Romancing the Wilderness: American Wilderness Series Boxed Bundle Books 1 - 3

by Dorothy Wiley

  But he could not let his rage make him reckless.

  Bomazeen came at him like a lightning bolt, fast and angry, targeting Stephen’s face.

  Stephen jumped to the side and swung the hatchet at Bomazeen’s head, but the devil ducked and stabbed at him again, this time aiming for his stomach.

  Stephen arched his back and narrowly managed to avoid the sweep of the blade’s path. He slung the hatchet at Bomazeen’s back but struck an arm instead.

  Bomazeen’s howl filled the air between them and the forest beyond, while blood poured from the man’s gaping wound. But like an injured animal, the wound only seemed to make Bomazeen more ferocious. Bomazeen snarled at him, lifting a corner of his mouth. Stephen had never seen a man look more like a wild animal.

  Unfortunately, the injured arm was not the one that held the knife. Bomazeen still gripped the weapon and kept the blade pointed maliciously at Stephen. Suddenly, Bomazeen leaped at him, but instead of using the knife, he thrust his leg out and slung his foot into Stephen’s knee. His leg buckled and he went down.

  Bomazeen sneered at him with mocking ridicule then stabbed again, but Stephen rolled onto his right side, barely escaping the blade.

  Bomazeen put his foot on top of the hatchet, pinning it to the ground.

  Stephen had to release his grip on the hatchet as the man’s blade again sliced the air, plunging down in the direction of his head. Stephen rolled over just as the knife struck the ground where his head had just been. As Bomazeen pulled the weapon from the ground, Stephen sprung awkwardly to his feet and then scrambled away.

  Bomazeen kept a foot on top of the hatchet and chuckled nastily. He raised an eyebrow and stared with amused contempt.

  Stephen lifted his chin and hardened his eyes, as anger rippled along his spine. He glanced sharply around him, searching for a weapon. He picked up a stone that more than filled his hand, and then barreled toward Bomazeen, clenching his jaw.

  Wild-eyed, his greasy black hair hanging in his sweaty face, Bomazeen stomped forward, growling like a rabid animal.

  As the beast came at him, Stephen’s heart hammered in his chest and his body tensed in readiness.

  Bomazeen lunged, but Stephen blocked the knife with his left arm while his right hand slammed the stone against the side of Bomazeen’s head. The fiend’s knife sliced through his jacket and into his arm. But he felt no pain, his entire body taut with anger.

  Blood flowed down the side of Bomazeen’s dirty face, but he did not falter. Instead, the man danced around Stephen, circling him, again and again, forcing him to repeatedly turn to keep Bomazeen in front of him. The silence between them became unbearable. Bomazeen was attempting to let fear build in him.

  The strategy was ill-conceived. Instead of fear, courage grew within him. Pursing his lips tighter and girding himself with a resolve to end this battle, he imposed an iron control on his anger and waited silently, his face daring Bomazeen.

  Bomazeen stiffened at the challenge. With eyes blazing hot, the man’s vicious glare burned through Stephen.

  Then, like the snake he was, Bomazeen lurched and thrust repeatedly, struggling to plant the knife in his chest.

  Stephen kept his weight centered and balanced on his toes. Over and over again, he moved outside of Bomazeen’s reach, turning, spinning, waiting for the right moment.

  The impotent attempts to stab Stephen made Bomazeen shake with rage. The man’s vexation was evident and the serpent soon sprang at him yet again, teeth bared, his face twisted in anger.

  Stephen leapt backward and then whirled as Bomazeen plunged on carelessly, losing his balance. Before Bomazeen could regain his footing, Stephen quickly pivoted to the side as he swung his arm powerfully in a wide circle and smashed the rock into the back of the man’s head. He heard bone crack.

  “Now you die,” Stephen seethed.

  Bomazeen stood, unmoving, then the knife dropped from his hand. The fiend sputtered incoherently and his face paled before he collapsed to the ground in a crumpled heap.

  Totally lost to his rage, Stephen straddled Bomazeen and struck the murdering slave trader’s head repeatedly. He needed to dole out far more punishment than this evil man had life.

