Captive Bride (55 page)

 
Rozalyn pitied her father and yet she felt he was wrong to place the blame on Baudelair. Was Aubrey's hatred for Hawk's father, for the man's entire family, an attempt to soothe his own conscience and his injured pride? Was it Aubrey's way of dealing with the tragedy? Perhaps Aubrey would have been able to live his own life if he had assumed the blame for the incident. But Rozalyn doubted it. Aubrey DuBois was driven by a fierce inner force. He could not tolerate failure, especially his own. It was easier to loathe the name Baudelair than to admit that he might have done the same thing if he had walked in Lyndon's moccasins. Spending each day with a compellingly attractive woman was a great temptation.

 
Obviously, Aubrey had loved Bitshipe as fiercely as she loved Hawk, Rozalyn thought. Her father would not have behaved the way he had if he hadn't cared so deeply. He was the kind of man who was capable of loving only once in his life, or the tragedy surrounding his early love made it impossible for him to forgive and forget. He had seen to it that the name DuBois was known far and wide, but he had never opened his heart for fear of having it torn asunder again. Aubrey had even taken some revenge on the trappers who inhabited the region where Hawk's father lived.

 
A muddled frown creased Rozalyn's brow as she stumbled onto another thought. Arakashe had told her the curse of the valley would wane when Rose Blossom's lover followed her into the spiritual world of Morning-star. But if the curse lived on, where was Lyndon Baudelair? Was he still alive, roaming the Rockies, haunted by the same memories that had embittered Aubrey?

Hawk waited, knowing the question she would ask.

Although his father had requested that his identity be kept a secret, Hawk could not keep it from Rozalyn, not now.

 
"What has become of your father, Hawk? Where is he?"

 
"He became a part of these mountains until I was thirteen years old. Then, for some reason, he decided to return to the Crow camp to retrieve me. Together, we hunted and trapped and came to know each other as a son should know his father. Since I belonged in the worlds of both the red and white man, he decided to take me back to civilization to learn the ways of my white heritage. I preferred to remain in the mountains, but he would not hear of it. He took me to live with my grandparents in St. Louis, and before he left me with them, he made me promise I would not return to the mountains until I became a man who could be at home in both worlds." Hawk sighed and then squinted in the sunlight so he might view the spectacular terraces over which water gently flowed. "In all our years together, my father never could bring himself to tell me what really happened to my mother. He only informed me that she had died when I was an infant. Never once did he mention the conflict with Aubrey DuBois, and I was at a loss to explain Aubrey's behavior when he learned my true identity." Reining his steed to a halt, Hawk waited for Rozalyn to edge up beside him. "My father is a recluse. He has ventured from these mountains just once in thirty years."

 
"Have you no association with him? Does he long for no one's company, not even his own son's?" Rozalyn asked, her inquisitive eyes locking with Hawk's. "Has he become as bitter and dispassionate as my father?"

 
Her rapid-fire questions ignited Hawk's laughter. "You have met him, cherie. How do you perceive his torment these past years?"

 
A puzzled frown carved thoughtful lines on Rozalyn's features. She could not recall meeting Hawk's father. Had Hawk been so long in the light air of Yellowstone that his brain had turned to mush? "I have yet to be introduced to your father," she corrected.

 
"Ah, no. He watched over you in my cabin," Hawk hinted. "And he became so fond of you that I very nearly had to pry him out of the shack to get him to leave us alone."

"Bear-Claw?" Rozalyn chirped, and her jaw dropped.

 
Hawk gave his head a positive shake. "Bear-Claw, Wapike, Lyndon Baudelair. My father is known by many names. He requested that his identity be kept from you. He feared your probing questions about the past, just as he feared mine. Although his bitterness has faded, his wound is still tender. Because of Bear-Claw's conflict with your father, he warned me not to become involved with you. He knew how it must end. Aubrey will never forgive, never forget."

