Any child of hers deserved the father's name. The babe also deserved to be born. At this rate, working as hard as she did each day, exhausting herself to the point where she could barely climb the steps to her room at night, she could harm the child. She would give Alexi one more day to make it home. If he didn't return by this time tomorrow night, she would leave, all promises set aside.
With that decided, she dropped off to sleep.
~ * ~
Throughout the long day that followed, every horse nickering, every door slamming, every sound made her heart stop beating. The coal bin needed filling again, so she lugged buckets of coal until once again her hands bled, the wounds cutting deep into the old ones that had not yet healed.
She collected small parcels of food to keep her alive during her long journey, deciding to head north instead of crossing the desert. That night, when she entered her room, she was pleased with her endeavors. She had several apples, a loaf of bread the cook had thrown out because it was too old, two potatoes and five precious matches.
She was ready. Nothing would stop her.
She waited until the house quieted and all were in bed. A crescent moon hung in a cloudless sky. Stars drenched the night with their twinkling light. Soft breezes wafted through the open window. The world seemed to pause in thought.
The silence was too heavy, too foreboding. Her heart lurched.
Without warning the door to her room slammed open. Feodora stood in the opening, her fingers drumming a warning on her hips, her pinched face and narrow-eyed gaze resting smugly on Angela. "Search the room. Quickly."
Angela rose, protesting. "You've no right to go through my things,'' she said, and stepped in front of the man who had entered behind Feodora.
"I've every right," she said with a snarl. "There are items missing from the kitchen. If you've stolen anything, you'll live to regret your disobedience."
She had not brought Yuri this time. Another man searched her bag, which sat in the open, ready to go. A few more minutes and Feodora would have found an empty room.
The man pulled the old, tattered quilt from the bag, along with the small sack of provisions. Then he discovered her knife, the one Dakota had given her. She'd retrieved the precious gift just before leaving her work that evening and returning to her room. Feodora seemed to take the most joy in discovering the knife.
"Little thief," she said with smirking glee, holding the knife to Angela's face. "Take her to the flogging post and tie her there. We'll deal with her in the morning. Let her think on her sins and wait for her punishment."
"The knife is mine. It was given to me a long time ago by a friend,'' she said, her voice soft, her tone menacing. Yet there was nothing she could do to dissuade the woman.
Before Angela could object again or fight, she was flung over the man's broad shoulders and hauled downstairs. Within another few seconds, her hands were secured above her head and tied to a post in the middle of the yard.
Nothing she'd ever dealt with had prepared her for this. Unless she could free herself, come morning she'd be flogged.
She did not call for Alexi in her prayers. Instead she chanted to herself, praying for the strength and courage needed to withstand the ordeal that awaited. She'd seen this in her vision quest. Fate could not be circumvented. Just as the doe had bled from her back, she would, too then she'd leave this place forever.
~ * ~
The heat and the searing pain from her back nearly crippled her, brought her to her knees. Yet she had not cried out, not once. The punishment was over now, the spectators vanishing just as suddenly as they had appeared. Yuri cut her down and carried her to the woodshed, where he placed her facedown on an old mattress. Blood trickled down her back and her sides.
He gingerly put ointment on the open wounds covering her back, touching her gently--almost afraid. She bit down hard on her lip, trying once more to keep from crying out. Still the torment went on and on.
Once she heard Yuri sigh. "This should not have happened,'' he whispered "There was nothing I could do to stop Miss Feodora. I sent for Alexi's grandmother. They should arrive in another day or two. Misha, he cannot return."
The unspoken meaning was not lost on Angela. She might not survive.
She would survive. Angela closed her eyes, concentrating on her homeland, seeing the snowcapped Rockies rise up against the prairie. She imagined cold snow on her back, and the burning seemed to cool slightly. In her mind she sat at her father's knee while he told her legends of the Sioux gods and how the earth was formed.
She listened to the wind in the trees and the birds calling their sweet songs. When she dreamed of frolicking in cool, clear waters, she discovered Yuri tending to her again, cooling her back with the ointments he brought.
Two days passed before she felt strong enough to sit, two more until she could walk without pain. Still, Alexi's grandmother had not arrived. She would leave in the night, follow the river upstream until she reached a village. She devoured all the food Yuri set in front of her, hoping to regain her strength more rapidly.
She thought on the child she nurtured beneath her heart, and she prayed.
Feodora hated her. If the woman tried to find her, Angela prayed the effort would be halfhearted. Feo wanted her dead or gone; either would probably suit. Yet she knew Feodora was vindictive and unstable, and she was capable of anything.
Angela wanted to leave a letter for Alexi. She needed to explain. There was no time.
