An Outlawed Heiress and Her Duke

by Denise Daye

  A sharp, cold pain, similar to a snake bite, gnawed at her shoulder as a loud thundering sound echoed into the sky, leaving Esther in a state of deafening silence. Her body stumbled backwards against the doorframe, her motions frozen by a pain more agonizing that she had ever, in her whole life, experienced before. It took her a moment before she realized that she had been shot. Things happened so fast from here on, all she heard was another shot right before she saw the silhouette of the robber on the locomotive fall off the train and disappear in the dust of the desert. George must have gotten him. She threw her head back in pain. George was now kneeling right next to her.

  “Are you hit?” he shouted against the loud noise of the winds and gunshots in the distance. Esther nodded her head. Her shoulder burned like hell, and her skin felt oddly cold, but she decided she did not feel like her life was fading—not yet. George tried to pull her coat down to reveal the wound, but she wouldn’t let him. There was no time!

  “I’m fine,” she growled under tightly clenched teeth, putting on a brave face and pushing George off of her. “Go!” she yelled at him as loud as she could and nodded toward the locomotive. The train was losing speed by the second, soon making it impossible for their outnumbered and outgunned group of makeshift heroes to defend it and prevent the robbers from boarding the train and killing everyone on it. But George ignored her order, for some reason insisting that she was his priority; he tried to hold her arm down to get a better look at her gunshot wound. She forcefully jerked it out of his hands. “If the train stops, they will shoot us all!” she cried out in pain, tears in her eyes thinking about what would happen to Milton and George.

  “I—said—go!” She gathered all her strength to push him toward the coal train with her foot, triggering a burning sensation in her shoulder that felt as if someone had just stabbed a fork into her wound. George stood there for another second, fist clenched, clearly in despair over the reality that leaving her was the right thing to do—their only chance. With a face full of anger, pain, and desperation, George turned to jump back onto the coal car, disappearing inside it for a few moments only to reappear at the other end of it.

  Esther pushed her torso against the doorframe to help herself back up on her feet. She only saw parts of George in the locomotive, but it looked like he was helping up one of the train’s frightened engineers who then pointed at something on the floor before pulling back a handle next to the locomotive’s fire that kept the train running. George and the engineer were now both frantically shoveling coal into the hungry heart of the train, its flames flickering angrily to the left and right, demanding more. Shovel after shovel, without rest, shoveling coal like their lives depended on it, the two of them gave it all there was to give, with success.

  The train started to pick up speed, the sound of turning wheels becoming louder and louder, faster and faster. But Esther didn’t dare let George out of her sight yet. Instead of pressing her hand down on her bleeding wound, she held her pistol tightly clenched in her fist, ready to shoot whoever dared to come close to him again. For how long she stood there protecting George feeding the feasting engine of the train, she didn’t know, but what she did know was that the cheerful shouts and gunshots coming from behind her meant that they were getting close to Fort Garland, and that the robbers must have given up the chase. And not a moment earlier than that did she let her legs give in to slowly slide onto the floor, partially in relief, and partially because her legs would carry her no more.

  Chapter 10

  G eorge kicked the door open to the doctor’s home in Alamosa, a small town that had quickly become the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad’s construction and shipping hub and was heavily guarded by Fort Garland soldiers. He was dragging Egan in by placing his arm around his neck, holding him up with his own arm wrapped around his waist.

  “We need help!” George shouted, stepping into a simple Western that had not much more in it than a stove, a cupboard, and a wooden cross hanging on the wall. Two plainly dressed women were sitting at a wooden table and were feeding a baby. One of them was older, the other younger. Identical facial features gave them away as mother and daughter. They must be used to injured people as neither of them seemed too disturbed by George’s cries for help.

  A man in his late forties with silver streaks in his hair now came running from the back of the house. He was wearing a black vest and pants and the typical, round doctor glasses. The doctor didn’t even stop to analyze the situation but pointed into the back of the house from where he had just come, turning on the spot.

