Dark Warrior: To Tame a Wild Hawk (Dark Cloth) (29 page)

She paced back and forth . . . back and forth, like a caged lion. Every once in a while, thinking of another swear word, or a name she could call him, that she had learned from all the ranch hands she could remember in her past, she’d start screaming at him again.

Twice she managed to rile him enough that he came to the door, and she wondered what had gotten into her, provoking him like this. But she just didn’t care. She was beyond caring. They were right when they said that the world lost all color when grief cut you deeply enough.

By the last time Ashley came to the door, she realized he didn’t have a shred of sanity left.

And she shut up.

He had ranted as he paced the room outside hers. He was screaming now, like a man gone mad, telling her she would come around when she got tired of being locked up in the room naked. And when she did—she
would
marry him. He took pleasure in letting her know how he didn’t acknowledge her marriage to Hawk. He said he was waiting her out, waiting for her to marry him, and then, he was going to enjoy taking her. But he’d have
the marriage first.

He’d have it all, everything Hawk had taken from him.

He had lost all touch with reality, and this is what scared her most.

She wondered where Star Flower was. The danger to her friend was greater than her own. The fact he’d brought Star Flower here scared the hell out of Mandy. He wouldn’t have shown her his secret hidden valley unless he had nothing to fear from her knowing.

That meant he never intended for her to leave—alive or dead.

Later that evening, a Spanish woman brought Mandy her meal. Mandy peeked around her, knowing she could easily overpower this woman.

She saw her opening and made her move, but the instant she made it through the door, she was seized in a brutal grasp and thrown, headfirst, back into the room by one of Ashley’s men. She hit her head on the bedpost and slid to the floor, fighting not to pass out for the second time that day.

When she finally managed to stand up, she went to her little table next to one wall, sat down and tried to eat, knowing she needed to keep up her strength. She needed to stay alive—long enough to kill Ashley.

She pushed food around on her plate for what could have been minutes, or hours. Mandy no longer knew, or even cared. Hawk was dead. The light had gone out of her life. When the pain that lanced her heart became overpowering, she wept, rocking back and forth while moaning and wailing her grief. She violently wished for a knife, so she could hack her hair or slice herself. She’d seen tribes who did this and had never understood it—until now.

Later, when she felt a little better, she managed to eat a little more food.

The room closed in on her at times, causing her to claw at the door. She longed for a window, begged for one, desperately craving fresh air. She felt as though someone was sitting on her chest and she couldn’t breathe.

Hawk isn’t here this time
, she thought again and again. Hawk would never rescue her again.

The next morning, the same woman brought her breakfast. She shook her head in sympathy at the distraught Mandy. It was obvious the young woman couldn’t handle confined places. If Ashley kept her here much longer, it would probably drive her mad.

Mandy picked at her food for the better part of two hours. She wiped the juice from her lips with her sleeve. She didn’t bother to move her hair out of her face. In truth, she didn’t even notice it was there.

Her heart ached like nothing she’d ever felt before. She knew without being told that the pain would not ease for a long, long time, and she didn’t have a clue how she’d ever manage to survive it.

When Ashley finally showed his face again, her appearance riled him. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he raged. “You couldn’t have loved that no-good drifter.”

Mandy didn’t even look at him. She just continued to stare at the wall. What did it matter, anyway? Hawk was dead. Nothing could equal what she’d felt with him.

“Fine, you can stay in here until you rot.” He slammed and locked the door.

Mandy only stared after him, a single tear sliding down her face.

Ashley threw a vase against the wall, sending two of the girls he kept around running in terror.

“What’s the matter, brother?” Star Flower hissed.

He twisted his face in a snarl. “Get out of my sight!”

“She will never love you, you know, no matter what you do. She will never forget him,” she softly taunted.

He rounded on her, backhanding her, sending her flying against the wall.

She sat holding her cheek, glaring at him with murder in her eyes. “You can kill me. But you will never change the facts—she hates you.”

His eyes glittered when he turned. “You better hope she doesn’t.” He walked over and grabbed her by her hair, hauling her to her feet. “You better damn well hope she doesn’t,” he brought her face with an inch of his, “because your very life depends on it.”

“You cannot change what’s in the heart,” she spat, in spite of the pain. “She hates you.”

He flung her away. “Then you better change her mind, hadn’t you?”

And as he left, she hissed, “She hates you brother,
almost as much as I
.”

Chapter Thirty-one

H
awk
tried to move and groaned out loud with the effort. He was alive. Every bone in his body felt as if it had taken a brutal beating, but he’d made it . He tested his limbs, checking for broken bones. Finding none, he slowly stood up.

He was a long way from the ranch, without a horse, and his hands were bleeding from every purchase he had gained on his way through—the trees.

He’d never been so happy to see trees. They weren’t very big, but they sure were welcome.

He stared up the cliff. He shouldn’t be alive. It was one hell of a long way up.

When he’d gone over the cliff, he was sure he was about to meet his maker, but Hawk had been a fighter too long to just go over the edge without a struggle, and he managed to catch hold of some bushes and tree roots near the edge of the cliff—could have, in fact, climbed back up if he had not been dead certain he would be shot for his efforts. Part way down was a small ledge. And that was fine—if he had stayed there and waited for help. But he didn’t have time for that. McCandle had Mandy—and that didn’t sit well with Hawk.

He was in a rage, consumed with thoughts of what McCandle would do when he got his hands on her—demonized by mental images of Ashley’s assault on her in the barn.

There was no way he was staying on that ledge and waiting for help.

It was finding his way down that proved to be a problem.