  At last, he found the will to still the rage flowing into his hand. He rose clumsily, exhausted, and breathless. He stood there, his head spinning, looking down with contempt and bitterness.

  Then he heard Bear hastily ride up. Stephen looked up. Bear held George’s reins in one hand.

  “Bomazeen’s dead,” Bear said firmly. “He’ll na harm Jane again. Ye need to go to her now.”

  Chapter 15

  Jane’s name called Stephen back from the depths of rage. “Jane? Where’s Jane?” he asked, panting heavily, barely able to speak. He vaguely remembered her falling from the horse.

  “She’s just down the hill a wee bit. Get on George now and we’ll go to her,” Bear urged.

  “Is she…?”

  “She’s hurt, but Sam is tending to her.”

  His heart nearly stopped and bile rose in his throat. “How bad?”

  “She was not moving when I saw her, but I do na know.”

  Stephen glared at Bomazeen lying beneath him, wanting to kill the bastard again for hurting Jane. Nearly faceless, the head was a pulpy, bloody mush. His eyes turned to the now red rock in his right hand. He held something evil. He slung the rock as far as he could throw it.

  “Forget that Satan’s bastard,” Bear urged. “Jane needs our help now.”

  Bear handed Stephen’s panting stallion over to him and then offered to tie a band of cloth around his bleeding arm, but he waved Bear off. Jane needed him. He leapt up on George and took off at a gallop.

  “Jane, my God, Jane,” Stephen cried, rushing to her side. He lifted her limp body into his arms with so much dread he held his breath. His fury quickly yielded to shock as he took in her appearance. Ugly scratches marred her face and arms, and dirt and little bits of rock covered her matted wet hair. Her gown was filthy and ripped in several places and her shift barely covered her breasts, but he saw no blood.

  “She’s knocked out by the fall is all. She’ll come around,” Sam said. “I checked and she appears unbroken. Can’t tell if she hit her head or if the wind got knocked out of her.”

  He gently stroked her head, trying to feel for head wounds, adding his blood to the mess of her hair.

  “Let’s get her back to camp,” Bear suggested.

  Stephen handed her to Bear while he mounted George, and then Bear lifted her up to him. He cradled her in his arms and hugged her gingerly. Putting his face next to hers, he gently kissed her temple. Then he looked down at her, horrified to see that he had gotten blood all over her. He tried to wipe her face with his hand, but only made a bigger mess of it.

  “We’ll get you both cleaned up when we get back to camp,” Sam said.

  “The other brave? Is he still close?” Stephen asked.

  “He got away. He disappeared into the foothills,” Bear explained. “I can catch up to him”

  “No, let that brave return to his village,” Sam said. “Better for Wanalancet to learn we killed Bomazeen. Maybe then he’ll give up his designs on Jane.”

  “Take us back to camp,” Stephen ordered.

  By the time they got back to camp, Stephen saw John and Little John returning from the river with a string of good-sized trout. The two were happily admiring their catch until they caught sight of him and Jane. John dropped his fish and pole next to Little John and ran towards them yelling, “Stephen! Jane!”

  William woke up when he heard the commotion. “What the devil happened?” William demanded, clearly horrified by the sight of the two.

  “The girls. Where are they?” Stephen demanded. When William didn’t answer immediately, Stephen urged his stallion to the other side of the wagon. They were absorbed in a game of checkers. Relieved, he pointed George back to the others.

  “How badly is she injured?” John asked Sam.

  “Sh
e’s unconscious, but she’ll come around. Bomazeen tried to snatch her again. Grabbed her at the creek. We gave chase and she took a fall from the bastard’s horse,” Sam explained. “That blood on her is mostly from the knife wound on Stephen’s arm. Stephen killed Bomazeen. There were two other braves—I killed one, one got away.”

  After Stephen dismounted, carrying Jane, he pushed past William as his brother reached out to help carry her. He gently laid her down on the pallet William had just vacated and covered her with the new wool blanket John had quickly retrieved from the wagon. He bent to kiss her lips, then stood and strode over to face William. “Where the hell were you when all this was going on? Didn’t you see the three of them ride up to the creek?”

