Savage Desire (Savage Lagonda 1)

by Constance O'Banyon

  Mara studied Tess for a moment. She could be anywhere from her late thirties to her early fifties. Her once brown hair was laced with gray. She wore it wound in a bun and tucked beneath a stiff white cap. She was thin and wiry, and moved with an agility many younger women would envy. Her face was stern at the moment, but the tiny laugh lines around her cornflower blue eyes bore witness that she smiled a lot.

  "Did you look in on your mother?"

  "Yes, she was sleeping. Tess, she is getting worse, isn't she?"

  Tess put a comforting arm around Mara's shoulder. "Don't you fret none, honey. She has her good days and her bad days. It's to be expected."

  "I suppose so, but I wish it did not have to be so, Tess."

  "You know what?" Tess said, trying to distract her, "George told me he saw some wild strawberries growing in the forest the other day. After he finishes his chores I will ask him to gather some and you can make Jeffery some strawberry tarts. You know how he loves strawberries."

  "Maybe George could drive me into town," Mara said hopefully, rising from the table so quickly she knocked over a glass of milk, spilling the contents on the mahogany surface of the table.

  Tess clicked her tongue and dabbed at the spilt milk. "George has better things to do than to drop everything and rush to do your bidding. He is hired to look after the place, not to cater to you." Mara looked so crestfallen at Tess's scolding that Tess felt sorry for her sharp reprimand. "You run along, and try on the new dress Mrs. Simpson dropped off this morning. Then this afternoon, you can make Jeffery some tarts. That will please him mightily, or I miss my guess. Mayhaps next week you can go into town and get the vest for him."

  "I suppose I could do that," Mara said hesitantly. Then she brightened, a plan forming in her mind. She hugged Tess tightly, and rushed up the stairs, leaving Tess with a puzzled frown on her face.

  When Mara reached her bedroom, she quickly slipped into her boots, put on a bonnet, and then tied a shawl about her shoulders. It was spring and the weather had turned warm, but Mara knew it would still be quite cool in the forest. For she had decided that she, and not George, would pick the wild strawberries for Jeffery's tarts. After all, did not Tess say that George was busy? And although she had been warned repeatedly not to go into the woods unless she was accompanied by her father or one of her brothers, Mara thought it would do no harm just this once. After all, it was for a good cause.

  Mara went down the stairs cautiously, not wanting to encounter Tess. Since her mother was sleeping she would not miss her. She could hear Tess rattling pots and pans in the kitchen. Tiptoeing across the entryway, she opened the front door and closed it quietly behind her. David's hunting hound, Blue, was lying on the veranda. He lumbered to his feet, wagging his tail. Mara patted his head and laughed as he licked her hand.

  "Come on, Blue. You can keep me company," she said as she rushed across the lawn and around the side of the house.

  The woods were some five hundred yards from the house. She quickened her steps, not wanting Tess to spot her, knowing she would be prevented from going into the forest if she were discovered. When she reached the edge of the tree line, she glanced quickly toward the house and then disappeared among the dense forest. She had been unable to bring a basket with her for fear of arousing Tess's suspicions, so she would have to put the berries in her shawl. Mara looked about her, drinking in the beauty of the forest. How she loved it here. The smell of wild honeysuckle filled her nostrils. She watched as a red bird scolded a starling noisily. The forest was like another world, so peaceful and serene.

  Spotting some strawberries peeping out from under some dried leaves, she bent down and gathered them, placing them in her shawl. She popped one of the plump berries into her mouth, savoring the flavor, and laughing as the juice ran down her chin. Blue was having his fun, too. He had treed a gray squirrel and was lunging at the tiny animal, which was safely out of his reach.

  Mara gathered up her shawl and continued down the trail, gathering strawberries wherever she found them. Ever so often she would pause in her quest to admire the beauty that surrounded her. She was totally unaware that she had wandered so deeply into the forest. Once she tripped on a protruding root, lost her balance, and fell to the ground. She laughed as Blue ran circles around her then stopped to lick her face.