  “Follow me,” he said in a composed but firm voice. The younger of the two women got up and followed them as well, handing the feeding spoon over to her mother. The group was led into a small room with a metal table right in its center. Medical jaws, books, and strange looking metal instruments filled up shelves and tables pressed against the walls.

  “Place him on the table,” the doctor instructed George as he walked over to one of the shelves to grab a bottle of liquid and a pair of scissors.

  From his time in the military, George knew what the scissors were for and was silently praying that Egan would let the doctor use them to cut his shirt open. He had tried to take a look at the wound on the train, but Egan was fighting him tooth and nail, insisting to wait until they reached Alamosa, a small town right before Antonito. Never before had George felt so helpless and angry than when Egan wouldn’t let him clean the wound right away with whiskey transported on the train. Judging by the blood flow, he didn’t think that an artery had been hit, but seeing Egan grimacing in pain, and even worse, enduring all of this because he’d sacrificed himself to save George, had brought the burning sensation of tears to his eyes.

  “What happened?” the doctor asked calmly without making the situation seem unimportant. He must have been used to seeing much worse, working so close to a military fort, George thought to himself. Nothing was more horrid than seeing the terrors of war first-hand. Egan also seemed to have somewhat adjusted to the pain in his shoulder as he barely made any sounds unless he moved his shoulder a certain way or somebody touched the wound.

  “We were attacked by a group of bandits,” George explained, frantically turning his head left and right to search for Milton. He found him standing in the corner of the room, tears running down from his eyes.

  “I’m okay, just need a bit of rest,” Egan now started his protest again. He tried to sit up on the table, but the doctor placed an elbow onto his chest.

  “Hold still,” he demanded, placing the scissors wide open at the upper end of Egan’s shirt to start cutting it open.

  “No!” Egan snapped trying to jerk up, but the doctor who had probably held down hundreds of soldiers fighting all they could to keep their limbs, just put more pressure on his elbow, pinning Egan in place again.

  “Stop!” Egan clenched his jaw, trying to roll off the table this time and with some success managed to squirm his arm free.

  “Hold him down,” the doctor yelled over to George and the younger woman who most likely was his wife and nurse. Both of them came running, and each grabbed one of Egan’s arms, placing their weight on them.

  “Please stop!” Tears were now running down Egan’s red cheeks, as he kicked with his thin legs like a wild mustang battling his captors to remain free and untamed. But the doctor kept cutting the shirt open, his face totally emotionless.

  George on the other hand was not as prone to Egan’s heartbreaking cries, clenching his jaw in response to deal with the wave of guilt overcoming him for pinning Egan down against his will.

  The doctor was now all the way through Egan’s shirt and pulled it open, when Egan cried out for one last time, this time begging:

  “Please don’t!”

  George tried to calm him.

  “We are just trying to he—” George froze, abruptly releasing Egan’s arm without even realizing.

  The doctor and his wife both halted in motion as well, staring down onto Egan’s bare chest with
their eyes and mouths wide open. In front of them wasn’t the flat, bony torso of a young street boy as they had all expected, but the curvy breasts of a woman!

  George tumbled backwards a few steps, pressing his fist to his mouth, his lips punched between his thumb and index finger. How was this possible?! How was this even possible?! Egan… no…

  The short haired woman in front of him shot up, covering herself by closing the shredded shirt around her like a cape protecting her from a snowstorm. She was staring down at the wooden floor, biting on her lip so hard it started to bleed.

  The doctor’s wife was the first to regain her senses.

  “Out!” she commanded. “Everybody out!” she shouted again before placing a motherly hand onto the back of the woman they had called Egan up until now.

  It took another aimed stare from the doctor before George was able to shake himself out of the endless train of thought and clear the room, dragging Milton out with him. He walked straight out of the house into the little vegetable garden in front, passing the older woman who was feeding the baby in the doctor’s kitchen. The warm rays of the spring sun hit his face, pulling him back into reality, away from the idea that maybe all of this was just a dream. For a moment Milton and George just stood motionless, in total silence, gazing off at the white Rocky Mountains, listening to the wind blow the smell of fresh prairie grass right in front of their feet.

