Captive Bride

by Sandi Hampton

  His words sent chills racing down Abby’s spine. Davy was in danger—grave danger. She had to warn him—but how? Could she make it in time? She sent up a silent prayer that the weather would delay the Rangers long enough for her to find Davy and for him to leave the country. Could she even find Coyote Canyon? She’d heard of the place but had never been there. She’d heard it was sacred to the Comanches. Well, she’d find it—or die trying.

  She dashed to her room and pulled her nightgown off. After a quick search, she found an old pair of pants and shirt. She slipped them on, then her boots and grabbed a jacket. A dilapidated hat completed her outfit. Now she needed a weapon. She didn’t dare go downstairs to look for one. Hopefully, there would be one in the barn.

  Within minutes, she opened the window and crawled onto the roof. The wind slammed into her, and she braced herself. As she inched her way toward the swaying branches of the giant oak at the corner of the house, a torrential blast of rain soaked her to the skin. She’d slipped out of the house this way many times before, but never in such horrid weather.

  As Abby climbed onto the branch, another gust of wind had her clutching the wet wood with a death grip. Her fingers couldn’t grasp hold. She slipped several feet down to the next limb. The jagged branches tore at her clothing—and her skin. She gasped as the skin on her arm ripped.

  Finally, she was on the ground. A quick scan of the area showed all the ranch hands were in the bunkhouse. She crept along the side of the house until the barn came into view. It too appeared deserted. She swept her hair up under her hat and pulled her coat collar up around her neck. Hopefully, if anyone saw her, she’d be taken for one of the men. She took a deep breath, then made a dash through the mud for the barn.

  Her horse Paint neighed at her from the back stall. As Abby neared the beautiful black and white mare, the animal pranced excitedly. Since Abby had been gone for the last few days, no one had exercised the horse, and she was ready to run.

  Abby grabbed her gear from the tack room. In a matter of minutes, she had Paint saddled. She searched the area and found a rifle and ammunition. With shaking fingers, she jammed the rifle into the boot. She grabbed a slicker from a peg on the wall and shrugged into it. With a prayer on her lips, she rode from the barn. As a flash of lightning sent spidery fingers of light across the dark sky, she shivered violently. Had she bitten off more than she could chew? Well, her safety didn’t matter—Davy was in danger.

  Two hours later, she knew she was in trouble. She was cold—and lost. The rain had not let up. Besides that, she hadn’t seen any familiar landmarks in quite some time. Ahead, a rock overhang afforded a modicum of protection from the storm. With a relieved sigh, she steered Paint under the protective ledge, dismounted and led the mare out of the slashing rain. Her hands shook as she unsaddled the animal, then wiped her down with leaves and moss.

  After the horse was settled, Abby searched her saddlebag and almost cried when she found matches. Ten minutes later, a fire flickered in the dim cavern. She crouched beside the flames and soon the trembling stopped. She dried her bedroll by the fire, then lay on the ground, using her saddle as her pillow. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but sleep would not come.

  But the tears did.

  How long she hovered in a sea of despair Abby didn’t know, but she must have drifted off to sleep. Nearby sounds jerked her from her slumber, and she reached for the rifle. She scanned the area but could see nothing. The rain had stopped. Overhead, a full moon hung in an ebony sky while stars winked down at her.

  Abby got up and walked out from beneath the ledge. Her body ached in places that had never hurt before. She stretched, her muscles groaning in protest. She climbed on a nearby boulder and studied the heavens. Thank God her father had taught her to read the stars and find her way by them.

  She waited until a couple of hours before dawn before leaving the safety of her shelter. Overhead, the North Star led the way to Coyote Canyon.

  ****

  The morning sun crowned the mountains as Davy stared down the cliff at Coyote Canyon, land the Comanche considered sacred. Why would Silver Feather choose such a location for this confrontation? It was as if he had a sacred mission.

  But why?

  He shrugged. The reasons didn’t matter. If Silver Feather was responsible for John Larson’s death, the gods would have to save him. Davy pulled his gun from its holster and checked his ammunition. Silver Feather would probably prefer a more personal weapon, like a knife, but Davy would be ready.