  "Nothing hurt but my dignity," she told him playfully.

  She noticed that the trees were more abundant now, and the path had all but disappeared. The dim sunlight filtered through the tall trees, giving the forest an enchanted look. Pushing Blue gently away, she rose to her feet, walked over to a tall dogwood tree, and sat down, leaning her back against the trunk. She felt an overwhelming urge to stay in this beautiful, enchanted place. If only she were a man she could strap her belongings to her back and explore until her heart was content. She remembered when Mr. Lewis and Mr. Clark had passed through St. Louis after their travels into the wilderness to map the land at President Jefferson's request. It had been September 23, 1806. She remembered the date because it had been her fourteenth birthday. She and Jeffery had followed along with the crowd that welcomed the weary travelers. They had listened, fascinated as Meriwether Lewis had recounted some of their adventures. Something had come to life within Mara that day. She felt the pull of the far-off land he spoke of.

  Sometimes, afterwards, she would awaken at night feeling she did not belong to her surroundings. It was such a strong feeling. She would feel she was lost and adrift, yearning for some unknown place. As she grew older, instead of diminishing, the feelings grew stronger. She told Jeffery of her feelings, knowing he would understand and not laugh at her, as others might have.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by Blue, who was growling deep within his throat. The bristles on the back of his neck stood on end. Mara smiled and patted him, unafraid at his aggressive action.

  "I am assured that you are brave and fearless," she told him, roughing his smooth coat.

  Realizing how late it was, and how far she had wandered from the path, she turned her steps toward home. She had not gone far when she noticed that Blue was not with her. She heard him growling fiercely, and for the first time began to feel apprehensive. What if it were some dangerous animal stalking her? Hugging her precious burden of strawberries tightly against her, she quickly retraced her steps, calling out to Blue.

  Mara heard a loud yelp, and then a pitiful whining sound as though Blue were in pain. Forgetting about her own safety, she ran to the spot where she had left him. She saw him lying motionless on the ground. Kneeling down beside him she noticed in horror the knife that was buried in his chest. The wound was bleeding profusely. Mara watched in shock as Blue's lifeblood spilled onto the ground.

  At first she felt anger that someone would do such a cruel thing to Blue. Lifting his head, she cried openly, for it was apparent that he was dead. It flashed through her mind how angry David would be with her. He would hold her responsible for Blue's death.

  Hearing a rustling in the nearby bushes, she looked up slowly and saw a pair of moccasin-clad feet. Fear made her heart pound. Her eyes traveled up the leather-clad legs to the naked torso, and finally to the man's face. The Indian just stood there watching her with a puzzled expression on his face. He was short and heavy-set. Mara reached for the knife that was buried to the hilt in Blue's body, and withdrew it. If he expected her to scream and faint at the sight of him, he would be sadly disappointed. Rising to her feet, she took a step backwards, watching to see if he would pursue her. But he did not make a move in her direction. Keeping a wary eye on the man, she took another step backwards, and then another. Still the man did not move. Was it possible that he would let her go unharmed? Taking several steps backwards, she tested that theory. But still he only watched her, not moving a muscle. Not trusting him, she turned on her heels with the intention of fleeing for her life, but she met with a solid wall. A second Indian had been standing behind her all the time. He grabbed her with a force that knocked the breath from her body. Then he
wrestled the knife from her grip as easily as if she had been a child.

  Mara felt herself go limp as he tightened his grip on her. She heard someone screaming and realized it was herself. The Indian struck her a stunning blow to the side of her head with the hilt of the knife. Pain exploded in her head and all was in darkness.

  When she regained consciousness, she found that her hands and feet had been bound and that she was lying face down in the bottom of a canoe.

  Mara's thoughts returned to the present. She looked down at her once elegant green gown that was now soiled and dirty. Her hair felt stiff from the mud that was caked in it, and she knew her face was grimy and streaked with mud, for that morning when the older Indian had lifted her roughly from the canoe and placed her on the muddy riverbank, she had lost her footing and fallen face first into the mud. The man had not even tried to come to her aid as she had struggled trying to regain her footing. The result was that she was now covered with dried, caked-on mud.

