Courting the Corporal

by Heather McCorkle

  He had only heard one shot, but that didn’t mean much. Hearing in the heat of the moment couldn’t be relied on. The mind played tricks on a man in danger of his life, made him forget what he heard. The war had taught him that lesson time and again. He was fairly certain there had only been one shot. That could merely be wishful thinking, though. The last thing he wanted to consider was that Catriona may have been shot as well. The thought was unbearable. Therefore, even if there had been another shot, his mind might have blocked it out.

  An angry, feminine scream tore across the hillside, proving at least that Catriona still lived. Curses followed, as did grunts and the sound of flesh hitting flesh. Several paces up the hill and to the left he saw two figures struggling. A tree blocked most of his view. Long, red hair flashed in the dying sunlight. Ignoring the pain in his chest, he shoved himself to his feet and started to climb. He couldn’t draw deep enough breaths to fill his lungs, but he didn’t care. Getting to her was all that mattered. The fire in his chest, thorns digging into his hands, and rocks trying to turn his ankles meant nothing compared to her screams.

  The shadows hid his progress up the hill well enough and the sounds of the struggle covered any sound he made. Much to his surprise, Catriona could curse like a sailor, and in Irish to boot. He would have been impressed if he wasn’t so scared for her. The pain in his chest became a dull throb that he was soon able to ignore. Some ten feet away and to his left, his horse stopped as he passed it and kept climbing. To his relief, Lincoln veered off toward the horse. Another few feet and only one tree stood between him and where he had last seen Catriona. But all was quiet.

  No, not completely quiet, he realized. A masculine voice whimpered.

  Using the evergreen tree’s lower branches, Rick pulled himself to his feet and drew his pistol. Through the feathery boughs he spied two figures on the ground. But all was not as he had feared. Catriona straddled a man who lay on his back. In one delicate hand she clutched a massive hunting knife that she held firmly against the man’s throat. The torn edges of her blouse revealed far more cleavage than the garment was intended to do. Blood dripped from a cut on her right bicep. Fury clouded Rick’s vision as he stepped out from behind the tree, but the man’s whimpers turned to words that stopped him cold.

  “Please don’t kill me, please.”

  Catriona made a sound between a scream and a growl before finding her words. “Why the hell shouldn’t I?”

  Her words got Rick moving again. Lowering the gun, he stopped where she could clearly see him, but hopefully wouldn’t perceive him to be a threat.

  “Easy, there, love. No need to do anything rash,” he said in as gentle a tone as he could manage with his nerves screaming at him like a banshee.

  Catriona’s red head lifted a little, but she didn’t turn his way or remove the knife from the man’s throat. The man’s eyes rolled Rick’s way.

  “That’s right. Listen to your man, there. I only attacked you because Ainsworth made me. I wanted nothing to do with traveling out into the damn uncivilized territories,” the man whined.

  A small trickled of blood oozed out from beneath the knife blade as Catriona leaned forward. “And did Ainsworth make you try to rape me?” she asked in a tone so calm it chilled Rick to the bone.

  The man’s eyes opened wide and flashed back to Rick. “Make her see reason, man, please,” he begged. Those eyes opened wider when they found no mercy in him.

  “I’m finding myself disinclined to do so,” Rick said. In fact, he found it difficult to keep his gun lowered. The only thing that stilled his hand was Catriona being in the way.

  The muscle in Catriona’s arm tensed and Rick realized she might really do it.

  “That settles it then,” she hissed through clenched teeth.

  “Cat, no!” Rick took a step toward her, empty hand help up. “Don’t. I’m all for scaring the man half to death, but you don’t want to kill him, trust me.”

  Though she tensed at his approach, she didn’t look up. “Oh, trust me, I do,” she said.

  “Everything changes when you a kill a man, you change. You don’t want that. This blaggard isn’t worth that,” Rick said.

  Her arm started to shake.

  “Please, Cat, don’t let him do this to you,” Rick pressed.

