Stolen glances over her shoulder revealed no more than shadows and bushes amidst the tree trunks. The hoof beats of her and Rick’s horses drowned out all other noise. Sunlight poured over them as they emerged from the trees and started out across the sweeping grasslands. While the bright light made her squint, the warmth it brought helped her relax enough that the bouncing motion of the trot eased a bit. The big horse actually had quite a smooth gait, but after having ridden for eight hours straight the day prior, even a smooth gait was painful. Soon they crested those hills Rick spoke of and dropped over the other side, preventing her from looking back through the copse of trees they had camped in.
The anxiety that had been building in her chest like a teapot under pressure released as those trees disappeared. A long breath eased from her, tension going with it, allowing her to relax in the saddle. Knowing Rick wouldn’t stop for hours, she dug into her coat pocket where she had a bit of hard tack stashed. It wasn’t exactly the breakfast she’d been hoping for, but it would have to do.
As Rick promised, they didn’t ride north for long. In what felt like less than half an hour, they put their backs to the sun and maintained a brisk trot through the slight hills. Irritated as she was at having been shocked from sleep and hurried onto horseback, she found herself watching Rick ride with something akin to enjoyment. He rode well, that was all. Like a man who had been born a fox hunter. Or so she told herself. Yet it was not his straight back or low heels that she admired, but rather the way his biceps and chest stretched his shirt seemingly to its limit. Despite the early hour, the man’s coat was rolled and tied atop his bedroll. His blood must run hot. That thought did all kinds of wonderfully sinful things to her body.
She shook her head. It had been a long time since she had looked upon, or thought of, a man in that way. Years. The excitement of the journey must be affecting her, because this mannerless rogue certainly wasn’t.
“What? Upset at having your beauty sleep interrupted?” Rick asked.
She started, causing her horse to speed up a bit as he felt her tense. Had Rick noticed her watching him, or was it just the shake of her head that had drawn his attention? She was suddenly glad she hadn’t had time to braid her hair back, for it helped hide a bit of her embarrassment. How dare he speak to her as if she were a pampered, spoiled rich woman. If he only knew…
“That’s not it at all. I only—” The remainder of her words slipped her mind as they crested a hill and a valley opened up before them.
The green and yellow grasses appeared brown for a brief moment. Then she realized it wasn’t that the grass had turned brown, the valley was covered in bison. They stretched from hill to hill, filling the valley to brimming. Several of the creatures’ massive heads lifted, turning to regard them. There had to be thousands of them. Rick slowed his horse to a walk and she quickly did the same. Rushing toward such creatures was the last thing she wanted to do.
Bringing her horse alongside his, she leaned over and whispered, “Do we go around them?”
He shook his head. “We don’t dare. If we crest the hill there’s a chance we could be seen. We should be safe enough if we stay to the outer edge,” he whispered back.
She straightened in the saddle, eyes going wide as they grew closer to the bison. Some of the monstrous things stood as high at the shoulders as Rick was tall. But that wasn’t the main thing that made her heart race. The two-foot-long horns on all but the juveniles looked like gleaming white blades waiting to tear into her. Even the females had horns. She supposed there was a kind of natural justice to that, but that didn’t mean she liked it.
The newspapers and Penny Dreadfuls were full of stories about the creatures. Still, she’d never imagined they’d be so big. Her horse raised his head, ears perking forward, whether in response to her rigid posture and tense muscles, or to the massive creatures they walked toward, she couldn’t tell. And either way, she couldn’t do anything about it. Every part of her wanted to urge her horse into a run and skirt up along the hillside to go around these things. But she knew Rick was right and she didn’t want to lose the advantage this morning’s hard ride had given them.
Tearing her eyes from the creatures, she looked to Rick, her mouth opening. Head shaking, he held a finger to his lips. She closed her mouth and swallowed hard. Much to her relief, Rick guided them along the edge of the herd, though with them numbering in the thousands, they still had to go between some. A strong, musky scent drifted over her like a thick fog, seeping in until she feared she would never rid herself of it. Almost pig-like grunts came from a few of the buffalo as they passed by. Though it wasn’t an aggressive sound, it still made her jump inside her skin. Thankfully, she had enough control over the instinct to keep it from showing much. But her horse noticed and each time she did it he pranced a little and pulled against the bit.
For the most part, the herd ignored them, save for a few curious glances their way. Regardless, she began to shake as they passed a huge male with horns long enough to pierce clean through her body. Her concern was for naught, though, as the thing only rolled one lazy eye their way while he chewed on a clump of grass. Two-thirds of the way through the valley, with thousands of buffalo behind them, she began to relax. A pair of reddish brown buffalo that couldn’t have been more than a few months old began to push one another and romp about. Seeing them like that made them seem less frightening. It didn’t hurt that they were nearly through the herd.
Out of the corner of her eye flashed a gray and white blur. She turned in time to see Lincoln leaping to the ground and bounding off toward the young buffalo. Excited barks echoed above the snorts and chuffs of the herd. The smallest buffalo bleated as though it were being eaten alive, turned tail, and ran from the pup. For a brief moment Lincoln ran after it, tail high, floppy ears bouncing. One of the big males roared, the ululating sound seeming to resonate off Catriona’s very bones and stopping Lincoln in his tracks. Bumps rose all along her skin. Head down, pointed horns leading, the big male charged toward the pup, who seemed so tiny in comparison.
