Chapter 15 #4
Maybe it was the fear that now seemed such a part of him, and the pain that he’d begun to feel when he’d seen the slain woman.
Maybe it was all of those factors combined that made his blood boil in a way unlike anything he had ever experienced before.
If she had actually been in front of him at that moment…
But she wasn’t. She was barefoot and being given fishing lessons by Lieutenant Jimmy Blake.
He fought to control his temper, holding his breath and counting until he thought he would expire.
After a while, he walked back to where he had left Ice Raven. He let out a soft birdcall, and his friend reappeared on the road. “It’s a group from the fort,” he told Ice Raven.
“Your friends?”
“Yes, a number of them. And Sabrina is with them as well.”
“You must be pleased.”
“Umm, not exactly.”
“Ah, yes. The dead woman. Still, I don’t think a small war party would venture so close.”
“I don’t know anymore,” Sloan said, and Ice Raven didn’t argue.
“Well, you may go on and join your party. I will leave you and be on my way—”
“Actually, I’d like to ask you to stay, just until after dark.”
Ice Raven arched an ebony brow.
“What do you have in mind?”
“A lesson in communications,” Sloan said dryly.
He outlined to Ice Raven what he wanted to do.
Then, as darkness fell, he slipped back through the foliage until he saw Tom Custer and tried to attract Tom’s attention.
Spinning around, Tom gazed at him with widening eyes at first, and Sloan realized that the man thought at first that he might be facing a hostile attack.
Then he recognized Sloan in the shadows. “Major!”
“Shh…Tom.”
“You’re back! What did you discover?”
“It was a Cheyenne camp Reynolds attacked. I’ve a written report; I’d like you to take it to Sergeant Dawson and have him take it back to Terry immediately.”
“We’re so close to the fort; surely you will want to report in person—”
“Naturally, but I’d like to surprise my wife. I see that she’s with you.”
Tom grinned. “Sure. Do I tell her?”
“No, no, don’t tell her anything. Tom, I met up with a friend and rode with him for a ways. We found some miners, murdered about ten miles back. I don’t think that excursions from the fort are wise at this time.”
“Murdered by—Sioux?”
“Cheyenne. They were killed by Cheyenne arrows. I don’t want Sabrina venturing out anymore, but it’s something I want to discuss with her myself. I’ll surprise her myself; please, don’t say anything to her at all.”
“I won’t say anything. I don’t want to upset the other women.”
“Keep a close watch, Tom.”
After all her hesitation, Sabrina was delighted that she had come. Fishing had been fun and exhilarating, and she had been especially excited to catch the biggest fish of the day.
She had spent time helping Jean as well.
Pale, pretty, quiet-as-a-mouse Jean, who so rarely said a word and always seemed afraid of her own shadow!
Jenkins would have nothing to do with the fun and wasn’t glad of the outing at all, but when Jean’s friends all tormented him long enough, he barked out an order that Jean could try her hand at fishing.
Sabrina, Sarah and David Anderson, and Lieutenant Jimmy Blake had shown Jean how to get the squiggly worms on the hooks, and Jean had, in time, while “oohing” and “aahing,” learned to bait her own hook.
They’d ridden in beautiful weather in the morning, talked, chatted, and fished by day, cooked their catches by open fire for supper, watched the sun set and the moon rise.
The countryside was beautiful. The day’s play had kept Sabrina somewhat occupied, and though she hadn’t forgotten to worry about Sloan and wonder where he might be, she had felt the edge taken away from her constant anxiety.
The women had brought canvas military tents, and though a number of men had told her they were all but worthless when the temperatures plummeted, the night was as beautiful as the day had been. There were two women per tent, and she was to share one with Louella.
“I told you that a picnic would be wonderful!” Louella told her smugly.
It was wonderful, but not at all private.
They changed into their nightgowns by drawing the cumbersome gowns on top of their heads first, shedding their day clothing beneath, and then pulling the gowns down.
They laughed, tripping in the process, falling atop their “bunk,” and generally enjoying the situation.
“We’re such prudes!” Louella said in dismay.
“Are we?”
Louella cast her a quick glance, then smiled. “Well, you’re a married woman, and married to the most charming and—” She hesitated just a moment, then said flatly, “Masculine man alive.”
“Louella!”
“It’s the truth,” Louella said. “That’s really why we were so cruel, and thought that we had to find something—oh, something wrong with you. But you’ve been outgoing and very strong, and I’m sorry that we were mean, and I wish that—well, I wish that I didn’t look like a horse.”
“You don’t look like a horse at all,” Sabrina lied.
“I’m an old maid.”
“You’re not so old. And you may not be an old maid forever. Dear Lord, Louella, we lost more than a half a million men in the war! It takes longer to find one these days, that’s all.”
“Do you think I will ever marry?”
“The right man may very well be out there,” Sabrina told her.
Louella seemed more encouraged. She gave Sabrina a quick, tight hug, then retired to her section of bedding in the tent.
Louella promptly fell asleep. She snored, but her snoring was rhythmic.
Sabrina lay awake, realizing that she, too, thought that her husband was the most masculine man alive.
Except that…
He was a half-breed cavalryman, dedicated to a peace that seemed impossible to achieve. She was so very afraid for him, and…
He didn’t seem to want her anymore.
She lay awake for a while, as she did too many nights. But Louella’s snoring definitely had a soft pattern to it. Sabrina found her eyes closing; to her amazement, the sound was lulling.
She drifted to sleep as well.
She didn’t know how long she had slept when she was suddenly awakened as a hand clamped tightly over her mouth. She opened her eyes, struggling instinctively against the hold on her.
Then, for a moment, she went dead still in absolute terror.
Oh, God. Oh, dear God!
They were under attack by the Indians!
The warrior atop her wore black paint over half his face; his chest was dotted with half moons and hailstones.
He wore a breechclout and was barelegged except for buckskin boots.
She could make out nothing more of him or his features in the shadows, but she felt the absolute power of his strength, and she believed with growing terror that he had certainly come to kill her.
She had to fight.
She would not die so easily.
She tried wildly to strike out, but the warrior was incredibly strong, and she couldn’t dislodge the hand he’d clamped over her mouth, even as he picked her up, balancing in a precarious position to escape the tent.
She tried desperately to scream, but she couldn’t get out so much as a gasp.
His hold was suffocating. She could scarcely breathe.
Sioux…this close to the fort!
Or Crow?
What difference did it make?
Because she was being taken…
Abducted by the hostiles!