 
Hawk's last remark sent Rozalyn's spirits into a spin. The futility of their love was even more evident after Hawk's explanation. Now she knew for certain Aubrey would not allow her to remain with Hawk, not when he hated Lyndon Baudelair so fiercely. Aubrey would grant Hawk lower prices for supplies at rendezvous, only to ensure that Rozalyn was taken from a Baudelair's custody. Her father's hatred of Lyndon and Hawk might be his only motive for being fair to the trappers, but it was motive enough. Aubrey would see to it that she never laid eyes on Hawk again, at least not in this lifetime. Their love was doomed, just as Rose Blossom's had been. Until this moment, Rozaiyn had cherished the hope that her father would listen to reason if she confessed her love for Hawk. She had even been foolish enough to think Aubrey would want his only daughter to find happiness. But if she confessed her affection for Lyndon's son, that would only infuriate Aubrey. She might as well pour salt on a festering wound.

 
Knowing that separation was inevitable, Rozalyn was even more determined to live a lifetime in trie next few weeks. She would cherish each moment she spent with Hawk while he trapped the valleys of Yellowstone and collected pelts to trade at rendezvous.

 
During the weeks that followed, Rozalyn hunted and trapped by Hawk's side. They explored the vast region of geysers and springs, and Hawk snowed her a mountain of black grass that Rozalyn would never have believed existed if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes. Together they roamed their mountain paradise, facing the dangers of an untamed wilderness and marveling at the majestic terraces and at the waterfalls that would continue to whisper of the intimacy between a man and his woman. But the fragile blossom of love that had unfolded in the warmth of spring could not last. Its petals would fall, and be strewn about by the wind. Still, for these glorious moments, amid the snow-capped summits and the roaring falls of Yellowstone, their love blossomed.

Chapter 28

 
A frown had been stamped on Aubrey DuBois' features since the night he'd discovered that Hawk had abducted Rozalyn. For months on end he had fretted and paced, wondering if his henchman had apprehended the miserable bastard and had retrieved Rozalyn. But Aubrey had received no message from Half-Head or Rozalyn, and even while he organized the caravan he would lead up the Missouri River, he was preoccupied with thoughts of revenge. The very idea that Hawk Baudelair was using Rozalyn made him incensed. But he would expect such skullduggery and betrayal from a Baudelair. Hawk is his father's son, Aubrey often thought.

 
Although DuBois detested the disastrous turn of events, his hands were tied. It had become apparent that Half-Head had been unsuccessful, and so he was considering several alternatives. He would agree to anything in order to get Rozalyn out of Hawk's clutches, but he knew how difficult it was to track man or beast through the Rockies when the mountains were cloaked in winter snow. Finally, Aubrey had resigned himself tothe fact that his henchman had met with difficulty and that any other rescue attempt would be futile in winter. But soon he would reach rendezvous and Rozalyn would be returned . . . she had better be. If his daughter had sustained even a scratch while in Hawk Baudelair's care, Aubrey swore that he would have more than the man's scalp. Hawk had dared too much, and the possibility of intimacy between Rozalyn and Baudelair had Aubrey aboil.

 
Brooding over the past and it's maddening entanglement with the present, he now stared across the moonlit Missouri. The fleet of keelboats had made good time, despite the fact that it had often been necessary to drag the vessels along, often inches at a time. Aubrey had paused to trade with the hiverants, men who wintered in the wilds and who camped in the area that separated the upper Missouri from the lower river. Following his standard procedure, he had also stopped at each stockade he had established for trade with Indian tribes. So, the keelboats, heaped with furs and necessary supplies, navigated the Missouri and then followed the currents of the Yellowstone to Fort Bent on.

 
At dawn on the following morning the supplies would be transferred to wagons to complete the seven-week journey from St. Louis to the rendezvous at Green River. Aubrey was anxious to press onward, to finish his unsettled business with the conniving bastard who had dared to kidnap Rozalyn. Gritting his teeth, he stalked the confines of his cabin, wondering if his daughter had been told the secret he had carefully kept buried for thirty years. He hadn't wanted her to know of his bitter past, of the woman he had loved . . . had never stopped loving, could not forget. Aubrey could only hope that Rozalyn detested Hawk for snatching her from her luxurious St. Louis home to use her in bargaining. If she did not already loathe the Baudelairs as fiercely as Aubrey did, he vowed to remind her of their underhanded dealings.