  Twilight glinted off a tear as it slid down her cheek. She sprung up off the man and took several steps back, knife still in hand. One of the man’s hands flew up to his neck where blood flowed from a shallow cut. His wide eyes shot from Catriona to Rick, and back again. Rick leveled his gun at the man as he moved to stand between him and Catriona.

  Over his shoulder, he asked her, “Are you injured?”

  “No,” she said. Her voice sounded strong, defiant. It allowed him to breathe a little easier. If the man had raped her she would sound all too different. And if that had been the case, Rick feared he would have shot him without a second thought.

  “What’s your name?” Rick demanded of the man.

  A finely tailored suit of black pulled taut over an overfed frame with a paunch that made the man look pregnant. Black hair swept back from a clean-shaven face of severe angles. To be so clean out on the trail spoke of a meticulousness that bordered on narcissistic. Grass stains and several drops of blood now marred the perfection of the man’s black suit.

  “What’s it matter?” the man snapped.

  Was that a touch of an English lilt to his voice? It made Rick’s hand tighten on the grips of his gun.

  “It would make it harder for the lady to kill a man with a name. But if you want to continue being a mule’s arse, I might be inclined to let her back at you,” Rick said.

  Catriona moved in close enough to Rick’s back that he felt her presence even though she didn’t quite touch him. Her eagerness made him regret his words. The man’s eyes shot over Rick’s shoulder and he licked his lips.

  “Cofield,” he said in a rush.

  Rick sighed. “Did Ainsworth send you for me or her?” He knew the answer, but he had to ask to see if the man would be honest.

  The man laughed, but it was a nervous sound void of humor. “I lied. No one sent me. You have supplies and a woman. I saw an opportunity and took it, is all.”

  While it was a plausible story—and a crime committed by all too many all too readily in these parts—the way the man’s eyes kept flitting off to the left told Rick it was a lie. He had expected as much. But he didn’t need to hear the truth. He already knew it.

  “You’re lying, all right. Take your boots and suit off,” Rick commanded.

  The man’s eyes shot open wide as he pushed himself up to a seated position. Rick pointed the gun at his head and he froze, hand up before him. “Easy there, big mick, I ain’t reaching for nothing,” Cofield said.

  “Watch your mouth, there’s a lady present. Now do as I said and take your boots and suit off,” Rick said, letting the cold fury searing through him fill his eyes.

  Adam’s apple bobbing, the man nodded and removed his boots.

  “Where is his gun?” Rick asked Catriona.

  “In the bushes over there somewhere,” Catriona said.

  “Be a good lass and fetch it for me, would you please? Don’t want him getting any ideas and trying to go for it,” Rick said.

  Footsteps moved away from him and started down the hill a bit.

  “What do you plan to do to me?” Cofield hissed.

  “Better than you deserve. Now hurry it up before I change my mind.”

  Buttons popped free in Cofield’s haste to remove the jacket he wore. He all but flung his boots off and tore his fine linen button up shirt from his breeches. When it came to his breeches, he stopped.

  “Those too,” Rick instructed.

  “Come on, man, have a spot of decency,” Cofield complained.

  Rick’s eyes narrowed. “Says the wanker who shot me.
Now shut up and strip. Everything off but your underclothes.”

  The man began to protest. Rick lashed out and jabbed the man in the nose with the fist of his non-dominant hand. Bones cracked and blood spurted as Cofield’s head snapped back. With no more than a whimper, the man did as he was instructed. Cowering in his long white cotton undershirt and pants, he tried to cover himself as best he could.

  “Now, I suggest you start walking before the lady finds your gun and decides to shoot you with it,” Rick said.

  The man’s eyes darted about. “You mean to send me off without a horse or clothes? I’ll die of exposure!”

  “’Tis a better death than you deserve.”