  “I laid down for just a minute. I guess I dozed...” William answered.

  Stephen’s fist hit William’s face before his brother finished his sentence.

  Taken by surprise, William went sprawling on his back.

  He leaned over his brother and grabbed a fistful of shirt. “You damn idiot. She could be dead. Your job was to watch camp, not sleep you lazy fool.” He threw William back down in disgust and stood.

  “Stephen’s right,” Sam said, anger in his voice, just below the surface. “We’ll never make it to Kentucky if we don’t stay alert. We can’t afford to be careless.”

  “I…I never meant…” William started, looking at Stephen. “I can’t believe all this happened and I slept through it.”

  Sam stood in front of William. Sudden anger lit his eyes and hardened Sam’s face. “It doesn’t matter what you meant. What matters is what happened. Within a few weeks, we will be out of these tame colonies and the life of every one of us depends on each of us being alert. More alert than we have ever been in our lives. You have to notice everything. Hear everything. Nothing is insignificant. If there’s a twig broken that shouldn’t be, if the birds aren’t singing, if insects quiet down. If anything is not as it should be, notice it. It could mean the difference between disaster and life.”

  “I heard the rifle shot,” John said, “but I thought it was just you or Bear shooting game.”

  “No,” Bear explained, “when we saw that devil carryin’ our Jane off, Sam leapt off his horse and brought his rifle to his shoulder. I told him he could na make the shot. Must have been 200 yards. But he did, with lethal accuracy. He hit the Indian in the lead, sendin’ him tumblin’ forward directly into the path of his own mount. The horse stumbled over the body, buckled and fell. Bomazeen and the other brave maneuvered around the dead Indian and his horse, but Stephen soon caught up to Bomazeen and sent the bastard where he belongs—hell.”

  “Is she dead?” Little John asked, his lower lip quivering.

  “She just bumped her head is all,” John replied. “Can you hurry down to the creek quick as you can and get a couple pails of water? We’ll get Aunt Jane cleaned up and dinner started.”

  “Yes Sir,” Little John said, then ran away to complete his task. The girls still played on the other side of the wagon, oblivious to all the goings-on.

  “’Twas a close call,” Bear said. “Those demons nearly got our Jane.”

  “I feel horrible,” William said. “What kind of a lawman am I? I’m supposed to protect others, especially my family. I could have prevented this.”

  Stephen didn’t respond, his focus returned to Jane, he knelt beside her holding her hand.

  Bear placed his hand on William’s shoulder and whispered, “We’ll never know that will we now? Be grateful she’s all right because he would na a stopped at one punch if Bomazeen had taken her. Stephen is upset right now, but he’ll get over it when his head clears and Jane is up and about.”

  “I hope you’re right, but I wouldn’t blame either Stephen or Jane if they never spoke to me again. I let everyone down. Sam’s right, there’s no excuse.” William hung his head.

  Little John returned with the water and Stephen began cleaning the blood off Jane. He gently applied a damp cloth to her forehead and neck. She had scrapes and scratches everywhere. He tried as best he could to clean them but was constantly afraid he was hurting her. Sam helped by applying Jane’s ointment to the more severe scratches.

  “Just let her sleep,” Sam finally said. “Her body will mend itself. Strip off your clothes. We’ll wash them in the creek. I also want to take a look at your arm. Don’t want that wound to fester.”

  “Bear and William, load your weapons and watch her well,” Stephen ordered.

  Sam grabbed some strips of linen and ointment to make a dressing and they hiked together in silence to the creek. Stephen kept looking over his shoulder at Jane and the camp every few yards.

  When they reached the creek, Stephen yanked off his bloodied jacket and shirt and slapped them into the water. “Bloody hell,” he swore as he started scrubbing the garments with a vengeance. With each rub of the fabric, his wound made him wince, but he kept on, almost welcoming the distraction the pain brought. Sam seemed to understand and left him alone.

  When he finished, Sam said, “Let me see to that cut on your arm.”

  He held out his arm while his brother examined the wound closely.

  “It’s a surface wound, didn’t cut the muscle. Wash it well though and I’ll put ointment on it. Take your time, I’ll watch the camp.” With his rifle in the crook of his arm, Sam positioned himself so that he could keep one eye on him and one on the camp. For that, Stephen was grateful.

