Did the doctor get—"

  "There was no doctor, Ashlin. The blizzard made it impossible for Kane to get me to Cloudcastle. He removed the bullet; he saved my life."

  "I shall be eternally grateful to him, Natalie. Did… did Jane help him and—"

  "Jane was not here. I've been at Kane's cabin for the past week. He tended me there."

  "I see…" His eyes flickered. "You and Kane alone all this time? Surely you could have—"

  Natalie cut him off "Your brother, Ashlin? Your brother, Titus?"

  She watched a tiny muscle jump beside his bottom lip. "My God, what'
s gotten into you?" He shook his golden head. "You've been listening to that ignorant old Indian telling tales!"

  "I haven't seen Tahomah, Ashlin. A diary in your house."

  The blood drained from his face and his brown eyes narrowed dangerously. "You were snooping through my things?"

  "Yes, Ashlin." She looked him straight in the eye. "Titus was your brother, wasn't he? He found the Manitou gold. That's why you came to Cloudcastle. Why you wanted to marry me."

  "Natalie, Natalie." Ashlin felt everything slipping out of his control. Fighting the panic gripping him, he said forcefully, "You have everything confused! You don't know what you're talking about, darling. I know nothing of any gold and I—" Swiftly he stepped closer and took hold of her shoulders. "I want to marry you because I love you. You're going to be my wife and we'll—"

  Natalie plucked at the restraining hands holding her. "No, Ashlin, I'm not going to be your wife. I'm not going to marry you."

  "You can't mean that! You're upset, that's all. You're ill and not yourself, not thinking clearly." He smiled then, a strained, tight smile that did not reach his worried eyes. "You foolishly meddled about and you think you found something. You'll see it was all a mistake." He urged her to him.

  She managed to pull away and her right hand went into the robe's pocket to rest on the revolver. "Ashlin, I will not marry you. I intend to find out just how deeply you are involved in the attempted murder of Kane Covington."

  Livid, Ashlin nonetheless managed to hide his anger from Natalie. "I? Involved? Darling, that's the most absurd thing I've ever heard." He nervously drew a gold cigarette case from inside the pocket of his fine silk shirt. "I've been in Denver for a week, remember? I couldn't possibly have—"

  "A man needn't pull the trigger to commit a murder," Natalie said evenly.

  Ashlin knew if he did not leave at once he was going to give himself away, so upset was he. He put the cigarette case away. Nothing had worked as he had planned. The stupid Leatherwoods shot the woman he was to marry! And Kane Covington, whom he thought dead, was not only alive, he had spent the week alone with Natalie in his remote mountain cabin, poisoning her mind. And making love to her?

  "Darling," Ashlin said softly, "you're overwrought and confused. I understand, truly I do. I want you to go straight to bed and rest. When you're feeling better, we'll talk."

  "When I'm feeling better, I'm talking to the sheriff." She fought the weakness claiming her slender body. "Don't leave town, Ashlin. You've some explaining to do."

  Ashlin stared incredulously at the woman who had once agreed to be his wife. She was looking up at him as though he had committed some terrible act, as though he were a criminal. His reserve wavered, his calm voice rose in frustrated anger.

  "Natalie, I'll hear no more of your foolish insinuations. It's obvious that Kane Covington has been putting ideas in your head. You'll forget all about this in a few days." He moved toward the corridor. "I've business I must handle. I'll be back when I can."

  Natalie followed. "No, Ashlin. Don't come here. Not ever again. I'll see you in court."

  Ashlin whirled the long cloak about his shoulders. Eyes wild, face demonic, he spun on Natalie, grabbed her before she could react, and jerked her up against him. Through thinned lips he said, "You'll see me tomorrow! We're getting married in the morning I'm out of patience with you!"

  His lips came down on hers in a punishing, ruthless kiss that left her staggering and fighting for breath. Abruptly he released her. She sagged against the banister of the stairs as Ashlin slammed out of the house, ran down the walk, and mounted his horse.

  Trembling with rage and weakness, Natalie battled the waves of blackness threatening to engulf her. Gasping for air, fighting the dizziness, she made her way up the stairs.

  She collapsed across her bed, closing her eyes against the reeling room. And her eyes remained closed even as the rotation slowed and stopped. Wrung out from the confrontation, exhausted from, an almost sleepless night, Natalie fell asleep.

  It was late afternoon when she awakened. Rested, stronger, Natalie rose and began dressing.

  Kane stood in the setting sun. He heard the muffled hoof-beats and his heartbeat quickened. Foolishly expecting to see Natalie's bright coppery hair silhouetted against the lilac sky, he turned hopefully. And the smile left his face.

  The riders were upon him; he had no chance. His holstered gun was in the cabin, a hundred yards from where he worked. He dropped the heavy load of pinon and started walking fast, strides long and purposeful, eyes riveted to the approaching pair. One rider, a big, beefy man, was grinning broadly; the other, pale and thin, smiled not at all. One led an unsaddled gray gelding behind him. Both earned unholstered rifles.

