Fully aware of what was going to happen to her when she’d agreed to go with the Indians, she hadn’t given it a second thought. Her faith was strong, and it would get her through this. It had kept her calm all this time.
She laughed quietly. How often had she wished for someone to come along and free her from her father’s controlling hand? Never had she imagined that this would be the manner in which she’d leave him. Just like she hadn’t wanted her father to decide her future, her fate was not going to be decided by some Pawnee warrior, either. Somehow, she’d figure out what to do.
Several shots rang out in the distance. Her two guards looked up, and talked excitedly. They appeared as puzzled as she was at the sound, and looked toward her. One of them untethered his horse, and rode from their camp.
Della held the other man’s stare. Was he thinking the same thing as she – that someone had come to try and rescue her? Her heart beat faster at the thought. She turned her head away from the man’s glaring eyes, and glanced at the ground. Rocks large enough to cause injury to a man were scattered around in abundance.
Could she do it? She swallowed the lump in her throat.
She’d done a lot of things she never would have dreamed of since leaving the security of New York months ago. Wandering away from camp in the darkness to find a few moments to herself, for instance, was one of them. Not to mention talking to a complete stranger while alone in the dark. Or, her fascination with the stories the mountain men told. Her father had said that this journey would be safe, but she’d seen early on that the wilderness beyond the Missouri was not a place for weak individuals. Every day had been a trial in some way or another, but this was her most difficult test of courage yet.
Matthew Osborne’s words, telling her that where he called home was no place for people like her, had remained with her since he’d said them. This was a true test to see if he’d been right. She hadn’t ever considered herself a weakling, but hurting another person was more than she wanted to do to prove her bravery.
They will hurt, and most likely kill you, if you don’t do it first.
She mentally shook her head. She couldn’t kill anyone, but perhaps she could hit him enough to incapacitate him so that she could get away. Imagining the handsome woodsman’s face, as he challenged her with his stare and his words, gave her the courage she needed. Determination raced through her. She would prove that Matthew Osborne was wrong about her. She wasn’t weak, and she was cut out for life in this harsh land.
The warrior quickly lost interest in looking at her, and continued to build his fire. Keeping one eye on the Indian, she reached for several good-sized stones. Making an impulsive decision, Della stood, and walked toward him. She eyed the horse tethered a few paces to his right. If she could get to the animal, she could make her escape better than on foot.
The Indian glanced up from his task. Della swallowed, and sucked in a breath for courage. She tightened her grip around the rock she held in her hand. She’d never physically hurt another person in her life. Could she even go through with it?
The Indian straightened, and stared at her. She was close enough now that she couldn’t miss. He would never see it coming. It was now or never. If David could fell a giant with a stone, perhaps she could, too. Della swung her arm, and threw the rock.
She held her breath when her missile connected with the Indian’s head. Stunned, he stumbled backward, but to her horror, he didn’t fall. Anger blazed in his eyes. He touched a hand to his head, then advanced on her with bared teeth. The meaning of his harsh words, although she didn’t understand them, was perfectly clear. She’d had one chance, and she’d lost.
Della stumbled backward as he advanced on her. She fumbled for another rock from the pocket of her apron. The Indian ran at her, and grabbed her arm. She raised her hand that held the rock, and lunged forward. With a loud crack, she brought her weapon down against the back of his head.
The Indian’s momentum brought her down to the ground with him when he fell. Della nearly screamed, but if she did, she might alert the other Pawnee. Pushing against the man’s heavy body with all her strength, she pulled free of his weight, and scrambled to her feet. The smell of sweat mingled with the sweet scent of blood, and Della shuddered.
Her head shot up, looking to where this man’s companion had gone, but all remained quiet. She ran toward the horse, then stopped, and turned. She rushed back to the Indian on the ground, her heart pounding so loud, she couldn’t hear anything else around her. She muttered a quick prayer. Had she killed him?