  He washed vigorously for some time, removing all the sticky dried blood. The chilly water seemed to stop the bleeding as well as cool his heated mind. He listened to the soothing sound of the water rushing over the rocks and boulders—perhaps that’s why William hadn’t heard Bomazeen grabbing Jane. Finally, he thought he would be able to think rationally. Might even find it in his heart to forgive William. But not yet. His brother needed to learn a valuable lesson.

  “That’s twice I’ve come close to losing her. Are you sure she’ll be all right?” he asked. Sam had been around many battlefield injuries and possessed a wealth of knowledge about wounds and symptoms.

  “Yes, I believe so, but she’ll be sore and bruised for some days.”

  “Do you think there will be any more of them?”

  “My guess is Bomazeen promised her to the Chief and he meant to keep that promise. By the time the Chief figures out Bomazeen failed again, we will be long gone. I don’t think he’d send braves for her again, no matter how beautiful she is.”

  “I’m beginning to think her beauty may be more of a curse than a blessing.” He turned to walk back, carrying his wet shirt and jacket. Sam followed a few steps behind.

  William and Bear stood guard and John had dinner underway. The smell of coffee brewing and fish frying filled the air. Although not as good as Jane, John had come to be a skilled cook since becoming a widower with a growing son to feed. He was marinating the fish in hot water with wild onions, fat, salt, and other seasonings, before putting the filets on the cook fire.

  “These fish should be tasty,” John said, loading a sizzling pan with a second batch of filets. “Have you ever seen such fat trout? We’ll feed the children first with these so they can get to sleep.”

  Stephen stopped and inhaled a deep breath. “Bear and William, go back to Bomazeen’s body,” he said, “and get that white scalp hanging from his belt. It belonged to Widow Andrews. We’ll bury it.”

  They both gave Stephen a brief nod and strode briskly away.

  After Bear and William left, he retrieved a fresh shirt and then spoke to his daughters. The girls were worried about their mother, but he reassured them that she was going to be okay. After the children had eaten, he got them bedded down quickly. The day’s excitement had worn them all out.

  As usual, Martha led them all in their bedtime prayer, and he watched her with pride.

  “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.” In 1781, the New England Primer printed the prayer
and it had quickly become a favorite among the children of the colonies.

  “And God, please help Mama,” Polly added.

  At the word Mama, baby Mary starting crying. Hungry and missing her mother, it took Stephen some time to get her to quit fussing, but she finally fell asleep.

  Weary, he climbed down from the wagon, eager to check on Jane once again. He went to her and knelt by her side. She slept fitfully, probably dreaming of that demon snatching her. His hands fisted and he wished he could hit the bastard again.

  He stood and joined the others by the cook fire. Bear and William had returned and Bear was telling one of his stories. Like most Scots, he enjoyed storytelling and his supply of tales was inexhaustible. It seemed that every evening he had another one.

  “I’ve eaten about everything at some point in time. Snake, squirrel, I even had horsemeat a few times,” Bear said. “Once we got caught in the mountains in a terrible howlin’ blizzard. We could na hunt for several days. We had no choice. ‘Twas either eat one of the mounts or starve. We decided he was na that good of a mount anyway. We cut him up and cooked up a fair amount. We were so hungry we decided he was a lot better horse dead than alive. The other time was when one of my Pa’s steeds, old Smoke, broke a leg and had to be put down. My Pa was a true Scot and did na let anythin’ go to waste, na even a favorite horse. Both times, it was tasty, milder tastin’ than deer meat, and took more chewin’ than beef, but it filled the belly just fine.”

  Stephen only half heard Bear’s story. Oblivious to the others, he knelt by the fire, his eyes focused on the colorful dancing flames. He hoped Bomazeen was seeing flames now too. Stephen had killed the man savagely, more brutally than he thought himself capable of. But he had rescued Jane—that was all that mattered. He prayed she would be all right. She had to be. Life without her would be no life. He couldn’t imagine going on without her. For the first time, he understood the worry and heartache John must have experienced before Diana died.