  The mounted men swiftly blocked Kane's path, their horses dancing on the snow. Kane halted. "Get off my property," he said levelly.

  Damon Leatherwood snorted loudly. "Shut your dammed mouth! You've caused us enough trouble, Covington. Lord Blackmore's mad at me and my brother. And that makes us mad at you." Burl Leatherwood remained mute. Aiming his rifle straight at Kane's head, Burl nodded.

  In moments Kane found himself astride a barebacked gelding, wrists tied behind his back, gag between his teeth, noose around his neck, its end tied securely to the branch of a gnarled pine. And flanked by the armed, mounted Leatherwoods.

  Damon talked nonstop. His beefy face freshly battered by an enraged Ashlin Blackmore, the big man taunted and tormented and nudged Kane in the ribs with his rifle. "Ever seen a man hanged, Covington? Terrible sight, terrible sight. He flops around like a fish out of water, gagging and eyes popping and kicking up an awful fuss." Kane's blue eyes stared straight ahead. "You're gonna swing 'cause that's the way Blackmore wants you to die. He made us promise not to shoot you. Said that would be too quick."

  Burl Leatherwood leaned close. His long, skinny fingers sank into Kane's dark hair and jerked his head backward. The sallow man put his lips near Kane's ear and spoke for the flat time. "Know why you're dying, Covington? Because you've been sticking your greedy southern hands in the gold… and your stiff southern cock in the judge."

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Natalie topped a snowy ridge below Kane's cabin and her eyes widened in horror. "No!" she tried to scream, but no sound came forth.

  Damon Leatherwood gave the gray gelding's rump a loud whack. The frightened beast lurched wildly forward and galloped away. The two mounted men, one silent, the other shouting triumphantly, thundered after the gelding and out of sight.

  Staring horrified at the dark-haired man dangling helplessly from the end of a rope, Natalie dug her heels into Blaze's belly as she drew her revolver.

  The big stallion lunged over the snow-covered ground. Natalie fired at the rope; it snapped in two, and Kane fell into the snow. She was off her horse and beside him in an instant.

  "Kane, Kane, speak to me!" She threw herself down beside him, gloved hands immediately tearing at the choking rope encircling his dark throat. Tears of panic streaming down her cheeks, she jerked the gagging bandanna from his mouth and entreated, "Kane, oh, Kane! Don't leave me, Dear God nor!"

  His deep blue eyes were open, looking at her, and as soon as she loosened the noose he croaked, "Calm down, honey. I'm alive."

  "Oh, Kane," she screamed exultantly, and fell upon him, framing his flushed face in her gloved hands, kissing his eyes, his brow, his cheeks. "Yes," she murmured, breathless, heart racing. "You're alive, you're alive. My dear, you're alive!" She lifted her face from his and saw pain in his eyes. "You're hurt bad, Kane! Your neck is—"

  "It's not my neck, honey," he rasped. "I'm lying on my hands and—"

  "Kane! I'm sorry." She immediately eased him onto his side and with trembling, clumsy fingers, untied his wrists, grimacing at the telling red, raw flesh burned by the rope.

  "Thanks," Kane managed, and levered himself into a sitting position. He sat in the snow, rubbing at a chapped wrist but smiling reassuringly at Natalie.

  On her knees bes
ide him, worriedly studying his face, Natalie rashly pulled his dark head against her breasts and murmured "You're safe now, Kane. I'll take care of you; don't you worry, I'm here."

  "Let's get inside," said Kane into the wet lapel of her coat.

  "Of course!" She was up at once, tugging on him. "I must get you indoors and get a doctor."

  "No doctor, Judge." Kane stood on shaky legs. "A shot of whiskey; that's all I need."

  "Anything you want, Kane," assured Natalie, stepping to his side, "anything at all."

  With her arm wrapped around his trim waist and her slender shoulders supporting his long right arm, Natalie helped Kane to his cabin while Blaze eyed the pair and shook his mane and fell into step beside them.

  Natalie paid the stallion no attention. Her total concentration on the tall, dark man beside her, she thought of nothing and no one save Kane. It was he who said, when they neared the cabin door, "Natalie, I can manage now." His blue gaze went over her head to the neighing horse. "Blaze wants to be off."

  Her reply brought a smile to Kane's tight lips. "Let him be off, then, I'm staying with you."

  Inside, she guided him to the bed, issuing orders as if she were a commanding general. "You are to get in bed at once. I'll heat water while you undress. I'll bathe your neck and wrists and determine whether or not a physician is needed. If so, I'll ride Blaze into Cloudcastle and…" She looked at him. "What are you waking for? Undress!"

  "Yes, ma'am," drawled Kane hoarsely, waiting for her to turn away. She didn't. She reached for the fringed hem of his buckskin shirt, shoving it up over his ribs. Together they got his shirt off and Natalie, eyes on his rope-burned throat, said shrilly, "The panther's claw! Where is it? Why aren't you wearing it?"

  "On the night table," Kane told her, and seeing the censure in her flashing green eyes, added, "I always wear it. I forgot this morning." He lifted bare, wide shoulders apologetically.