LaceysWay

by Madeline Baker

  The sound of someone or something tapping at the window interrupted her tears. Lifting her head, Lacey glanced apprehensively toward the window. A radiant smile lit her face as she recognized Matt peering through the glass. Jumping from the bed, she flew to the window and raised the latch. “Matt!”

  “Come on, we’ve got to get out of here, right now!”

  Lacey didn’t waste time arguing. Lifting her skirts, she climbed over the windowsill and into Matt’s waiting arms.

  Matt swore softly as he placed Lacey on her feet.

  “What is it?” she whispered anxiously, her eyes searching the darkness. Had they been discovered already?

  “That dress.”

  Lacey glanced down at her wedding gown, now sadly rumpled. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “It stands out like a beacon in a lighthouse. You’ve got to get rid of it.”

  “But I don’t have anything else to wear. Mrs. Slater sent my clothes out to be pressed.”

  “You can wear my shirt. That dress has got to go.”

  With a sigh of resignation, Lacey began to unfasten the long row of tiny pearl buttons that ran down the back of her borrowed gown. She had difficulty with some of them, and Matt brushed her hands away and deftly unfastened the last few loops so Lacey could step out of the dress.

  “Get rid of those petticoats, too,” Matt said.

  With a nod, she unfastened the tapes of the petticoats and let them fall around her ankles. An eager light danced in Matt’s eyes as he gazed at Lacey. Her hair had come loose and fell in glorious disarray around her shoulders. Her chemise left little to the imagination, and he was sorely tempted to carry her back into the bedroom and make her his wife in a manner far more binding than a few words on a piece of paper. But there was no time for that. Not now.

  “Here.” He handed her his shirt, watched as she pulled it on. It covered her from her neck to mid-thigh.

  “Let’s go,” he said urgently, and taking her by the hand, he led her toward the barn where their horses were stabled.

  “Wait here,” he directed. Leaving Lacey standing in the shadows, he ghosted into the dusky barn, his eyes darting warily from right to left. There was no sign of a guard, and he let out a small sigh of relief as he began to saddle their horses.

  Just let our luck hold, he prayed silently, and led the horses out of the barn. A quick boost put Lacey onto Cinder’s back. Then, still on foot, Matt led the horses toward the rear of the fort, giving silent thanks to the powers that be that Camp Verde was not a walled fort.

  Slowly, silently, they made their way into the darkness beyond the camp. Only then did Matt swing into the saddle. They had just urged their horses into an easy trot when a bugle began to blow.

  “Damn!” Matt exclaimed. “It didn’t take them long to discover we’ve gone. Come on, Lacey, let’s ride!”

  Lacey nodded as she urged her horse after Matt’s. It was scary, riding through the black night, unable to see more than a few feet ahead. A low shrub, a prairie dog hole, a sudden dip in the terrain, all could spell sudden disaster when you were riding hell for leather through the dark.

  The wind whipped Lacey’s hair into her face and stung her cheeks and bare legs, but the fear that they might be caught spurred her on. She could not bear to think of Matt confined behind iron bars, could not imagine life without him.

  They rode hard for over an hour, pushing their horses as much as they dared. Lacey’s legs were numb with cold, her thighs chafed from rubbing against saddle leather, but she rode stoically on, her eyes fixed on Matt’s bare back. They had to get away, and she knew she would endure any discomfort necessary to insure Matt’s freedom.

  The sky was turning to pale gray when Matt reined his lathered gelding to a halt. Lacey’s mare slid to a stop beside him, and Matt saw that Lacey was slumped over the mare’s neck, one hand wrapped in the horse’s mane, the other fisted around the reins. Her eyes were closed.

  “Lacey?”

  Her eyes fluttered open. “I’m awake,” she murmured. “Let’s keep going.”

  Matt grinned wryly as he slid to the ground and lifted Lacey into his arms. Her head fell against his shoulder, and he saw that her eyes were closed again.

  “Go to sleep, honey,” he said softly.

  Lacey’s eyes flew open. “No, Matt. Let’s keep going. I’m not tired.”

  “Lacey, take it easy,” Matt chided gently. “The horses are tired, even if you aren’t.”