The sky was shrouded in clouds, a summer storm brewing on the horizon, racing this way with tremendous speed. Thunder and lightning lit the sky--an omen, perhaps. Wakinyan, the god of thunder, answered her prayers, came to her now in her hour of need. Rain battered the earth, and a swift wind blasted through the trees.
Angela left the woodshed just as the storm hit. Her tracks would be washed clean, and the dogs, if Feodora set them upon her trail, would never find her scent. She made her way to the pond and gingerly walked through the water along the edge until she reached the shallow creek feeding into the still waters. Forging ahead, pushing herself beyond her endurance, she walked along the edge of the creek. All through the stormy night she trudged on, fought her encroaching loneliness and fatigue, knowing that unless Alexi chose to look for her, she would never see him again.
For a moment her hand rested on her stomach; their child grew there, a child he might never see, did not even know about. Anguish pierced her heart and lodged there. The pain was unbearable.
The rain slowed to a soft drizzle, then the first morning rays of sunlight pushed through the aftermath of the storm. She took off her buckskin jacket, wringing out the water and tossing it over her shoulder. Still, she pushed on. Stubborn determination kept her moving.
A small, sheltered glade offered protection. She changed her clothes, leaving her buckskins draped over the valise to dry, and mentally thanking Yuri for smuggling the bag and a small sack of food to her. She ate one of her apples, continuing to walk, following the creek. Her pace was slow but constant, meant to save her strength. She broke off a piece of bread then washed the dry crust down with a handful of clear water.
When she stopped to rest again, she laughed at herself. "You've grown soft, woman. You must have more endurance if you intend to get away from the witch at Alexi's estate. To save her pride, she will have to send someone for you, and they will travel on horses. They will not rest every two minutes. Get up. Get up." She prodded herself along.
She thanked Yuri again in her mind for bringing her the food, then ate another apple, tossing the core aside, then moving, always moving. She was painfully aware of the stitch in her side and the burning ache across her back, knowing the wounds had opened and she bled. Still she forced one foot in front of the other.
She stopped at midmorning, feeling woozy and a bit dizzy. Bending over at the waist, she let the blood wash through to her head. She straightened stiffly and walked on.
Once she thought she heard barking dogs and a man calling out to the
m. Even while she searched for a place to hide, the sounds vanished, moving off in a different direction.
She forced herself to rest and to forget what might have been between herself and Alexi. This, after all, was for the best. When she reached a town, she'd find someone to help her. She'd send a message to her father, and perhaps he'd meet her in London.
Evening came softly, and as darkness fell around her she was forced to look for food. She dined on sweet blackberries and found a few wild potatoes that didn't need cooking. Foraging for food had been one of the skills her half brother had drilled into her head. She could catch a fish with her hands, but she didn't dare light a fire, and she wasn't hungry enough to eat the flesh raw.
Her stomach rumbled in an attempt to tell her she was wrong. Indeed, she was hungry enough to eat raw meat, but the thought repulsed her. No, she didn't dare start a fire this close to the estate and the trackers who were surely behind her. She ate the last apple then wrapped the tattered blanket she had stolen from the woodshed around her. Finding sleep elusive, she watched the moon and the stars, trying to identify all that she could. She did find the north star, and knew she could navigate her way cross country.
She didn't want to lose Alexi. In truth, she didn't know if she'd ever really had him, but there had been times when she had felt as if all was well, as long as he held her, as long as he was near. If she thought back, she'd fallen head over heels for him before she even knew who he was--the first time she'd set eyes upon him, that day in Denver when she saw him stroking his horse and speaking softly to his sleek black stallion Jabbar. Even though they disagreed about their relationship, as the days passed, a gentle, trusting love had grown between them.
Now he was miles away from her, and she had been forced to run for her life, never to return to his home or his arms. Everything had gone full circle. At the hands of his future wife, she had learned a bittersweet lesson and learned it well. She could trust and rely on no one but herself to keep her safe.
~ * ~
She woke the next morning much later than she'd planned. She ate the berries left over from the night before and started on her way. With each passing day she wanted to believe she grew stronger. But she didn't. Her stomach cramped horribly, and before an hour had passed she had to stop and rest again. Fatigue seemed to sink its ugly claws into her lungs, seemed to squeeze the air from her even as she tried to inhale.
The stream was fresh and clean here. She drank quickly and deeply; then, filling her hands with the cool liquid, she splashed the healing water over her heated face and hands. Leaning her shoulder on a granite boulder, she rested with the sun pouring across her face, drenching her with its heat. Her back was on fire, yet the rest of her felt cold despite the sun, and shivers seemed to take over, sending shudders through her body.
