Frontier Woman (36 page)

Chapter 25

THE HOUSE IS ON FIRE!” BAY SHOUTED WHEN she saw thick smoke cascading in white waves from one of the upstairs bedroom doors.

A flaming arrow came in through the parlor window and Beaufort LeFevre raced over to yank it from the opposite wall and stomp it out. That arrow was quickly followed by four more, one of which almost hit the chargé. From the side windows they could see the barn was already engulfed in flames. The Comanches circled the house on horseback, dodging, feinting, rarely giving enough of a target to shoot at.

Creed did a quick check and discovered not only were the roof shingles on fire, but several places on the outside of the house had begun to burn as well. “We’re going to have to leave the house,” he said tersely to Rip. “Soon.”

“Leave the house?” Angelique cried, her dress billowing as she raced down the stairs. “Those savages will kill us if we go out there.”

“The fire will do their job for them if we don’t get out of here,” Cricket retorted.

Rip’s eyes narrowed. He’d planned for this. There was a secret underground passageway from the root cellar of the house to a spot not far from the river. Some of them would have to stay in the house to keep the Comanches distracted while the rest escaped by that route.

“Is there anyone else in the house besides us?” Rip asked.

“There was no one upstairs besides myself and Angelique,” Bay supplied.

Sloan had efficiently searched the downstairs and come up with several more weapons and ammunition, which she passed out among those present. “I didn’t find anyone,” she said. “The house slaves must have been outside in the kitchen when the attack started.”

“I can’t use this,” Angelique protested when Sloan handed her a Paterson.

“You don’t know how?” Sloan questioned.

“I can shoot a dueling pistol, but this—”

“Take it,” Sloan said curtly. “All you have to do is cock it and pull the trigger five times. If the Comanches get too close, you may decide you have a use for it.”

“What can I do to help?” LeFevre asked Rip.

“There’s an underground passage from the house to the river. You’ll be safe there. My daughters will show you and Angelique the way. When you get to the river, stay hidden until the danger is past.”

“What about you?” LeFevre asked.

Rip turned to Creed. “The Ranger and I will stay here and keep the Comanches entertained.” Creed nodded his acceptance of Rip’s command.

“I’m staying, too,” Sloan said.

Rip looked at her, then nodded.

“Bay and I will make sure the chargé and his daughter are safe. Take care of yourselves,” Cricket said to all those who would remain.

She stopped before Creed. She might never have another chance to tell him what she felt. One of them, or both, might be killed. Cricket sought desperately to stop time in the middle of the Comanche attack. Forgetting the whoops and shrieks of the Comanches, Angelique’s whimpers of fear, the chargé’s words of comfort, Rip’s crisp orders, and her sisters’ efficient obedience to them, she put her hands lightly on Creed’s arms, looked up into his face, and spoke three parting words.

“I love you.”

Creed pulled his wife into his embrace, crushing her with his strength. He twined her braid around his hand and arched her head back so he could look into her eyes. He spoke for her ears alone. “I’ve been waiting to hear those words for a long time, Brava.”

“But Angelique—”

“What’s Angelique got to do with us?”

“But you love—”

“I love you. You’re my wife. I want you with me always.” He gave her a hard kiss and then released her. “Except I think maybe you’d better leave me for a little while right now,” he said wryly. “We’ll talk when this is all over. Get going.”

Cricket watched him over her shoulder, stunned by what she’d just learned. She followed the others to the root cellar. Creed loved her. Now all she could do was pray they both managed to survive long enough to live happily ever after.

Tall Bear had planned his moment of revenge carefully. His braves had set fire to the house, knowing the White-eyes would be forced to flee. The wonderful thing was Tall Bear knew where their escape route would end. During his forays to scout this attack, he’d discovered the opening in the ground near the river. He intended to be waiting when the Woman of the Wolf emerged.

As Tall Bear watched from his hiding place, his quarry appeared, followed by another woman with hair the color of the sun, and an older man—Tall Bear imagined the full head of white hair hanging from his war shield—and then a woman with hair so bright a red he smiled at the thought of her value in trade. He wanted the Woman of the Wolf alive. As for the other women, if he could take them captive, he would, but it didn’t really matter to him.

He waited for more White-eyes to appear, but when none did, he concluded they must have stayed longer in the burning house. That was good. His braves would keep them occupied as he’d instructed.

Tall Bear frowned when he saw that all four of those who’d emerged from the tunnel carried weapons. He decided he would kill the man first. Once he had the Woman of the Wolf in his arms, he would do as he’d done once before and threaten the life of his captive if the other women did not throw down their guns.

Tall Bear kicked his pony into a full gallop. As he intended, his war shriek and the arrow striking the old man in the chest distracted the three women long enough for him to sweep the Woman of the Wolf into his arms.

Cricket knew who’d captured her, knew her fate if he took her alive. She would have shot herself if she could have gotten her gun up in time, but Tall Bear had anticipated her move and the blunt edge of his battle-ax came down hard on her gun hand and stunned her so, she lost the Paterson.

“Bay,” Cricket shouted. “Shoot! Shoot!”

Bay’s face whitened. “I can’t. I’ll hit you, Cricket.”

“Shoot!”