  Lacey nodded. With a sigh, she snuggled against him and he saw that she was sound asleep. For a moment he held her in his arms, not wanting to let her go, not even for a minute. Then, with a weary sigh, he placed her on a patch of dry grass and began to unsaddle their horses. Hobbling them nearby, he spread Lacey’s bedroll on the ground, then carried her to the blankets and put her to bed. Curling up beside her, he covered them with his blankets.

  In minutes he, too, was sound asleep.

  Chapter Seven

  She was drifting on a cloud, safe and serene, all her troubles behind her. Turning, she smiled at Matt and he took her in his arms and kissed her. His lips were warm, coaxing, his hands gentle as they moved slowly over her flesh. Gradually Lacey came awake, to realize that she was not dreaming at all.

  Opening her eyes, she saw Matt beside her. He was propped up on one elbow, his free hand lightly massaging her stomach. He smiled at her, a lazy smile, and then he lowered his head and claimed her lips in a long and hungry kiss.

  Warmth. Waves and waves of delicious warmth engulfed Lacey’s body as Matt’s mouth moved over hers. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him back, her lips parting at the touch of his tongue.

  She was breathing heavily when Matt took his mouth from hers.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Drago,” he whispered huskily.

  Lacey smiled happily. “Good morning, Mr. Drago.”

  Matt bent to nibble her earlobe. “We’ve been married one whole day,” he murmured, his breath warm against her neck, “and we’ve not yet had a honeymoon.”

  “I know,” Lacey said. The words came out in a breathy whisper. It was hard to think, hard to speak, when Matt was holding her close, his lips trailing kisses along her neck.

  “Lacey…”

  “Do we have time?” she asked, blushing a little. “The soldiers…”

  “To hell with the soldiers,” Matt rasped. “I want you now.”

  Lacey nodded shyly. She had never expected Matt to make love to her outside, in broad daylight.

  The rising sun fell in muted shades of gold over Lacey’s skin as Matt slowly unbuttoned her shirt and slid it over her shoulders. Her chemise came next, and then she was gloriously naked. She was his, he thought possessively, all his. Lawfully, legally his. Her skin was fair, faintly flushed under his approving gaze. Her hair was like a red-gold cloud, her lips as pink and velvety as a wild rose.

  Lacey watched from beneath the veil of her lashes as Matt began to remove his trousers. He was beautiful, she thought, grinning, and wondered what he would think if she told him such a thing, for beautiful was what he was.

  She went willingly into his arms, her face lifting for his kiss, her body molding itself to his as though they had made love a thousand times before. His skin was warm and firm against hers, the muscles in his back and arms taut beneath her questing fingertips. They kissed for a long, breathless time, hands eagerly exploring. Lacey gave a little gasp as she felt the very visible proof of Matt’s growing desire. Strange, to think she could arouse him to such heights, she who had never known a man before Matt came into her life. It gave her a feeling of power to know she could make him tremble with desire, make his dark eyes blaze with passion, cause his lips to murmur love words as he was murmuring them now.

  She basked in the love shining in his eyes, in the husky sound of his voice as he praised her beauty, in the touch of his breath upon her face. She was on fire for him when, at last, he possessed her. She reveled in his touch, in the complete sense of satisfaction that came
when her body was joined with his. She forgot everything then, everything but the press of his flesh against hers, the sweet sense of wonder that swept them into a world of their own. He was hers, this wonderful man who knew her body so intimately. Her man. Her husband. Hers forever…

  Later, sated and content, she was on the verge of sleep when Matt’s low-voiced curse sounded in her ear.

  “What is it?” Lacey asked, alarmed.

  “Don’t move,” Matt warned. “There are about thirty Indians watching us.”

  “Watching us?” Lacey squeaked.

  “Yeah.” Very slowly, Matt stood up, and as he did so he dropped his shirt over Lacey, covering her from her neck to mid-thigh.

  He let out a long breath. For a fleeting moment, he thought of diving for his gun, but he knew such a move would be suicide and so he just stood there, waiting, his hands clenched in impotent fury at his sides.

  The Indians snickered among themselves as they glanced from Matt to Lacey. It was easy to see what the white man had been doing only moments earlier.