She breathed as if she’d run for miles, her knees going weak with the thought. There was no time to dwell on it. He would have hurt her, or even killed her, had she not acted. She bent down, and pulled the knife from the man’s belt at his waist. Her hand trembled when she stuck it in her pocket, careful not to cut herself. If the other warrior returned, she now had a weapon.
Her shaky legs carried her to the horse. Fumbling with the leather reins, she pulled it free from its tether, and led the animal to a nearby boulder large enough to step on to get onto the horse’s back. Any moment now, the other Indian would return, and her efforts to escape would be for nothing.
Struggling with her skirts, she pulled herself onto the animal’s back, and gripped with her knees. She held tight to the reins, and weaved her fingers in the horse’s long mane. Giving it a kick, she urged her mount forward.
The horse obeyed, and galloped through the forest. Della leaned over its neck, and guided it as best she could in the direction from which they’d come earlier. The rushing sound of a creek nearby urged her on. If she could follow its course, it would lead her back to where the wagons had camped.
Della slowed the horse, keeping it close to the water’s edge. She glanced in all directions. Any moment, the Pawnee would find her. The creek forked, and she paused. She hadn’t paid much attention when they’d come through this area the first time. Which was the correct stream to follow? The Indians hadn’t stayed this close to the water. They’d taken a route along the top of a deep gully. That’s the way she needed to go, but nothing looked familiar.
Making a decision, she guided the horse into the water, and rode upstream a short distance. She crossed to the other side, and continued to head along the bank of the water. It soon became apparent that she’d chosen the wrong way. The landscape opened up to flat grassland if she continued heading in the direction she’d taken. Turning the horse, she rode through the water again, this time taking the other route at the fork in the creek.
Soon, the riverbank narrowed to where the horse had to splash through the water at times. Dense willows lined the edges of the river, and the sides of the ravine became too steep to move forward.
“Looks like we’ve made another mistake,” she whispered to the horse, glancing upriver. Unless she wanted to swim, she needed to turn around. Was this why the Indians hadn’t used the gully, but stayed at the top of the ravine?
Soon, it would be too dark to see anything. Night was quickly descending on her, and fear ripped through her. At least this was the correct way.
“Don’t fall apart, Della,” she said quietly to calm her growing apprehension. “Keep to the river, and you won’t lose your way.”
The horse snorted, as if in answer to her words. Its body tensed beneath her, and Della gripped him tighter by the reins. She’d heard the trappers talking that they trusted their horses more to alert them to danger than any of their comrades.
What was this horse so worried about? She leaned forward, and strained her eyes, looking at the dense bushes up ahead. Was that a man’s foot sticking out from under one of the branches? Her heart raced. Was he dead? No one would lie like that and simply be asleep. He was too close to the water’s edge. If it was a dead person, perhaps he had things that might be of some use to her.
You might have killed a man earlier, and now you’re going to steal from another?
A shudder passed through her. She made the sign of a cross, then slid from her horse’s back
. Leading him forward, she moved toward the willow bushes. Fumbling in her pocket, she grabbed the knife tightly in her hand. A moccasin became more visible the closer she approached, but it hadn’t moved. Her palms began to sweat.
“Hello?” she called, her voice faint and quivering.
A deep groan answered. She froze. This man was alive! When he didn’t move, she inched forward. She dropped the horse’s reins, and pushed some of the branches aside. Her heart dropped to her stomach.
A man - a white man - dressed in soaked buckskins, lay face down in the dirt beneath the willow. An arrow stuck out of one side of his lower back. Something familiar struck her about this man. His damp, shoulder-length hair appeared darker than it would be once dry. Della rushed beneath the willow, and dropped to her knees.
“Mr. Osborne?” she said, touching the man’s shoulder. He groaned again, and stirred. “Please, Mr. Osborne, tell me what to do to help you.”
