Chapter 11
They rode hard throughout the remainder of the morning.
Sabrina remained determined not to say anything, no matter how hard he chose to ride.
She was glad she had been riding Ginger around Mayfair since she’d been back, because otherwise, she was quite certain, she would have been screaming in agony by now.
The day was quite beautiful, the sky a gorgeous blue, and the temperature unseasonably warm. Thanks to natural conditions, Sabrina was able to pretend that she wasn’t tired, wasn’t aching, and was certainly, at the least, a capable woman.
In the midafternoon, Sloan paused at last, following a trail through a grove of pines to a picturesque, clear-running stream. Sabrina dismounted with pleasure at the sight, praying that her legs wouldn’t give out on her.
The water was icy and delicious. She drank deeply and splashed her face, grateful for the sun that quickly warmed and dried her skin. When she rose, brushing off her clothing, she discovered Sloan’s dark gaze hard upon her, but he turned away from her and dug into the saddlebags for the food.
“When the horses are watered, we’ll start out again.”
“We’ve just stopped.”
“The wind has changed.”
“The wind has changed?” she demanded, her hands on her hips. “Do you know, Major, I have done what you’ve asked of me. I’ve ridden as hard and long as a soldier, and I haven’t made a single complaint, but you are just trying to prove that you think you have the right to be a tyrant—”
“We can ride now,” he told her firmly, “or start looking for shelter to make it through the night. It’s going to snow, and the temperature is going to plummet.”
“Is it?” Sabrina demanded skeptically. She looked up at the sun, which was still shining brilliantly.
Sloan shook his head. “Sabrina, I’ve spent most of my life in this territory. I’m not trying to hurt you, wound you, or irritate you. The wind has changed, and the weather is more fickle than any woman I’ve ever met. May we please ride?”
She swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like a fool. “Certainly,” she told him. She turned quickly, hurrying back down to the stream to catch Ginger’s reins and lead her horse back to the trail. Sloan had taken out some of the jerky, and he handed her a piece.
“Sloan, won’t the other guests from Mayfair be along the trail somewhere, riding back to the fort as well?”
“Yes, they will be.”
“Won’t they get caught in the bad weather?”
He hesitated. “Yes, they might. But they’re riding with far more supplies, canvas shelters, and a few wagons for the women. They’re better prepared to face a snowstorm than we are.”
“Oh.”
“Come on, I’ll help you back up.”
“I’m perfectly capable,” she informed him.
But she wasn’t. Her muscles were so sore, she had difficulty putting her foot in the stirrup. She wasn’t sure she could swing her own weight over the horse.
But he had come up silently behind her, and he lifted her.
“Thank you,” she said stiffly.
“Not at all,” he told her and, mounting Thomas, led the way once again.
She kept watching the sky. For a long time, it remained beautiful.
Then she began to see the changes, so subtle at first!
The blue became grayer…and grayer. The wind began to strengthen and the temperature fell.
She hadn’t been wearing her gloves; she put them back on.
Despite her hooded cloak, she felt the wind and cold shearing viciously against her.
The horses were moving more slowly, their heads bowed against the wind.
And then the snow began.
Hours had blended into hours. She had no idea of how long she had been riding upon the horse.
“Are you all right?” Sloan called to her.
She tried to nod. She was not at all sure that she managed to do so.
Night was coming; a darkness deeper than the gray clouds would soon be falling around them.
Sloan suddenly dismounted. She couldn’t see what he was doing at first because the wind picked up the snow, tossing it around, but then he was at her side, reaching up to press a blanket around her. “Get this all the way around your head and shoulders. It will help,” he told her.
She nodded. The blanket did help. Yet as they moved on, she realized that she was afraid they’d soon be freezing to death.
“Ahead!” he called to her.
Ahead…
There was snow.
No, there was a fort! She could see it. Though the snow had drifted around the wooden structures, she could see that there were a number of buildings.
Thomas broke into a trot; Ginger followed, and Sabrina nearly fell right off of her.
Sloan called out to the guard, and they were greeted by welcoming shouts.
And she rode into her new home.
Despite the now-blinding snow, a number of soldiers hurried out to welcome them.
One of them helped Sabrina down from her horse and quickly led her into a log building, where it was warm.
A heating stove in the center of the office offered wonderful comfort, and coffee brewed atop it as well.