  Three of the warriors slid to the ground. Wordlessly they grabbed Matt’s arms and tied his hands behind his back. That done, they moved toward Lacey.

  She cowered on the ground as the Indians approached her. Dear God, what did they want from her? She threw a pleading glance in Matt’s direction, but there was nothing he could do to help her now. One of the warriors indicated she should get dressed, and she did so as quickly as possible, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment as thirty pairs of eyes watched her slip into Matt’s shirt.

  Ten minutes later Matt and Lacey were mounted on their horses. Lacey’s hands had been tied behind her back, her feet tied to the stirrups of her saddle. Matt was similarly bound. The Indians had not seen fit to let him dress, however, and they laughed and made obscene gestures in his direction as they rode along.

  “Matt, what’s going to happen to us?” Lacey asked in a hushed tone.

  “Nothing good, I’ll wager,” Matt replied, then grunted as the warrior riding beside him struck him across the face.

  “No talk,” the Indian warned.

  They rode until nightfall, then the Indians made camp in a gentle swale. Lacey was lifted from her horse and tied to a tree. She watched apprehensively as the Indians dragged Matt from his horse, then surrounded him, their eyes alight with mischief. One by one, the warriors struck the naked white man with the palms of their hands, and when that failed to evoke a response, they began to hit him with their knotted fists, and then with sticks, until Matt’s body was covered with angry red welts.

  Tears welled in Lacey’s eyes as she watched the Indians abuse her husband. Why were they being so cruel? What was going to happen to Matt? Would they kill him? And what would they do with her?

  Matt was breathing heavily as he faced the warriors, his teeth clenched, his eyes defiant. His whole body ached from the numerous blows he had received, but he never uttered a sound of pain or protest, knowing that the Indians would consider it a sign of weakness and would torment him even more just to watch him squirm.

  When the warriors realized the white man was not going to whine or beg for mercy, they tired of the game. Tying him to a tree, they left him alone and went about the business of preparing a meal and lighting a fire to turn away the chill of the night. Matt sank wearily to the ground. What had they gotten themselves into?

  He looked over at Lacey and gave her a smile, hoping to reassure her. She looked so scared, so pale. He tested his bonds, hoping he might be able to slip his hands free, but the ropes were securely tied, and struggling only caused him pain.

  Lacey tried to return Matt’s smile, but she failed miserably. She was too frightened to put up a brave front, too fearful of what the future held. Her gaze darted to the Indians, but the warriors seemed to have forgotten about their prisoners and were gathered around the campfire, gnawing on jerky and dried venison. No food was offered to Matt or Lacey, and when the Indians finished eating, they bedded down for the night, leaving two warriors to stand guard.

  Lacey was so frightened, she was certain she would never be able to sleep, but soon her eyelids grew heavy and she dozed off, her dreams dark and troubled.

  When she awoke, it was dawn and the Indians were breaking camp. Matt was jerked to his feet and thrust onto the back of his horse, and soon Lacey was mounted on Cinder, her hands and feet tied as they had been the day before.

  They rode all that day, and the next, and at last they came to a narrow chasm that led into a large canyon. Ordinarily Lacey would have gasped with pleasure at the beauty of the canyon, for it was filled with towering trees, grass, and wildflowers. A stream gurgled merrily some yards to her left, emptying into a small lake that was as blue as the sky above. But she had eyes only for the numerous Indian lodges clustered between the sheer canyon walls.

  She felt her blood run cold as a multitude of Indian women and children came running toward them, and there was much shouting and laughter as the warriors dismounted, hugging their women and children. After the first brief burst of excitement, the men began to unload the pack horses, doling out blankets and clothing and foodstuffs that had obviously been taken in several raids.

  The Indian women laughed scornfully when they saw Matt, naked and helpless. Some spat at him, a few smacked him with their open palms, cursing him loudly in their native tongue.

  One warrior, taller than the others, dropped a rope around Matt’s neck and led him away. Lacey stared after her husband until he was out of sight. Fear for Matt was soon swallowed up in fear for her own life as a short, stocky warrior dragged her off Cinder’s back and forced her to follow him into one of the crude brush-covered huts.