  Movement below. He shielded his eyes from the sun’s glare. From out of the shadows, a man appeared. He glanced up at the cliffs. Again, Davy had the distinct impression that the wily old warrior knew of his presence.

  Davy straightened to his full height and stared down at his enemy. If Silver Feather could read minds, as some believed, Davy wanted him to know he was not afraid, and he would fight to the death to avenge his father. He uttered a prayer to the Great Spirit, then climbed over the top of the cliff and made his way down the jagged terrain.

  As he approached, the smell of sagebrush assaulted his nostrils. Ahead, a circle of stones was laid out, a fire burning behind it. Ancient paintings lined the stone wall by the fire. The beating of a drum sounded in Davy’s ears. He looked around but saw nothing. Then a low chant echoed around the walls. Was it the spirits of his ancestors? Or spirits Silver Feather had summoned to help him take his revenge?

  Then he stood before his enemy.

  Silver Feather’s inscrutable face revealed nothing, not even animosity. His dark eyes were like those of a serpent…watching…and waiting. Clad only in a breach clout and moccasins, the Indian did not look like a man in his forties. His torso rippled with muscles while his arms were like tree trunks. Many scars lined his chest. He was armed only with a knife. When he saw Davy looking at the scars, a low grunt escaped the warrior’s lips. “A gift from our white friends.”

  Davy unbuckled his gun belt, then let it slide to the ground. He took his hat off, shrugged out of his shirt and tossed them beside the gun belt. Then he met Silver Feather’s hard gaze.

  “So you have come, Running Wolf.”

  Davy nodded. “How did you know I was there? In Winston’s office?”

  “I smelled you,” an evil laugh erupted from the man’s throat, “smelled your fear and your lust for blood.”

  Although the warrior’s eyes revealed nothing, his voice reeked of hatred.

  “Maybe you smelled your own death,” Davy challenged. He acknowledged to himself he did have the blood lust—he yearned, wanted, longed to plunge his blade into Silver Feather’s body, to kill the man who’d taken his father from him.

  “Ayee, the pup barks loudly.” Silver Feather jerked the knife from the sheath at his waist.

  Davy pulled his. Everything disappeared but the man before him. “Did you kill my father?”

  The Indian nodded. A smirk touched his lips.

  “Why? Did Winston pay you to do it?”

  “Winston is a fool. He paid me to find the paper.”

  “Then why?”

  “I killed John Larson because many years ago he stole from me and dishonored me before my people. They laughed at me, and I swore vengeance. It has been a long time coming.”

  “What did he steal from you?”

  “Dawn Little Sky.”

  “What? My mother?” Davy couldn’t believe his ears. Even though his mother had told him that once Silver Feather wanted her hand, why had the man waited so long to act on it?

  “Yes. Dawn Little Sky was promised to me. She was to be my woman, my wife, but your father stole her from me, and the warriors laughed at me. I still hear their words in my sleep.” Silver Feather’s knuckles whitened as he clenched the knife in his hands.

  “That was many years ago,” Davy said.

  “The shame still burns brightly.” Silver Feather slid his finger along the knife blade. A ribbon of red appeared. “And when I have taken your life, I will take Dawn Little Sky as
my woman.”

  Davy forced himself to reveal no emotion. He shook his head and taunted, “She will not have you. She would rather die.”

  “That will be her choice.” The Indian moved slowly toward Davy. “The time for talking is done.”

  With those words, Silver Feather stepped into the circle of stones. Davy followed. The warrior lunged toward him. Davy stepped to one side, then struck his enemy on the back, sending him face down in the dirt. Silver Feather scrambled to his feet, wiped his mouth and spat. Davy circled to his left. Silver Feather’s dark, hate-filled eyes never left his face. He chose his next words carefully, trying to goad his enemy into making a mistake. “And now John Larson’s son will also steal from you. I will steal your life, and my mother will spit on your grave.”

  His words had the desired effect. The Indian screamed and rushed at Davy, knocking him to the ground. Silver Feather fell on top of him and raised his knife. Davy grabbed the man’s wrists. The Indian’s strength surprised him. With a muttered curse, Davy berated himself for underestimating his opponent. The knife came closer and closer. Davy summoned all his strength, threw the warrior to the side and rolled to his feet.