The room was typically military, sparsely furnished with wooden desks, tables, and chairs. But it felt good to be inside.
“Welcome, Mrs. Trelawny!” said the enthusiastic brown-haired young man who had escorted her inside. “Some weather, eh?”
“Thank you—yes, the weather is something indeed,” she agreed. Sloan entered behind her then, along with an eager young private. The door closed behind them, caught by a strong gust of wind.
“My dear, Captain Tom Custer—” Sloan began by way of an introduction.
“Custer?” Sabrina interrupted, startled. She bit her lower lip, realizing just how rude her interruption had been, but then, Custer was a name she had heard frequently; the man had been a war hero, and now, good or bad, his exploits were constantly in the newspapers.
“I’m Tom,” the brown-haired man said, smiling. “My brother is the colonel you’ve heard so much about.”
“Oh! I’m sorry—” Sabrina said.
“My brother was on leave in the East but is due back here any day, and yet…oh, never mind, here I am talking away. Private Smith!”
“Sir!”
“See to it that Mrs. Trelawny’s belongings are taken to the major’s quarters. Major, I understand that congratulations are in order.”
“Are they?”
“Rumor has it that your promotion has been approved.” He grinned a bit wickedly, and Sabrina thought again that he was a pleasant and handsome young man. “Well, I don’t have the official papers, of course, but it’s my understanding that General Terry will be informing you when you next meet.”
“Really? Well, thank you; that’s good to hear.”
Tom winked at Sabrina. “Not that it means anything to an old scout like Sloan. What’s that official title that lets you come and go like the wind—liaison?
He’s never taken orders from anyone, anyway.
He’s the only man I know in the military who managed to spend a decade doing just about whatever the hell he felt like doing.
Not that Autie—my brother, Colonel George—doesn’t try, that is!
But Autie seems to get himself in trouble more often than Sloan. ”
“Oh?” Sabrina inquired, glancing at Sloan. But his facial expression gave away none of his thoughts, and she wondered about his relationships with many of this band of Indian fighters.
“Well, I imagine that it’s been a hard ride, Mrs. Trelawny, and you must think that you’ve been consigned to live at the most frigid ends of the earth, but we are not without our amenities here!
We’ve seen to it that your quarters are ready, Major and Mrs. Trelawny, and we hope that you’ll enjoy our efforts to make you feel welcome! ”
“Thank you. I’m certain that whatever arrangements have been made will be fine,” Sabrina told him.
“You’ve only to brave the cold a minute longer!” Tom Custer assured her. “You won’t be lonely. We’ve a number of wives and family members here at the fort.”
“I’m sure I shall manage just fine.”
Sloan had her by an elbow, leading her back out of the office.
The cold was like a slap in the face when the door opened, but Sloan quickly had his arm around her, leading her along.
She had to close her eyes against the stinging snow, and she wasn’t even sure in which direction they walked.
She still hadn’t managed to look up and was only dimly aware that they had come to a long, single-storied, wooden structure, when Sloan pushed open a door and quickly ushered her inside again.
“Welcome, sir, ma’am!”
It was the young private, Smith, who had met them when they had first reached the fort. He stood by another man who was bewhiskered and older.
“Sergeant Dawson, ma’am. Welcome. Excuse us; make yourselves at home. We hope you’ll be happy here. Sir!” he snapped suddenly, saluting Sloan.
“At ease, Sergeant, and my thanks.”
Dawson nodded and quickly stepped back out into the cold, appearing to be oblivious to it. Smith started out right behind him.
“Private Smith!” Sloan said.
“Yes, sir!” Smith answered.
“Above and beyond the call of duty. Is that a bathtub there, with steam issuing from it?”
“It is, sir!” Smith said, his young cheeks coloring.
“For me—or my wife?”
“Well, sir…of course, you’re welcome, but the lady, coming through the hardships of the snow…”
“Above and beyond the call of duty, indeed, Private! Our thanks, indeed.”
Smith, still flushing, smiled, aware that he had been teased. He quickly followed Dawson out. The door closed.
Sloan’s quarters consisted of a suite of rooms; there was an archway between a bedroom and an office, and though a fire burned briskly from a hearth in the bedroom, there was plenty of delicious heat provided by a handsome, tiled Dutch oven that sat beneath the archway.
Cupboards lined the archway walls on either side of the oven, and a small dining table was set in front of the oven, creating a small kitchen out of the area.