  She could hear the men now. Their voices came to her from the riverbank. She heard the sound of splintering wood, and knew they were destroying the canoe. Apparently they would no longer be traveling by the river. Somehow that thought caused her to become even more frightened. Did the destruction of the canoe mean they would now be traveling by foot? Mara felt as if her last hope of being rescued was being sunk to the bottom of the river along with the canoe.

  She watched as the younger Indian approached her. His companion had already lain down on the hard ground and appeared to be sleeping.

  The Indian knelt down beside her and offered her a piece of dried meat. Then he touched her face gently and his eyes grew soft. Mara turned her face away from him, hating the feel of his hands, and fearing the look in his eyes. She heard him rise to his feet, and turned back to look at him. She watched as he stretched his arms over his head. Her heart leaped into her throat as she saw his knife slip from his leather sheath and fall to the ground beside her. Looking at his face quickly, she saw he was unaware that he had lost the knife. She prayed he would not discover it was missing, for it had fallen well within her reach.

  She watched, hardly daring to draw a breath as he turned from her and lay down beside his sleeping companion. Mara waited, hoping he would not soon discover his missing knife. After what seemed like hours, she saw the even rise and fall of his chest that indicated he was sleeping.

  She strained against the ropes, trying to reach the knife. All of a sudden it had become the most important thing in the world to her, her only hope for freedom, a lifeline in her despair. Mara did not stop to consider what she would do with the knife once she had it in her possession, she only knew she must reach it or she would ever be a prisoner with no hope of escape.

  Her fingers came into contact with the blade, and slowly, inch by agonizing inch, she moved it toward her until she could wrap her hand around the hilt. The older Indian mumbled in his sleep and turned over so he was facing her. Mara quickly hid the knife in the fold of her gown.

  Minutes passed. Time no longer had any meaning. Mara picked up the dried meat that lay on the ground beside her. She was hungry, but if she made her escape, she would need nourishment more later on.

  Seeing a robin perched on a tree branch over her head, she watched it for a moment, feeling somewhat detached. Her plan was made. When she was sure the two men were sound asleep she would try to make her escape, knowing it would likely be the last chance she would have at freedom.

  The robin spread its wings and took flight. Mara watched, envying the bird its freedom. She tried to make plans. What should she do once she was free? She knew they were now on the opposite side of the river from her home. How would she cross over? She had never learned to swim as her brothers had. A minor setback—she would face that problem when she came to it.

  Cautiously, she removed the knife from the fold of her gown, keeping her eyes on the two men all the while. The blade was razor-sharp and sliced through the leather ropes with surprising ease. When her hands were free she quickly cut the straps that bound her ankles together, then last of all the straps that bound her to the tree.

  She was free!

  Quickly she rubbed her ankles, trying to restore circulation to them. Then she rose to her feet. Mara felt weak and shaky, and her heart was racing erratically. Any moment she expected one of the men to awaken and discover her.

  She was frightened and a long way from home, but for the moment she was free.

  THE HILLS AND RIVER CLIFFS WHICH WE PASSED TODAY EXHIBIT A MOST ROMANTIC APPEARANCE. THE BLUFFS OF THE RIVER RISE TO THE HEIGHT OF FROM TWO TO THREE HUNDRED FEET, AND IN MOST PLACES PERPENDICULAR. THEY ARE FORMED OF REMARKABLE WHITE SANDSTONE WHICH IS SUFFICIENTLY SOFT TO GIVE WAY READILY TO THE IMPRESSION OF WATER.

  —Meriwether Lewis

  3

  As Mara leaned against the tree trunk for support, fear made her want to flee into the dense forest and lose herself among the thick undergrowth, but reason prevailed. With extreme caution she moved one foot in front of the other, taking care not to step on anything that would make noise and wake the Indians. Fear was her worst enemy at the moment. She knew if she gave in to that fear she was lost.

