Chapter Eighty-Seven
Candice knew he was lying.
She stared out of the window of the major’s quarters.
The day had dragged endlessly. It was sometime past noon, and there was nothing for her to do in the fort except to take care of Christina and read the major’s books.
He had joined her again for lunch, and as he had been the night before at supper, he was a perfect gentlemen, except when his eyes drifted downward to her bosom.
Not once had he brought up Cochise, Jack, or the wars.
In fact, they had talked of everything but those three topics, and Candice had the distinct impression he was luring her into a feeling of complacency before springing the jaws of a deadly trap.
But why? Exactly what did he want? Did he really think she had information?
Did he see through her facade? Did he know she loved Jack, not hated him?
She was sure he had lied when he told her there were no men available for a proper escort home.
It was true that there did not seem to be very many men within the fort, but there were at least a dozen.
Where were the others? Out on patrol? Maybe he meant that there were no trustworthy ones, or no officers available.
She didn’t think so. She had a bad feeling, a feeling of dread.
He was toying with her the way a cat does with a mouse.
She wished he would ask her what he wanted to know and get it over with.
Had Jack returned to the Apache camp yet and found her gone?
Unconsciously she clapped a hand over her bosom as if to ease the ache there. A knock sounded on her door, and Candice went to open it. Corporal Tarnower smiled at her. “Missus Kincaid. The major has requested your presence, if you’re not too busy.”
She almost laughed, but instead smiled sweetly.
“Certainly.” She picked up Christina, who had just been fed and put down.
The baby whimpered in her sleep and then was still.
Candice followed the corporal across the dry, dusty parade ground and to the adjutant’s office. She was glad the waiting was over.
The major smiled warmly, too warmly. “Please, Candice, do sit down.”
Candice sat, her daughter in her arms.
“Why don’t you let Corporal Tarnower look after the baby for a few moments? She seems quite soundly asleep.”
Reluctantly Candice agreed, handing Christina to a surprisingly eager Tarnower, who exited. She turned her full attention on Major Bradley.
“Tell me about your captivity, Candice,” the major said, sitting casually on the edge of his desk.
“What would you like to know?”
“How did you spend your days?”
Making love with Jack, she thought wickedly, but refrained from saying so. “I helped with the preparing of food. We were always drying all sorts of roots and stems and berries for storage. I would say preparing, cooking, and storing food takes up eighty percent of an Apache woman’s time.”
He started asking her specific questions about the items she had prepared, and Candice was sure he was not interested in Apache culture. However, she answered as best she could.
“An abundant land for those who know what to look for,” he said later, casually. “Gathering must have been tiring work.”
“Yes … I mean, I suppose so, I wouldn’t know, though,” Candice said, wondering if he’d caught her mistake. She had almost agreed that gathering was hard work—which was an admission that she’d been out of the stronghold.
He studied her, then smiled.
“Tell me about Cochise.”
“I saw him only from a distance, a few times.”
Again he tried to trap her. This time Candice refused to be lulled into confidence, and successfully avoided a comment designed to lead her into an admission of having conversed with the Chiricahua chief.
Bradley swiftly moved on, without a pause.
He asked questions about the morale of the Apaches, and Candice was relieved to be able to answer honestly that it seemed fine.
“Will Jack Savage come after you again?”
She started, then a glimmer of comprehension dawned.
He was using her as bait! Jack would come after her, she knew it, deep inside, and maybe she had expected that all along.
Maybe she had hoped her leaving would jolt him to his senses and he would choose her over the Apaches.
Yes, she had known he would follow her, just as Bradley somehow knew, and that’s why he was keeping her there—it was a trap!
“I doubt it,” she said unevenly, beginning to perspire.
“Sometimes you lie very well, and sometimes not so well, as now.”
She sucked in her breath. “A rude remark.”
“A dozen expressions crossed your face, including comprehension and fear. For whom are you afraid, Candice? I doubt it’s for yourself or your child—or are you afraid of him? Savage?”
“Yes,” she cried, jumping at that explanation.