Tears filled her eyes, and panic flooded her. The red fabric of his homespun shirt shocked her a second time. Matthew Osborne! For a week she’d been more aware of him than she’d ever been of another man in her life. He’d kept his distance since their brief encounter that first night, but that hadn’t prevented her from casting discreet glances in his direction whenever he’d been nearby in camp. The only way she’d been able to tell him apart from his brother was the red color of his shirt. Zach Osborne wore a tan shirt.
The man shifted, and groaned again. He raised his head slightly, and his eyes opened. A faint smile, or perhaps it was a grimace, formed on his lips.
“Addy,” he rasped, his voice weak and barely audible.
Della leaned in closer to hear him better. Who was Addy? Was he delusional? Perhaps he had a wife by that name. She didn’t dwell on why this thought disturbed her.
“What can I do, Mr. Osborne?” she asked again, close to his ear.
“Who else is with you?”
She shook her head. “No one. I’m alone.”
He stared at her for, what seemed like an eternity. He groaned again before he spoke.
“Get that arrow out of my back.” His words were stronger, but still forced, and laced with pain.
Della straightened. She swallowed. “How?” she squeaked.
Matthew Osborne opened his eyes wider, and stared up at her. “I was wrong about you,” he said.
Her own eyes widened. Who was he talking about? He smiled again. It was definitely a smile this time. Della’s heart melted, and her limbs weakened.
“I . . . I beg your pardon?” she stammered.
“You’re not weak. You’re a brave woman.” He chuckled softly. “And I’m dying to know how it is that you’re here, but first I need you to get that arrow out of my back.”
“I’ve never--”
She tensed when his hand snaked up and grabbed her wrist. His smile had vanished, and his stare rooted her to the spot.
“Strip some bark off these willow trees, the driest you can find, and pound them into powder.” He stopped to catch his breath. “Then find some soft dirt, and mix it together with the powder and some water to make a paste. Once you have that ready, pull the arrow out, and cover the hole with the paste. Be ready, because it’s gonna bleed a lot.”
Della gaped at him, then nodded. She had no time to think. She merely did what he asked, and returned to his side minutes later, a thick mass of dirt and willow bark powder in her hands. She knelt beside him. He remained motionless. Had he passed out, or died?
“Mr. Osborne, I’m back with the paste,” she whispered, and tentatively touched his shoulder. The firm muscles beneath her fingers bunched, sending tingles up her arm.
“Good girl,” he rasped. “It’s getting dark. You’d better make it quick, and then we need to be gone from here.”
Della nodded, swallowing her apprehension. If she could hit one man over the head with a rock, surely she could pull an arrow from another man’s back to save his life. A chill raced down her spine at the thought of what she was about to do.
“Do it. I know you can,” he said with firm conviction in his voice.
Della tightened her lips, and wrapped her hands around the wooden shaft of the arrow. She tugged, but it didn’t budge.
“It won’t come out,” she squeaked.
“Pull quick, and pull hard,” Matthew said, his voice laced with pain.
Della inhaled several deep breaths. She met his hard stare, then wrapped her hands around the shaft again. With a swift jerk upward, she pulled as hard as she could. Matthew tensed beneath her, then expelled a long breath, but he didn’t make any other sound. Sweat covered his face, and he grimaced. He helped when she pulled his leather hunting jacket and shirt up his torso, and quickly pressed the paste she’d made over the bleeding wound.
“You need a bandage,” she said, and stood on trembling legs. Lifting her skirt, she tore a large strip of material from her petticoat. “Can you sit up?”
Matthew raised himself to a sitting position. His breathing was labored, a telltale sign that he was in pain. Della marveled at this man’s self-control. He held his clothing up while she wrapped the cotton material around his lower torso. When she leaned in to reach around his back, his warm breath against her cheek sent renewed ripples of awareness through her. She’d never been this intimately close to a man before.
“We need to get away from this area,” he said quietly. “Before the Pawnee find us.”
“I have a horse,” she answered quickly. Matthew stared up at her. The fleeting look of wonder that passed through his eyes turned her legs to pudding.