  Soft padded feet sounded behind Rick and to his left. A canine growl rumbled from that direction, the barest hint of a juvenile sound to it. Lincoln stepped up alongside Rick. Pup though he may be, he still stood taller than most dogs and outweighed any coyote Rick had ever seen. The white around Cofield’s eyes grew as he beheld the pup.

  “Run, and don’t stop or he will catch up with you,” Rick warned.

  Lincoln’s growl grew deeper, more menacing, as if he knew what Rick had said and understood the part he needed to play. His lips pulled up from his long canine teeth and red gums. A squeak escaped Cofield. He turned and scrambled up the hill, legs pumping. A few barks from Lincoln made him scramble all the faster. When Lincoln went to give chase, a look and a motion from Rick stopped him in his tracks. The pup’s head cocked and he eyed the fleeing man eagerly.

  With a point of his finger, Rick commanded Lincoln to stay. The pup’s ears drooped. Cofield had just disappeared into the trees when Rick heard Catriona approaching.

  “You should have let me kill him. Now we have to worry about him at our backs for the rest of the trip,” she said in a breathless voice that held a cold edge.

  He turned to look at her, expecting tears and fear-filled eyes but instead finding only her lovely brow furrowed with anger. Rick holstered his gun and reached for the one in Catriona’s hand. For a moment she held onto it, staring down at it, then finally handed it to him.

  “If not him, it would have been another. This man he works for, Ainsworth, if he didn’t get a telegram from Cofield when he reached the next outpost, he would merely send another man. And the bastard has men in nearly every territory between California and New York working for him,” Rick said.

  Those angry eyes shot to his. “But you don’t really think Cofield will just give up, do you?” she asked.

  “Perhaps. Maybe we scared him off. In which case he’ll leave us be and let Ainsworth think he’s still on our trail. If that happens, we’re better off.”

  “If,” she huffed.

  “Better Cofield than a more capable man.”

  He flipped the cylinder release, popped the cylinder open with a flick of his wrist, and emptied the bullets from it. The army-issued Remington was a bit of a beast with a seven-inch barrel. But it was a capable revolver to be sure, with its percussion caps and .44 caliber stopping power. The round that hit him must have been either poorly loaded, or Cofield had been at too great a distance for it to penetrate Rick’s flask. Either way, he was a lucky man.

  “You’ve been shot! Oh my Saints, Rick, you’ve been shot!” Catriona exclaimed as she lunged toward him.

  Her hands traveled all over him, groping him in a manner that wasn’t at all unpleasant, despite the pain it caused. In all good conscience he knew he should speak up right away. He tried to tell himself that her actions merely stunned him for a moment. But deep down he knew better. He liked her hands on him, a lot.

  “I…uh…I’m fine,” he finally stuttered.

  Face scrunching up in a look of confusion, her fingers found his flask and removed it from his pocket. She turned it over, feeling the divot left by the bullet.

  “An Irishman saved by his whiskey, who’d have guessed,” she said. The slight note of cheer in her tone lifted the darkness that had settled over them just a touch.

  He decided to correct only half of what she said. “This flask hasn’t held whiskey since me da died. ’Twas his.”

  She placed it back in his pocket with care. “Well, we’re going to have to fix that hole in your shirt so you don’t lose your good luck charm,” she all but whispered.

  This new softness in her voice scared him, made him think she might be close to breaking down. But not a touch of moisture shone in her blue eyes. The fading light could have had a bit to do with concealing such a thing, but he didn’t think that was the case. From the way she squared her shoulders and stood tall and straight, he had a feeling she had shed the only tear she would over this incident. The blood trickling down her arm drew his attention.

  A small but deep cut marred her bicep. Grabbing his canteen from his waist and tearing a sleeve off his shirt, he set to cleaning the wound. She took the ministrations without a single complaint or so much as a flinch. In fact, she relaxed beneath his gentle hands and almost seemed to be soothed by his touch.

  “A stitch or two wouldn’t hurt, but I think if you keep this clean and covered you’ll be all right. You aren’t hurt anywhere else, are you?” Rick asked, trying to be as subtle as possible.