“Or are you afraid for him?”
“I hate him,” she cried. “I live for the day that bastard is hanged!”
He smiled. “Then you have no objection to remaining as my guest a few more days?”
She swallowed. “None.” Could she sneak away at night? And how would Jack even know she was there?
This time Bradley did not change the topic.
He wanted to know how many war parties she had seen ride out, how many were in the parties, how many braves were in the tribe.
Candice lied constantly. She refused to give an accurate picture of the Chiricahua strength.
She found herself underestimating their numbers when pressed beyond an initial “I don’t know.
” She could barely believe what she was doing: lying to the United States Army.
They were in a war. She was, with her lies, aiding the enemy.
But she couldn’t tell him the truth! And thank God she didn’t know where the stronghold was.
Of course they came back to that topic Almost an hour and a half must have passed. Candice was too tense to worry about Christina, although the child was always in the back of her mind. In a little while she would be hungry. How long was this going to go on?
“You rode into the stronghold in the light of day after Savage abducted you.”
“Yes.”
“Surely you can estimate how far south from the pass the entrance was.”
“No. I can’t.”
“Did you go through Apache Pass to reach the entrance or down Sulphur Springs Valley?”
“I—I can’t remember.”
“Surely you remember where the guide left you just a few days ago. Where was that?”
“On the Butterfield Overland Trail,” she lied. It had been in Sulphur Springs Valley.
“How long did it take to reach there from the time you left the camp?”
She tried to breathe more easily. “About forty minutes.” A total fabrication. In any case, now he would think the entrance was much farther north than it was.
“Where on the Butterfield Trail?”
She swallowed. “Close to Apache Pass. East of the summit.” She was thinking desperately. It was a middle-ground answer. They could or could not have gone through the pass after leaving the entrance to the stronghold.
“Surely you’d recollect the descent if you had gone through the pass?”
Trapped. Even at dark, there was no way a person would not be aware of the descent from the summit.
“Yes, you’re right. We did go through. We must have.
” At least, she thought, he would think the entrance to the stronghold was on the west side of the Chiricahua Mountains, when it was on the east side.
But she had slipped. He was wearing her down.
“All lies,” he stated flatly.
“What?” Her heart sank.
He smiled. “Yesterday you told me that after the guide had left you, you found yourself in Sulphur Springs Valley.”
How could she have said something so stupid!
“Who are you protecting? Are you—”
There was a knock on the door.
Bradley paced forward with controlled anger. “I asked not to be disturbed,” he said stiffly.
“Sir, we got him. Savage.”
Candice gasped, standing. Bradley noted her reaction, and the way she moved to the left to see past Sergeant Holden’s form in the hallway. But there was no one there.
“Good work,” Bradley said. “Is he harmed?”
“He’s got a bullet in his shoulder, but it’s just a flesh wound. He gut-stabbed Myers, though, and nicked Lewis. Lewis is okay. Myers is dying. Savage is outside.”
“Heavily guarded, I hope.”
“Yes.”
“Take him to the stockade. Have the surgeon fix him up. Under no condition shall he die. Do you understand? This prisoner is invaluable.”
“Yes, sir.” Holden gave a lazy salute and left.
Candice couldn’t move. She was frozen, and Bradley was looking at her. Too late, she tried desperately to relax her face, but she couldn’t.
“You love him,” he said with interest. “But you obviously ran away. Why?”
She walked to the window, giving him her back.
She saw him then, clad only in buckskin pants, his torso bare, wrists shackled behind his back.
They were leading him away. He walked proudly erect, the sinewy muscles of his back rippling in the harsh summer sunlight, his sable hair shimmering with rich highlights.
There was a soldier on each arm, and a few paces behind, Holden held a rifle pointed at his back.
“Because of Christina,” Candice said unevenly. She could hear her heart beating, it was pounding so loudly. “I could not let her become a squaw, hating her own people.”
She turned to him. “What will you do with him?”
“Interrogate him.”
“And then?”
“He’ll hang.”