She tried to stand, but the bees stirring up pollen in the wildflowers nearby were pleasant to listen to, as were the birds overhead and the squirrels chattering in the trees. A few minutes more of rest in this lazy, sun-drenched afternoon wouldn't matter. Feodora would not come for her. She was safe.
~ * ~
Sam encountered one dead end after another. He'd always been one step behind Devil Blackmoor. But now that he reached Europe, he couldn't hope to catch the Mystic. Every time he asked a question about Alexi Popov, as he had learned was Devil's full name, someone sent him in the wrong direction.
He began to think that he should do the opposite of what people told him.
The man should have an enemy or two.
But Alexi Popov had no enemies.
He reached the port town on the Black Sea, where Alexi and Misha had landed two weeks earlier. There were no caravans going across the desert, nor was there any hope of finding one in the next few weeks. If the rumors were true, this was Alexi's homeland. There would be no help forthcoming here.
Fear settled in the pit of Sam's stomach. He ached to see his daughter and to know she was well and truly cared for. The letters she had written had bothered him at first, but Sam knew his levelheaded daughter well. She would spirit the truth from the devil, and she would do what she knew was right.
Satan himself could not wrench Angela's self-respect from her--and neither could Devil Blackmoor.
On his third day in the busy port town, he watched two men ride at breakneck speed just outside the marketplace. Their haphazard pace left men shaking their fists at the pair and shouting vile curses. Yet nothing stopped them, not even the wagonload of produce the lead man upended on his mad dash.
Even though he didn't recognize the man dressed in white robes that billowed around his huge body, Sam Chamberlain would recognize the piece of horseflesh he rode anywhere.
"Jabber." He whistled through clenched teeth. "Finally, my prayers have been answered. I've found the devil himself."
The two men streaking past Sam did little to alleviate his fears. His pulse pounded rapidly, his heart near to jumping from his chest. As he mounted his own stallion, Sam said another silent prayer and followed the men from town and toward the purple-cloaked hills to the north.
At long last he had the break he needed. He prayed he followed Devil and Misha. If not, he could well be signing his own death warrant.
The men rode relentlessly through the long afternoon and into the night. Sam's fears doubled then tripled. As the moon rose and cast light upon the path, Sam let the distance between the men in front of him diminish.
By midmorning of the next day, they'd reached the foothills surrounding the desert. Rocks rose on either side of the narrow, winding road that snaked ever northward. Sam knew the men had set a trap for him and waited for him to pass. At whatever cost to himself, he relished meeting Devil Blackmoor. He had a few things to right with the man. He had waited long enough.
While he'd like to stake Devil Blackmoor out on the desert behind him, it would solve nothing, least of all restoring his daughter's virtue or ensuring her happiness. The shot whizzing past his head didn't take him by surprise, nor did the man who landed square on the middle of his back, knocking him off his horse.
He heard a string of vile curses. Then...
"Sam Chamberlain. Son of a bitch!"
Sam had counted on the element of surprise. Devil Blackmoor didn't know Sam pursued him or why; he could tell by the tone of Devil's voice and the momentary relaxing of Devil's grip around his neck.
That was all it took. The element of surprise was now his. Sam now had Devil by the neck, and he meant to keep the advantage. Sam was on top of Devil, his knife at Devil's throat. ''You have a hell of a lot of explaining to do, Devil Blackmoor. You're going to tell me the truth now or you won't live to see another sunset." Sam rose, Devil held against his chest, his knife tucked neatly under Devil's chin. Sam wanted to draw blood. For Angela's sake, he held back.
"Perhaps if you'd give me a clue." Alexi sounded perturbed but not frightened.
Ivan stood on the rocks opposite the two men, his hands folded across his chest. "You two old friends? Or enemies? It's devilishly hard to tell."
"I thought we were friends," Alexi said, his tone menacing even though Sam had the upper hand for now.
Sam pressed the knife closer, still not drawing blood but wanting to. "We were acquaintances until he abducted my daughter. Now he's an enemy. I want revenge."
Alexi felt all the blood in his body rush to his feet. Angela? Sam Chamberlain's daughter? So that was what Misha had referred to.
Sam Chamberlain's daughter.
But wasn't she a whore? How ironic Sam would follow her halfway across the world.
"Angela's your kin?" Alexi choked on the question, knowing the answer and dreading it at the same time. Confirmation could mean only one thing: Angela was no prostitute. All his preconceived ideas once again shattered into a thousand pieces.
"You know she is," Sam grated out then furiously pushed Alexi aside.
My Angel Page 28