He had lowered himself part way down on limbs and jagged outcroppings of rock. He was agile and strong, and had even had to climb up or down one or two cliffs before in his life; had made it, in fact, part way down this one, without incident, but lost his footing about thirty feet up and hit the trees below.

They had broken his fall, but he’d taken off much of the hide on the palms of his hands for his efforts.

Well, there was no other way around it. He was going to have to walk out of here. He made a make-shift cane and wrapped it with his leather vest. Shaking, he struggled to his feet.

The sun’s rays beat down on him with excruciating intensity. He gripped the cane so hard that his bleeding hands cracked back open, causing fresh blood to ooze from each open sore. Everything smelled hot, and it wasn’t long before his throat was burning, and his lips were cracked and bleeding, too.

It angered Hawk every time he was forced to stop and rest. It frustrated him to no end. He needed to reach Mandy—now. Time was the enemy. Every moment he took was another moment she was at Ashley’s mercy.

Every time he had to rest, he had to pull his beaten and bruised body back up and somehow, continue on. He had to make it.

He had to find her.

She was in the hands of that monster. His beautiful, fiery Mandy had been captured by one of the most brutal bastards Hawk had ever known. If he harmed her, Hawk knew he’d never forgive himself. And he’d never stop until he’d hunted Ashley down—and exacted a warrior’s revenge.

He couldn’t believe how firmly she had anchored herself in his heart in such a short time. A few months ago, he would never have imagined caring so much. Now, he didn’t know how he’d ever live without her. She was his life. The air he breathed.

The beating of his heart.

He chuckled through his cracked lips, almost missing his step. Hell, she was his heart. How did one live without a heart?

The sun was beating down hard an hour later. Hawk was about to go down to his knees from the pain in his head. He wiped the side of his head, where it throbbed the worst, his hand coming away covered in blood.

He’d been shot. How could have he forgotten the gunshot that had knocked him over the cliff? The thought gave him renewed determination to get to Mandy. Like a chant, it kept him putting one foot in front of the other.

McCandle’d had his own brother shot, much like his father had killed his friends so many years before. Nothing would stop him from harming Mandy—or his sister.

Nausea and frustration made him sit down. He ripped off a piece of his shirt tail and tied it around his head. With sheer grit, he drug himself to his feet again to continue. He was staggering by the time he stopped again, nearly two hours later, judging by the sun. He’d been going on anger now; it was the only reason for taking one more step forward. Anger was what forced hot air into his lungs, and helped him ignore the burning of his throat, which was now on fire. He knew he had a fever, and the fever was working against him, but he’d never quit. Then, anger gave way to hallucinations. He spent most of his time now, with his mind roaming free, touching Mandy’s hair, running his hands over her creamy skin, making love to her. He was no longer aware of anything around him, although some sounds managed to rouse him. But he still managed to pull his gun at the sound of a lone horse, although it was only years of training and instinct that did it for him.

Squinting through the red haze in his eyes, and the sweat on his brow, he was slow to recognize the Cheyenne warrior on the horse. When he did, he stepped out from behind the rock he had taken for cover and dropped to his knees in relief and pain.

Jake’s eyes scanned the horizon in the direction that Hawk, Mandy and Kid had taken earlier that morning.

Beside him, Kat frowned, watching him. “Something’s gone wrong.” It was a statement. Hawk hadn’t met the deadline he’d set when he went out.

“Yeah,” Jake settled his hat back on his head.

Kat headed for the house.

“Where are you going?” Jake growled.

“I’m going look’n,” Kat shot back, slamming the door.

“Women,” Jake growled under his breath.

She came back out within minutes, dressed to ride and armed for battle. Heading toward the barn, Kat was surprised when Jake came out leading their horses.

Jake handed her the reins to the bald-faced stallion she had picked up earlier that week. “They said they were heading towards the canyon.”

She mounted up, and they headed out at a brisk pace. When they reached the canyon a couple of hours later, they easily followed the tracks, and easily picked up the signs of a scuffle.

Jake looked down over the edge of the cliff, where it was obvious something heavy had fallen, and his jaw flexed heavily. “Someone went over the cliff.”

“I’m going on—to scout the trail,” Kat told him.

Jake looked over the ledge, then back at her. “It’s better if I go alone,” she told him.

He nodded. “I’m going to find out what happened here,” he said, indicating the cliff.

“Don’t reckon I can give you much of a time frame. It’s whatever it takes, go’n in there.”

“You got till morning,” he said dryly

Kat scowled, then reined her horse up the path, barely seeing one of the rare grins of approval Jake gave her.

He went back down to the bottom of the mountain and began the tedious job of making his way along the base of the cliff.

His horse took him across boulders and hundreds of small rocks the size of a man’s skull; it crossed trees and forged creeks. When he reached the spot where he could see someone had landed, he scoured the ground for a clue to who it was.

He picked up Hawk’s medicine bag and scowled menacingly. He touched the blood in the sand—it was dry. He then began to carefully track Hawk back out of the canyon. Nearly an hour into it, he picked up the tracks of a horse. Moccasin-wearing feet had stopped beside Hawk, and the heavy indentation indicated he’d been picked up. But by whom?

Friend or enemy?

It was dark when he tracked him to a small cabin. Guns drawn, he stormed his way in, and was relieved to come face-to-face with Hawk, who had yanked his Colt from where he was being bandaged at the table.

The Cheyenne warrior standing there was ready to fling a deadly looking knife.

Hawk grinned and winced. Seeing this, the Cheyenne warrior relaxed.