  “The pup does have some bite,” Silver Feather said, a hint of admiration in his voice.

  A taunting grin played over Davy’s mouth. “Enough to take your life.”

  “We shall see.” Silver Feather switched his knife back and forth from one hand to the other. “The game is over. Soon your blood will soak into the desert sand, and I will claim Dawn Little Sky.”

  The sound of his mother’s name on his enemy’s lips sent waves of hatred coursing through Davy’s veins. He tamped it down. If he allowed his feelings to rule him, he could make a mistake, a costly mistake, maybe the last one he’d ever make.

  Silver Feather leaped toward him, but Davy spun away. As he moved, he managed to slice a long, bloody gash in the Indian’s arm. “Come nearer, old one. We cannot settle this if you do not stand and fight. Are you afraid?”

  Silver Feather screamed again and rushed forward. As he neared Davy, he slid to the ground and kicked Davy’s legs out from under him. As he fell, Davy twisted his body so that he landed on his back, ready for the Indian’s attack. Silver Feather leaped on Davy’s chest, his dagger held low and stabbing toward Davy’s stomach.

  ****

  From her hiding place among the boulders, Abby held her breath as the knife slashed downward. When Davy warded his attacker off, she screamed in relief. She had to help him. She shoved herself to her feet and ran toward the two men. “Davy, Davy!”

  His body jerked as he heard her voice. He turned toward her. From behind him, Silver Feather rushed him. “Davy, watch out.”

  The Indian hit him from behind, his knife digging into Davy’s shoulder. Davy slammed into the ground. She cursed herself—her cry had distracted him.

  Silver Feather jumped onto his back. His hand lifted, and he grabbed Davy’s hair and jerked his head back. With the other hand, he put his knife to Davy’s throat. She lifted her rifle to fire, but fear that she would hit Davy stopped her. She dropped the rifle, then dashed toward the two men. With a cry of desperation, she threw herself on the Indian’s back. Knowing his strength was much greater than hers, she gouged his eyes with her fingers. He screamed and grabbed her hands.

  Davy threw the man from his back, sending her tumbling to the ground. The knife flew across the circle of stones. As she scrambled to her feet, Davy yelled at her. “Abby, run. Get on your horse and leave. Now!”

  “No,” she screamed. “I won’t go.”

  “Then you will watch him die,” Silver Feather yelled as he dashed for the knife.

  She picked up her rifle and aimed it at the Indian. “Then you will die too. If Running Wolf is dead, I have no reason to live. So throw down the knife.”

  Silver Feather must have heard the desperation, and determination, in her voice. He tossed the weapon to the ground. She walked toward Davy and handed him the gun. At that moment, the warrior launched himself at Davy, throwing dirt as he toppled Davy to the ground. As Davy fell, he fired. Silver Feather slumped to his knees. Blood spurted from the gaping hole. He clutched his hands to the wound. A look of surprise flitted across his bronzed face, then he collapsed face-first into the dirt.

  Abby rushed to Davy and threw her arms around him. “Oh, Davy, thank God, it’s over, it’s over.”

  “Yes.” He stood, then helped Abby to her feet. “It’s finally over. My father’s spirit can rest in peace.”

  “And you can too.” She stood on tiptoes and pulled his face down to hers. “You are hurt. Let me look at the wound.”

  “It is nothing. How did you get here?”

  “I heard Philip tell my father about meeting with Silver Feather and that he’d sent the Rangers here. I knew I had to warn you. I think God led me here.”

  “I love you, Abby O’Sullivan.” He lifted her hands to his lips and kissed them.

  “I love you Davy Larson, and I love Running Wolf too. Let’s go home.”

  “To which home, my love? I have no home, and I don’t think your father will welcome me in his home.”

  “If he doesn’t, then I’m not welcome there either.”

  “I can’t ask you to give that up.”

  “But I’ll be getting a lot more in return.”

  The sound of distant hoofbeats interrupted them. “The Rangers come,” Davy said as he picked up the rifle, “and perhaps your father. I should go.”

  “No, we’ll face them together and put this behind us once and for all.”