“Lincoln, come!” Rick bellowed, fear and concern giving his voice a hard edge.
Knowing what was coming, Catriona pushed her heels down to give herself the deepest seat possible. Rick’s big buckskin horse launched into a canter. The packhorse followed, as did her own, both plunging into a gallop as if they had just been waiting for the signal. Normally Catriona would have reined a horse in that moved without her command, but this time she wasn’t about to let her stubborn streak get the better of her. The painted mustang’s instincts might just be what got her out of this alive.
Lincoln dodged left, leaving the male buffalo nearly stumbling over itself. Gray and white ears pinned and tail tucked, he shot straight for Rick, his long legs barely visible they moved so fast. Bison hooves dug into the ground and threw clods of dirt and grass up as they took off. Suddenly grateful for the encompassing seat of the vaquero-style saddle, Catriona clung to her horse with every muscle in her lower body.
A young buffalo tried to dart around the front of Rick’s horse. If it made it, it would run right over the top of Lincoln. Rather than veer away from it, Rick went right for it, as if he were going to ram it in the side. He bumped into it, sending it stumbling off in the other direction, but not before Catriona saw its small horn tear a hole in the leg of his breeches. Still at a full out gallop, he called to Lincoln again, though at this point his voice was barely audible over the pounding of hooves. The pup leapt. Clinging with one hand to the saddle horn, Rick leaned out so far she feared he may fall from the saddle, his hand reaching out. He caught Lincoln in midair and pulled him in against his chest, all without so much as slowing his horse.
His head whipped back in her direction, his wild eyes catching hers like a net. “Stay closer!” he roared over the thunder of a thousand hooves.
Knowing her voice would never carry over such a cacophony, she nodded and steered her horse to t
he packhorse’s side. Though a few buffalo ran ahead of them and along both sides, most thundered behind them like a deadly storm waiting to swallow them whole should they miss a step. She prayed her horse’s footing would be as sound as Rick had promised. Giving him all the rein he needed, she leaned forward in the saddle. Even with the packhorse in tow, they stayed ahead of the herd. Rick guided them along the outermost left edge of the valley where fewer of the charging mountains of muscle waited to plow them under.
While part of her threatened to die from fright, another part of her—one that had been asleep for a long time—reveled in the excitement of the moment. She didn’t know whether to scream or let out a whoop. From her open mouth came a sound that was halfway between both, one that was swallowed by the buffalos’ thunder. The hills parted moments later and they broke out of the valley onto open plains of grass that flowed to the horizon. Rick followed a small group of buffalo that veered left and she quickly mirrored him. They slowed to a comfortable lope, staying amidst the group as they headed straight for a large creek that cut through the valley. The majority of the herd rumbled past them, continuing on across the plains.
They followed the small group of buffalo right into the creek. When Rick moved farther downstream to get out of the way of the rushing creatures, she followed. Nearly up to her stirrups in water, she turned to watch the huge beasts charge onto the opposite bank and start up the hill. The thunder of the rest of the herd retreating far away echoed off the small hillside in an eerie way that made them sound closer than they were. Heart still pounding out a rhythm that matched their hoof beats, she had to remind herself to breathe. They had made it.
“Bad dog,” Rick said in a tone that was filled with more concern than reprimand.
Fearing he would discipline the terrified pup, she started her horse his way. What she saw made her sit up straight, leaving her horse to prance and paw at the water. Rick petted the pup all over with gentle strokes that also seemed to be checking for injuries. The sight would have made her smile if her face wasn’t still frozen in a rictus of fright.
When she could finally find her voice, she asked, “Is he all right?”
The roar of the retreating herd had died down enough that her soft voice carried easily to Rick and he turned to look at her. He nodded as he urged his horse over to hers. Pup still clutched in one arm, he leaned over and placed a hesitant hand upon hers. “Are you?” he asked, voice filled with something akin to guilt.
Unable to hold his gaze due to the raw concern in his eyes, she looked down. “I am.”
Something bright red dripped into the water beneath his stirrup and flowed away. Her gaze flew up to his leg. The torn breeches revealed a long cut deep enough to appear quite painful.
“You’re injured.”
He looked down and shrugged. “’Tis only a scratch, no worries. Come along, we’ll ride on through the stream for as long as we can to cover our tracks.”
Still clutching Lincoln in his arms, he turned his horse downstream and started walking.
“That is hardly a scratch. We need to get it cleaned up.”
Her horse followed at a brisk pace, passing up the packhorse to walk beside Rick’s own. The poor thing was a bundle of energy beneath her, muscles bunched as if preparing to launch into action again. Gaze fixed on the horizon, Rick shook his head.
“I’m not going to lose an hour or more of travel because of a scratch. I’ll take care of it tonight when we camp.”
She decided to try another tactic. “But what of the horses? Do they not need to rest after such a gallop?”