  When she was far enough away from the camp that she was sure the two savages could not detect her movements, she broke into a run. It did not matter to her in which direction she fled as long as it was away from her captors.

  Mara ran until she was exhausted; then she stopped only long enough to rest before continuing on her way once more. Once she stopped long enough to eat the dried meat she had been saving. She knew she was going to need all of her strength if she was to continue her pace. She wished she would come across a stream, for her throat was parched and ached painfully.

  She became so weary. Sometimes she would fall to the ground, only to drag herself up by sheer will power and continue on, running, stumbling, and falling. At last she fell to the ground, her last bit of strength spent. Tears of self-pity spilled down her face. Even if she was free of the Indians, she was hopelessly lost, so alone, and very frightened.

  As dark descended, she curled up underneath a tree, too tired to even care that the night was cold, or to worry about the presence of wild animals.

  Before dawn she awoke and wandered aimlessly through the forest. At last her footsteps lagged, and she was sure she could not go another step; but she was wrong. Mara heard a rustling among the bushes not far from where she stood. Then her heart stopped when she saw the older of her two Indian captors running toward her.

  Fear gave wings to her feet. She could hear the man gaining on her. Seeing a clearing through the trees, she ran toward it. Losing her footing, she stumbled and fell, rolling down the steep incline. When she reached the bottom she felt stunned. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the Indian had been joined by his friend, and they were both upon her before she could stand up. The older man grabbed her by the hair and yanked her painfully to her feet. With a strength she did not know she possessed, she jerked herself free of his grasp, vowing she would never be taken alive.

  Mara whipped the knife from her sash where she had hidden it, and faced her tormentors. The younger man was circling her. She watched him warily, ready to plunge the knife into him if he came too near. She saw the older man out of the corner of her eye. He was moving slowly toward her. She saw him lunge at her, and moved to sidestep him. Bringing the knife forward with all of her strength, she felt it make contact. The man yelled out in pain as the knife slashed across his upper arm. Then the younger Indian grabbed her and twisted the hand that held the knife behind her back. Pain shot through her arm. As she dropped the knife to the ground the man she had wounded struck her a stunning blow with such force that her head snapped backwards. The pain was so intense that tears came to her eyes. Seeing him raise his hand to strike her once more, she closed her eyes and waited for the blow to fall. Hearing him cry out in pain, she opened her eyes in surprise, as she saw him pitch forward on his face with a knife protruding from his back
.

  The other Indian released her arm and they both stared at the dead man in mutual confusion.

  Mara was the first to see him—the lone Indian sitting astride his horse at the top of the hill. His dark eyes were alert; his handsome face unreadable. She wondered why he had killed one of his own kind. Was he from an enemy tribe, or had he intended to save her?

  She watched as he slowly dismounted and walked cautiously toward them. His eyes were not on her, but on the Indian who stood just behind her. She saw his eyes narrow as he drew near. He had no weapon, for his knife was buried in the back of the dead man.

  Mara stepped back a pace as the two Indians sized each other up. The newcomer was tall, and extremely handsome. Mara saw the sun reflected off the golden armband around his upper arm. He wore light-colored buckskin trousers, with a fringed vest to match. His long black hair hung to his shoulders. She could not help comparing the two men. Even in her confusion and fear she noted that the tall Indian was like no other she had ever seen before.

  Her captor picked his knife up from the ground and lunged at the tall man, but with catlike grace the tall Indian sidestepped the knife thrust, and with one smooth motion retrieved his own knife from the dead man's back. Then before the other man could react, he plunged his knife into the stomach of her tormentor. Mara watched as the man fell to his knees and then pitched forward to lie dead at her feet.

  It had all happened so quickly that she was stunned. She watched as the Indian rolled the dead man over and withdrew his knife, wiping it clean of the man's blood. He then slipped the knife into a leather sheath that he wore around his waist. She cringed in fear as he turned his eyes on her. Stepping back a pace, she wondered if she had been rescued by the tall Indian only to become his prisoner.