  “I do not think they will listen to a half-breed. Your father’s words will be heard.”

  “They’ll listen to me,” Abby vowed.

  ****

  The Rangers came in with guns drawn and surrounded him and Abby. A cloud of dust rose from the desert floor.

  “Throw down the weapon,” the lead Ranger yelled. “Now.”

  Davy dropped the rifle and held up his hands. The rest of the men dismounted and circled them. Two walked to the prone body of Silver Feather.

  “That’s him, Lieutenant Saunders,” Philip screamed as he slid out of the saddle and ran forward. “That’s the Injun who kidnapped Abby. I want him arrested.”

  The lieutenant rushed toward Davy, grabbed his hands and pulled them behind his back. The wound in his shoulder brought a grimace to his lips.

  “Stop it,” Abby yelled. “Can’t you see he’s hurt?”

  “I’m all right, Abby,” Davy said.

  “No.” She marched up to Lt. Saunders and grabbed his arm. “I wasn’t kidnapped. I went willingly. I, er, we set up that whole thing so I could save…face. I heard Silver Feather confess to everything. He murdered Davy’s father. He admitted Philip paid him to steal the deed to the Larson Ranch,” she glared at Winston, “so, Lieutenant, you can just turn around and go home. You too, Father.” She turned back to Philip. “You’d best just get out of town before I change my mind about pressing charges against you.”

  He stumbled backward, his face turning beet red. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Oh no?” She took Davy’s hand. “Just try us.”

  “You can’t take an Injun’s word over mine?” Philip turned, climbed into the saddle and rode away.

  “Wait a minute,” the Ranger called.

  “Let him go,” Davy said.

  “Yeah,” Abby added. “Good riddance.”

  Lt. Saunders turned to her father. “Well, it appears Mr. O’Sullivan, that your daughter went willingly with this man. Therefore, I see no reason to arrest him.”

  “She’s lying to protect him,” Sam protested.

  The Ranger shrugged. He pointed at the dead body of Silver Feather. “We’ll take him back to town.”

  Davy shook his head. “No. I will bury him, as is our custom.”

  “All right. Mount up, men. Let’s get back to town.” They scrambled into their saddles and rode off. Only Sam O’Sullivan stood there.

  “Abby? W
hy?”

  “I told you I was in love with Davy.”

  The look O’Sullivan sent him made Davy’s skin crawl. This man would never accept him as a proper husband for his daughter. “I am in love with her, and I want to marry her if she’ll agree to be my wife.”

  “I’d be honored to be your wife. I love you so much.” She turned to her father. “Well, Papa, it’s up to you. We can live at Davy’s ranch and be close to you, or if you won’t give his ranch back to him, we’ll leave and go somewhere else. I love you, but I also love Davy.”

  “You don’t know what you’re doing, Abby.”

  “Yes, I do. Like my mother did when she disobeyed her parents and married you and came west. Like Davy’s mother did when she married a white man. I’m following my heart.”

  “But the scandal, the censure…”

  “I don’t care. The only thing that matters is we’re together.” She crossed her arms over her chest and waited.

  “Very well. I can see your mind is made up.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Sam nodded. “If you have half as much happiness as your mother and I shared, then you’ll be all right.” He turned to Davy. “The ranch is yours, Larson. I’ll have Winston draw up the papers.”

  Abby ran to him and hugged him. “Thank you, Papa.”

  “Well, I want you near enough so I can see my grandchildren grow up.”

  Davy grabbed Abby’s hand and pulled her into his embrace. “I love you, Abby.”

  A word about the author...

  Sandi has been writing longer than she cares to remember. Her efforts finally paid off when her first historical western romance was published in 2008 by The Wild Rose Press. Five more releases followed since then. Her latest manuscript, Miss Lily's Boarding House, was released by The Wild Rose Press on November 21, 2012. Sandi’s debut novel with Champagne Books, Broken Promises, was released in July, 2012. Her short stories have appeared in New Love Stories Magazine, and several of her poems have been published in small press magazines and anthologies.

  Despite the fact that Sandi is a Florida native and has never lived outside of Florida, she loves everything “western” and her passion for the “Old West” shows in her historical novels.