  From the state of her clothes it was clear Cofield hadn’t raped her, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t tried.

  She stiffened and withdrew from him. “A few bruises is all. I’ll be fine. Don’t you think it best to fetch the horses and get moving? Seems like it would be a good idea to put some distance between us and this place before nightfall,” she said.

  It hadn’t been the plan, of course, but they had little choice now. To stay here would be to invite trouble. While Rick didn’t think Cofield would chance another attack now that they were on the defensive, he wasn’t going to risk it.

  “Aye. We should find Cofield’s horse, too, take it with us so it doesn’t wander back to him,” he said.

  With a thrust of her head, Catriona indicated three horses just down the hill from them. “Seems your gelding has already found her.”

  Fetching the horses proved easy. As they were tying Cofield’s brown mare to Rick’s packhorse, Catriona’s big paint came wandering up to see what all the fuss was about. More pain than he cared to admit throbbed throughout his chest as he climbed into the saddle. But it was tolerable. He’d felt far worse. The distant, almost hollow look in Catriona’s eyes concerned him far more than his own passing pain.

  Over the last week he had learned she wasn’t a woman who was easily rankled. She had bested Cofield, yet the incident had shaken her to her core. Something from her past must have been dredged up by the confrontation. Though curiosity ate at him, Rick knew by her cold eyes that now wasn’t the time to ask.

  Chapter 12

  Day Nine

  For days they pushed on hard across the plains of knee-high green grass that bordered the Platte River. Well, she pushed and Rick tolerated her desire to keep moving. They didn’t talk much after the incident. She didn’t know what to say or how to say it. So they just rode. They covered a lot of ground even with the little brown mare in tow. She turned out to be a halfway decent packhorse despite her small stature.

  After an entire day of staring at the approaching spire of Chimney Rock, Catriona could hold her silence no more. For one, the damn thing was starting to unnerve her. The closer they traveled to it the farther away it seemed to get. But mostly, she began to feel guilty about giving Rick the cold shoulder. He had been so kind and understanding. But that wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted the man who attacked her dead so he couldn’t try to hurt her again. It was horrible of her, she knew, but she couldn’t help it.

  Two days of thinking on the matter finally made her realize Rick had been right. If she had killed the man she wouldn’t have been able to forgive herself. As they finally rode into the shadow of the massive hill topped with a spire much like a needle, she found the words
she needed to say.

  “Thank you for stopping me from doing something I would have regretted deeply.”

  Rick started and sat up straighter, as if he’d been half asleep in the saddle. The brim of his hat lifted enough that she could see the green of his eyes. “You stopped yourself. I only provided the clarity you needed to make your decision,” he said.

  She squirmed. The next words did not want to come out, but she forced them. “I’m not a violent person by nature, I assure you.” They weren’t the words she had meant to say, exactly, but she found she had to work up to it. “In fact, I abhor violence.”

  “I never doubted your gentle nature,” Rick said softly.

  Catriona took a deep breath in an attempt to bolster her confidence. “I do, every day. You see…” She had to swallow to get the lump in her throat to go down before she could go on. “My husband was a heavy-handed man. It was more than just a man putting his wife in her place. I had to learn to defend myself.” The rest wouldn’t come out. It was too much, too hard.

  A low sound like a growl rumbled from Rick. It caused Lincoln to perk up from where he had wandered off into the grass. “The bastard. Putting a wife in her place is a poor excuse for a weak man to try to make himself feel stronger,” Rick said.

  The brim of his hat dipped a bit and his eyes disappeared from sight. “Me apologies, I mean no disrespect to the dead. Me da taught me to never raise a hand to a woman. I believe all men should teach their sons such things,” he went on.

  His words soothed her soul in a way she never imagined possible. To keep him from seeing her tears, she cast her gaze up to the magnificent spire thrusting from the hill like a lone tower. Never had she heard a man speak so openly about such things. And never had she imagined that one would hold such beliefs.