  A plump Indian woman was nursing a child inside the lodge. She smiled at the man as he entered, then frowned when she saw the white woman.

  The warrior pointed at the squaw. “My woman,” he said to Lacey in stilted English. “You will do whatever she says.”

  Lacey nodded, too scared to reply. So that was to be her fate, she thought bitterly. She was going to be a slave.

  The Indian woman did not speak English, but she quickly made it known to Lacey that Lacey was at her mercy, that she had better behave and do as she was told, or be prepared to suffer the consequences.

  The next few days were a nightmare. Lacey was forced to gather wood, carry water from the river, prepare meals with ingredients that were foreign to her, and do a dozen other household chores. Her new owner had a quick temper and a sharp tongue, and she did not hesitate to strike Lacey when she was displeased, which was often. Wind Woman’s husband, Sun Beaver, rarely interfered. The white woman belonged to his wife. In fact, the lodge and everything it contained belonged to Wind Woman. Like all Apache men, Sun Beaver owned nothing but his weapons, clothing, and horses.

  Lacey longed to talk to Matt, but she never had the chance. He was not a slave as she was. Rather, he was simply a prisoner. Dressed in a brief deerskin clout, he was kept tied outside the lodge of the man who had claimed him, much as one might keep a dog. His hands were still bound behind his back, a rope circled his neck, tethering him to a tree. He was fed scraps from the evening meal and allowed to relieve himself at dusk and dawn. Otherwise he remained tied up. Occasionally, as now, the Indian children would gather around him, pointing and jabbering away in their guttural tongue.

  They had been in the Indian camp almost a week before Lacey summoned enough nerve to go to Matt. She waited until the hour after midnight when the camp was quiet and the fires had burned down to ashes, then, her heart in her throat, she crept out of Sun Beaver’s lodge and made her way across the village to Matt. He was asleep, his body curled into a tight ball in an effort to keep warm, for he had no blanket to ward off the cold. Gently, she placed her hand on his shoulder and shook it.

  Matt woke instantly, all his senses alert. He frowned when he rolled over and saw Lacey kneeling beside him. She was taking a terrible risk, just being there. If she was caught, she would likely be punished.
r />   “Oh, Matt,” Lacey murmured, and all the fear and unhappiness of the past six days sounded in her voice.

  “I know.” Matt scooted to a sitting position and Lacey wrapped her arms around his waist, her head resting on his shoulder.

  Matt cursed the rope that held his arms behind his back, preventing him from taking Lacey in his arms as he so longed to do. If the days had been long for her, they had been doubly so for him. Sitting there hour after hour with nothing to do wore on his nerves. Several times a day he walked around the tree as far as his tether permitted, first one way and then the other, just to pass the time. He sweated in the sun and shivered at night, and always his thoughts were for Lacey. He watched for her constantly, occasionally being rewarded with a glimpse of her as she went to the river for water.

  “Do you think we’ll ever get out of here?” Lacey asked.

  “I don’t know, honey,” he replied. “The camp is heavily guarded.”

  “We could try,” she said. “Now! Tonight!”

  “No. It’s too dangerous. We’d never make it out of the canyon without being seen by the guard at the entrance.”

  “I hate it here. Please think of something. I’ll do anything I can to help. Anything.”

  “I know. Here now, don’t cry.” They sat together for several minutes. Matt rested his chin on the top of Lacey’s head, his eyes thoughtful. He spent a good deal of his time trying to figure a way to escape, but so far no opportunity had presented itself. And Lacey only complicated matters. Alone, he would have taken any risk that would bring him his freedom, but he could not take chances that might cause Lacey harm. Her life had become more precious to him than his own.

  The fragrance of her hair filled his nostrils and he kissed the top of her head and then, as she lifted her face toward him, he pressed his lips to hers in a long, hungry kiss, drinking in the taste of her as if she were life itself.

  Lacey moaned softly, her mouth opening to Matt’s as his kiss grew deeper and more intense. Her arms went around his neck and her body pressed close to his until, somehow, they were lying on the ground side by side. She forgot where they were, forgot everything but the fire of Matt’s kisses and her own rising desire. Eyes closed, she strained toward him, her hips grinding against his, until she thought she would die with needing him.