Again he shook his head. “Nope. Standing still will only made them nervous, best to walk it off.”
A frustrated grunt squeezed between her teeth. “Fine, then. But if you are still bleeding by the time we leave the water, I am cleaning that wound. We cannot have you leaving a blood trail that points straight to us.”
Brows raised, he finally looked at her. “Fair enough.”
Pressing her lips together, she gestured with a hand for him to lead on. Frustrated beyond words, she allowed him to get a bit ahead of her. She had to, both so he wouldn’t see his effect on her, and so his stoic expression wouldn’t drive her to scream all manner of inappropriate things at him. The man confounded her in so many ways. Soon she found herself watching not only his wound, but the way his back flexed beneath his almost-too-tight shirt with each step his horse took.
She realized she wasn’t just angry at him for taking the risk of going through that valley, she was angry he had put himself between her and danger. No one had ever done that for her and it left her feeling indebted. She detested that. Especially since she had never wanted to get herself in a position where she felt she owed a man anything ever again. Watching him pet Lincoln and hearing him chat with the pup made it hard to remain mad. The man had risked his life for a puppy, after all. How could she remain mad at someone like that? The thought only frustrated her more.
The stream soon sped to the point where her horse had trouble with his footing. Its sandy bottom began to give way to rocks that the water tumbled over at an increasing pace as it traveled down a steeper slope. Rick’s horse moved toward the left bank, drawing her gaze to his leg. Dried blood clung to the wound in a crusty mess.
“Are you sure we shouldn’t clean that before we leave the water?” she asked.
Looking down at the wound, he shook his head. “That’ll only make it bleed again, and like you said, we don’t want to be leaving a trail.”
With that, he started up the bank onto dry land. His packhorse was already stepping in the grass by the time she caught up. They said little the remainder of the day as she stewed in her frustration, and he seemed content to let her do so. At last, after an agonizingly long thirty or so miles, she decided she would simply have to return the favor of saving his life so she wouldn’t feel as though she owed him anything. The sun set while he led them into a copse of trees. Hot, hungry, and sore from being in the saddle all day, she eagerly reined her horse to a stop.
Once she had removed her horse’s tack and brushed out his white, red, and black coat, she set to gathering dry sticks and branches.
“What’re you doing?” Rick asked.
She piled her load in a bare spot of dirt. “Gathering wood for a fire.”
“We can’t have a fire. It could be seen.”
Drawing in a deep breath, she buried the part of her that wanted to cower and simply do as he said. “We have to boil water to clean your wound, otherwise it could get infected.”
His eyebrows rose and his shortly trimmed beard moved as he chewed his bottom lip. One hand held Lincoln at bay as the pup tried to reach his exposed wound. “All right,” he finally said.
Wide-eyed, she could only watch as he walked over to retrieve his gear.
Finally, as he began to dig in his pack, she found her voice. “You’re not going to tell me no, or at least argue?” The words were quiet, almost timid instead of filled with the bite she had intended. Dammit, why couldn’t she just be the old Cat?
“O’ course not. You sound like you know what you’re doing,” he said as he began to unbuckle his belt.
She straightened. “What’re you doing?”
Not even slowing, he set his gun aside and reached for the fly of his breeches. “You’ve got to be able to get to the wound. Can’t do that with me breeches on.”
She whipped around so fast the packhorse jumped. Thankfully, he didn’t try to bolt, just dug in and regarded her with wide eyes filled with concern. She struggled to push out words between her burning cheeks. Though she squeezed her eyes shut, she couldn’t stop imagining him without his breeches on. “’Tis one thing to be under the cover of water with our backs turned, but this is pushing the boundaries of propriety a bit far!”
At the slip of her Irish accent her eyes squeezed shut tight and she bit her lower lip. For the
four years she had been married she had worked so hard to root out that accent so she could sound like a proper high society lady. To have it rear its head because of this rogue, of all reasons, made her want to curse in Gaelic. Yet another thing completely inappropriate for a lady of high society. For more reasons than one. The effect this man had on her seemed to be terrible in every way.
Deep laughter rumbled behind her. “So there is an Irish lass in that tightly laced high society woman.”
Wildfire scorched up her neck. A tart reply burned her tongue but she couldn’t unclench her teeth to release it. The long sigh that slid from Rick sent tingles along the back of her neck in the most delicious and irritating way.
“I have left me drawers on, and covered up everything but the wounded part of me leg. You may turn around with most of your sense of propriety intact, duchess,” he said.
Eyes narrowing, she spun toward him on her heeled boots. Somehow, her gaze shot straight to his face, bypassing his leg that was bare from the knee down, and even his lap, which was covered by his leather coat. From his spot where he lay on the ground beside him, Lincoln shot to his feet, head cocked, ears perked up.
“How dare you speak to me as if I am some pampered rich woman after I just galloped through a herd of stampeding buffalo. You, sir, know nothing about me!”
Instead of glare or scoff at her as she expected, he grinned. Damn if he didn’t look handsome doing it, too, with that scruff of a beard and those bright green eyes. Though her cheeks burned, she refused to give him the satisfaction of looking away.
“True enough,” he admitted.
Courting the Corporal Page 8