  “Fool!” George shouted suddenly, throwing his hands high just to have them land on his hips again. How the bloody hell did he not notice that Egan was a woman? It was obvious at every step they took. The way (s)he smiled, laughed, the fine voice. Her eyes that sparkled like a thousand stars up in the night sky. And then there was that whole attraction thing. George started pacing up and down, something he did quite often now, shaking his head back into that same endless train of thought. How could he have doubted his own character before coming to the most logical conclusion?! Not that he minded men who were attracted to their own sex, love was love and it was not his business what others should or should not do, but to think he was falling for a man himself…

  “I’m such a fool!” he shouted out loud again, angrily kicking a rock in front of him. No, he wasn’t falling for Egan, his brave, loyal, selfless guide. He was falling for… for… for God’s sakes, he didn’t even know her name! What if she had died on the train? George would have stood by her side while she was leaving this world, not even able to call her by her real name. It was tearing him apart, piece by piece, that he knew close to nothing about this woman who had risked her life for him not once, but twice. TWICE! And almost losing it, too.

  Milton now stepped closer, avoiding eye contact by staring at a rock he was pushing around with his dusty, little boot. “Please don’t be mad at her. It was all my idea,” he apologized.

  George turned around, searching the boy’s face in front of him. Another person devoted to his cause whom he knew nothing about. Here he was, George Astley, the honorable Duke of Aberdeen, dragging women and children along on his dangerous quest to save his despicable investment and title. George felt another wave of gut-churning guilt flush through his body. He clenched his fists in anger, only to notice Milton’s body shrinking in on itself with a darting gaze at the floor. George instantly calmed himself, letting out a sharp, whizzing breath instead.

  “Milton. I’m not angry with either of you. The only person I am angry with is myself.” He stepped closer, putting a gentle hand onto his shoulder. George suddenly frowned. “Your name is Milton, isn’t it?”

  Milton nodded.

  “So you are a…”

  “A boy,” Milton answered with a faint smile on his face.

  “Unlike Miki—she’s a girl, too.”

  “I see. And who is Miki?”

  Milton seemed to become more of his usual self again, rolling his eyes in annoyance as if that was a silly question.

  “Well, one of us six, of course,” he explained. “Me, Miki, Jeff, Tom, little Cliff, and of course Esther.”

  “So that’s her name? Esther?”

  “It’s not Cliff, Tom, or Jeff,” Milton joked, managing to put a faint smile onto George’s face.

  “Fair enough.” Even now, this boy had the power to make him smile, feel like everything was going to be alright. George loved both of them, he truly did.

  The door opened and the doctor approached George, wiping blood off his hands onto a white cloth.

  “She is as strong as she is lucky,” he said, turning his hand to see if there was any blood left on it. “Went straight through, no artery was hit.”

  “Does that mean she will be okay?” Milton asked with big, teary eyes.

  “She will have to keep the wound clean,” the doctor said, bending forward to level with Milton and give him a warm smile, “but if she does that, I don’t see why not.” Milton threw himself into the doctor’s arms.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” his buried face mumbled into the doctor’s vest. George was a grown man, but almost threw himself into the doctor’s arms as well, so relieved and grateful was he. It was like an elephant sitting on his chest had just walked off, letting him finally breathe again.

  “You didn’t know?” The doctor now turned to face George, Milton slowly letting go of him.

  “No,” he almost whispered, his voice soaked in shame. The doctor didn’t say anything but simply nodded his head as if it wasn’t his business to ask any more questions. George was about to ask whether she had said anything, when the train’s loud whistle screamed through the town from the distance, warning passengers that the train to Antonito would leave in a few minutes. George looked over in the direction of the train. Time to go. Alone. Esther had to rest, but more importantly, he would not allow her to continue to Chama with him. It was simply too dangerous, and the bullet in her shoulder was proof enough of that. He would have to manage on his own from here on. And of course, safely get back to Alamosa to check in on her as soon as possible.