When he stood, rather unsteady for a moment, she reached her hand out to help.
“Let’s go,” he said, leading the way out from under the willow bushes.
“How will you know where to go?” Della asked. “It’ll be too dark to see anything in mere minutes.”
“I need you to trust me.” He reached for the Indian pony’s reins, and locked his gaze on her.
Della stared up at him. His dark eyes appeared even darker in the dim light. Sudden clarity jerked her, like nothing ever had. She nodded. “I do trust you,” she whispered.
Chapter Seven
Della sat behind Matthew on the horse. She wrapped her arms around him to keep her balance, just as she’d done with the Pawnee who’d taken her away from her family. This time, however, she wasn’t afraid, nor did it bother her to be this close to a man. In fact, nothing had ever given her the kind of tingling sensations and heart flutters as she experienced now.
Matthew Osborne urged the horse through the river, the water deep enough in places to reach past the animal’s belly. Della’s shoes and skirts soaked up the water, and her toes turned numb from the cold. The woodsman didn’t speak, and so she kept quiet, too. The night had enveloped them completely when he guided the horse to the opposite shore. The only light came from a partial moon casting silvery reflections on the rippling water.
The horse lurched forward to scramble up the embankment, and Della’s grip around Matthew tightened. He stiffened slightly, and she eased her hold around him, and clamped her legs more firmly around the animal’s belly instead.
“I’m sorry,” she stammered. Had she aggravated his injury?
He didn’t say anything, but kept the animal moving forward. Della’s thigh muscles burned from the long hours of straddling a horse all day. She fought back tears for all that had happened, and exhaustion threatened to overtake her. When the horse rocked forward a second time, her body jerked in another direction. She lost her grip, and would have fallen, if Matthew Osborne’s hand hadn’t reached back to steady her.
“Just a bit further and we’ll rest.” His quiet, yet commanding voice sent a surge of hope and reassurance through her.
If he could ride through the night, injured as he was, then she had nothing to complain about. Della readjusted her position on the animal’s back in an effort to minimize contact with him.
“Hold on to me.”
“I do
n’t want to hurt you,” she stammered. Her fingers wrapped around the rawhide material of his hunting coat, careful not to touch him directly. She’d clung to him without any forethought about what she was doing earlier, other than trying to remain on the horse. Now that he was talking to her, her face heated from her actions.
Mr. Osborne still held her arm from where he’d steadied her a moment ago. He released it, and took hold of her hand instead, bringing her arm around his middle.
“Hold on to me, like before. We’re heading uphill, and I don’t need you sliding off,” he grumbled, his voice laced with pain.
Della’s heart pounded faster, sure that he could feel it. He held firm to her hand, pressing it against his abdomen. Reluctantly, she brought her other arm around him, and interlocked her hands. She had no choice but to pull herself fully against his back.
Her grip tightened when the horse moved up a steep incline until it leveled out. She focused on the faint dark outlines of trees and more hills once they reached the top of the ravine, rather than on the solid feel of the man to whom she clung. He kept the horse at a steady pace, leading into the trees, and Della’s eyes grew heavy from lack of sleep, and all that had happened today.
“Addy, wake up.”
The deep voice close to her ear startled Della from dozing. She sat up straighter, and momentary fear rushed through her in the complete darkness. A shiver raced down her spine when something swooshed above her, and an owl hooted.
“We’re stopping here, so you can rest,” he added.
“Here?” she asked, groping for consciousness.
Mr. Osborne loosened her hands from around his middle, and dismounted the horse. She scrambled off the animal’s back, keeping her hands on the horse to steady herself.
“There’s good cover here among the trees.”
He took hold of her hand, and led her through the darkness. Heat ran up her arm from his firm grip on her.
“I can’t see anything,” she whispered.
“Your eyes will adjust. I can’t start a fire for you, but you can put this on, to keep warm.”
Yellowstone Homecoming: Yellowstone Romance Series Novella Page 5