Soon Hawk would know he had disturbed a vengeful lion, Aubrey promised himself. Perhaps he would be forced to sell supplies at lower prices this summer and buy pelts at higher prices, but next summer would be an entirely different matter. Hawk would be unable to sell his beaver pelts to furriers anywhere on the continent; Aubrey would see to that. And the price of supplies would soar in years to come, just to prove to Hawk and to the other trappers that they could not dictate policy to Aubrey DuBois.

 
Mulling that vindictive thought, Aubrey shrugged on his jacket and strode outside to greet the first rays of sunlight. Soon he would set up his encampment on the shore of Green River, amid the tepees of the tribes who had come to trade and the campsites of the white trappers who sought a market for their pelts.

 
Aubrey could feel his tension mounting. He had seen Hawk's mocking smile every night in his dreams, but the bastard wouldn't be laughing when he learned his goods would no longer be accepted at rendezvous. And if Hawk Baudelair had dared to lay a hand on Rozalyn, he would lose more than a market for his pelts. If it required an army of mercenaries to cut Baudelair down, Aubrey was prepared to pay the price. Rozalyn was no man's whore. She was Aubrey DuBois' daughter. Hawk had made a disastrous mistake when he'd attempted to drive a bargain by ransoming the heiress of the most powerful fur empire west of the Mississippi.

His jaw set in grim determination, Hawk descended from the foothills to the shore of Green River. The loud, uproarious laughter of the trappers who had already reached the meeting place reached his ears. In the past, Hawk had anticipated the raillery, rowdy games, and races that were so much a part of rendezvous. But this summer was an entirely different matter. He was not anxious to face the vengeful entrepreneur. For Hawk and Rozalyn, that meant the end of heaven and the onset of hell.

 
After stashing Rozalyn with the Crow for safekeeping, Hawk had gathered his pelts from the cache where he had stored them while he'd ventured into Yellowstone. Alone, he had come to confront Aubrey and to ensure that his terms were met. Even from a distance Hawk could see the red-faced furrier pushing bodies out of his way to reach the riverbank. Hawk braced himself for the unpleasant encounter, knowing he had ignited Aubrey's wrath by appearing without Rozalyn in tow.

 
"Where is she?" Aubrey spat out, dispensing with diplomacy.

 
Hawk eased his steed through the river and paused in front of Aubrey. A tight smile thinned his lips. "Your daughter is alive and well, no thanks to you. If you were truly concerned about her welfare, you wouldn't have sent Half-Head in pursuit." Before Aubrey inquired about his henchman's whereabouts, Hawk informed him of the man's timely death. "Half-Head has gone to the place he belongs," Hawk declared, his voice carrying no hint of remorse. "The devil is roasting in hell."

 
"Where is my daughter?" Aubrey gritted out each word.

 
Hawk threw a muscled leg over the saddle horn and then hopped to the ground to drag his pelts from his pack horse. Turning, he presented the fuming furrier with a taunting grin. "Rozalyn is with the Crow. I knew you wouldn't dare barge into their camp since they bear ill feelings toward you. But you are welcome to retrieve her yourself if you are feeling lucky and think you might walk out alive."

 
"Damn you," Aubrey hissed venomously. He had not counted on such a crafty tactic.

"I come bearing a message from Arakashe. He asked me to tell you that he is pleased to find that your daughter is everything her father is not."

 
As Hawk swaggered past DuBois with the string of pelts slung over his shoulder, Aubrey clenched his fists at his sides, fighting an insane impulse to clamp his fingers around Hawk's arrogant neck. "The bargaining for furs will not begin until I see with my own eyes that Rozalyn has not been mistreated," he declared.

 
Hawk broke stride and then pivoted to face Aubrey's murderous glower. "I expected your demand. At my request, Arakashe consented to bring his people from the hunting grounds to make their camp on the opposite side of the river. Although he has refused to trade with you in the past, he anticipates reasonable prices this year."