  “Will she be safe here for a few days?” George asked, fishing some money out from his coat’s inner pocket. The question seemed to have left a bitter taste in the doctor’s mouth as he frowned for the first time since they’d arrived.

  “I swore an oath to save lives, not to destroy them,” he informed George, chin help up high.

  “Of course,” he apologized, handing him some money to pay for his services and a little extra in gratitude.

  “No-one can know of this,” George said in the kindest threat ever spoken, but a threat, nonetheless. The doctor nodded.

  “I understand.” He put the money in his vest pocket and turned around to walk back inside. George now stepped in front of Milton, whose lips twisted downward, knowing exactly what was to come. “Tell her I will be back soon.”

  Milton kept staring at the ground. “Can I come with you?”

  George placed a hand on Milton’s head, gently rubbing it. “I need you here. To watch over her.”

  Milton nodded in silent agreement.

  “Good,” George said, standing up and handing Milton several notes. “Give this to her.”

  Milton held the money up as if it were evil, didn’t want it. “You’re not coming back?” his wet, big eyes accused him.

  “Of course, I am.” But what he couldn’t tell Milton was the uncertainty of it. He might not even make it to his destination for all he knew. From here onwards, there were far too many folks who would have a problem with him, with his mission—the government and the natives for instance. Add outlaws to it and his plan was nothing short of insanity. But there was no time for doubts or whining as the stakes were higher than ever. Two more souls he cared about had been added to the list of people he couldn’t let down. He had to find a way to get his fortune back so he could help Esther and Milton, get rid of this ridiculous warrant, and… and… and what, George? Take care of them? Offer them a home? Return to England with five children and a wife?

  The train whistle howled again, breaking him off from his thought
s. It was time to go. He leaned over to Milton.

  “Tell her she can trust me; I will make thing right.” Those were his last words before he turned and headed back to the train station through a small cowboy town in the middle of nowhere, far away from his home, lost in the deepest American Frontier the continent had to offer. At least the rumors of those God-forsaken, lawless Western towns that high society loved to babble about at dinner parties seemed to be nothing but bed-time stories. So far, those little Wild West towns seemed rather peaceful and well taken care of by their sheriffs and community.

  “For once, fortune seems to smile my way again,” George mumbled to himself, pulling down his hat to greet a group of women and children passing by on a wagon. Antonito was less than an hour away by train. He was so close and yet had the battle of his life ahead of him.

  “Bloody fortune…” George cussed as he stood rooted to the dusty ground in the middle of downtown Antonito, a town that was as Wild Western as the sun was bright. Unlike serene, little Alamosa, or any other Western town he had passed by so far, this tiny town was bustling with more life than a carnival. It was sheer madness! Soldiers dressed in blue were tumbling by, blackout drunk, with giggling prostitutes hanging around their necks. One of them was about to fall onto George, who managed just in time to jump aside, watching the soldier fall flat onto his stomach—passed out cold. George wrinkled his nose at the stench of booze oozing from his body. The two women who were with him moments ago now leaned over, their hands hastily going through his pockets, stealing everything they could carry.

  George now directed his shocked gaze toward a group of young cowboys storming out of one of the countless saloons. They jumped hollering onto their horses, riding off, shooting their guns. Shortly after, the bartender of the very same saloon and two of his helpers came flying out the batwing doors, shooting after the fleeing cowboys, without success.

  Loud laughter and piano music accompanied his every step down the dusty, crowded main road. Most buildings were wooden, two-story structures with flat facades and horses tied up in front of them, patiently waiting for their owners to return. But there were also a few hastily thrown together tents that were packed with railroad workers, prospectors, soldiers, and even lawmen. George stopped, perusing the situation before letting out a long, frustrated, hot breath of air. He had parted from Esther less than two hours ago and was already in need of her help. The next train to Chama was not due to leave until tomorrow, but even that was an issue. ‘Military ownlee,’ a sign read at the Antonito train station office, and George was bemused by the poor spelling of ‘only.’ So, in order to be on that train, George still had to somehow convince the military commander that he was on their side—which he wasn’t.