The Comanche tapped Cricket’s temple with the heavy wooden handle of his battle-ax, knocking her unconscious. He danced his pony around the two women, taunting them, showing his disdain, all the while using Cricket as a shield and making plain his intention to kill her if the two women didn’t put down their weapons.

Both women were protected from the Comanche’s arrows behind a rotting cypress log near the exit from the tunnel. Angelique lay prostrate over her father’s form, but her gun was still in her hand. Bay grabbed her by the shoulders of her bloodied silk dress and shook her. “Angelique! Are you a good shot? Can you kill that Comanche without hurting Cricket?”

Angelique roused from her stupor and focused on the Comanche who’d killed her father. “You want me to shoot him?”

“Yes.” Bay swallowed hard. “If you can’t hit him, then you have to kill Cricket.” Bay was certain it was only a matter of time before more Comanches arrived to help this one. She prayed she wouldn’t have to shoot Cricket herself. But she’d see to it that what had to be done was done.

Angelique looked from Bay to Cricket, and as the situation became clear, she began to laugh hysterically. “If you only knew . . . how much I wanted . . . to be rid . . . but now I don’t . . . have to do . . . anything. . . .”

Tall Bear frowned at the hysterically laughing yellow-haired woman. Perhaps she’d been touched by the spirits. That was bad medicine. He would leave the Laughing Woman behind, but the other woman, the redheaded one, was valuable, and he was determined to have her if he could manage it.

Bay was a quivery mass of jelly inside, but for Cricket she had to be strong. She wasn’t a good shot, and she knew it. She still didn’t know whether the hysterical Angelique could be any help, but she had to find out. Bay slapped Angelique as hard as she could, cutting off the insane laughter as quickly as it had begun. Angelique’s eyes widened in disbelief as her hand flew to her smarting cheek.

“I’m sorry I had to do that,” Bay said. Before she lost her courage she added, “I’m a fair shot, Angelique, but if you’re better than that, I expect you to use your gun on that Comanche.” The hateful look on Angelique’s face made Bay edge back slightly, but she stubbornly persisted, “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I understand. You want me to shoot at the Comanche who’s holding Cricket. If I can’t kill him, I’m to kill her.”

Bay closed her eyes and nodded quickly.

“All right.” Angelique got up on her knees and laid the barrel of her gun on the log to steady it, squinting at her target.

Angelique had her gun aimed at Cricket’s heart when she heard a low, menacing growl that made the hairs on her neck stand on end. Angelique’s eyes sought the source of the sound, focusing in horror on a large wolf, fangs viciously bared, crouched not ten feet from her, ready to spring. Without a second’s thought she turned the gun on the beast.

“No! Angelique!”

Angelique fired as Rogue leapt at her. The wounded wolf went for the woman’s unprotected throat. Angelique threw up an arm, and Rogue sank his fangs into the tender flesh as he bowled her over.

Angelique screamed and kept on screaming.

There was no time for Bay to try to halt the wolf’s ferocious attack, and there was only one way she could think to end it quickly enough to avoid Angelique’s death. She didn’t allow herself to consider she might miss. She simply aimed and fired.

Bay shot Rogue twice before the wolf released its grisly hold on the chargé’s daughter. As soon as Rogue fell, Bay threw her gun aside and rushed to render aid to Angelique. The woman was in shock, her flesh torn open, her forearm crushed by the wolf’s powerful jaws. Her face bled where Rogue’s teeth had raked it.

At almost the same moment Rogue had attacked, Rascal and Ruffian had appeared on either side of Tall Bear, frightening his pony so it reared. The appearance of three of Wolf’s namesakes was too much for the superstitious Comanche, who dumped his burden unceremoniously in the path of the two fierce wolves who chased his nervous pony. To have Wolf find his woman torn to pieces by the beasts would be revenge enough for him. He’d done what he came to do, and it was time to leave.

Tall Bear didn’t plan to leave empty-handed. He kicked his pony away from the wolves and converged on the redheaded woman who crouched behind the cypress log. He grabbed a handful of her long hair and yanked her away from the Laughing Woman. As soon as she was in the open, he grabbed her arm and pulled her across his pony’s withers onto her stomach. He had no time to waste on the redheaded woman’s struggles, so he used his battle-ax again and silenced her.

He knew the Laughing Woman’s screams and the gunfire must have alerted those in the house that all was not well. He turned and saw that the two wolves growled and slavered over the body of the Woman of the Wolf. It was done. Tall Bear turned his pony and galloped away to collect his band and make good their escape.

When Creed heard the female screams followed by distant gunfire he yelled at Rip, “They’re in trouble. Let’s get out of here.”

Rip led the way through the tunnel. When they emerged at the river they half expected to find the Comanches waiting for them, but it was ominously quiet. Around them lay the bloodied bodies of Angelique and Beaufort LeFevre, the dead wolf, and not far away, Cricket, with Rascal and Ruffian standing sentinel over her inert body. Though they searched and shouted out her name, Bay was nowhere to be found.

Rip reached Cricket’s body before Creed and gathered her into his arms. “She’s alive.”

“I’ll take her.”

Rip made note of Creed’s fighting stance, his feral glare, but refused to relinquish his burden.

“She’s my daughter.”

“She’s my wife.”

Rip still made no move to surrender his favorite daughter to her husband. The muscles bunched in Creed’s jaw as he fought to control his temper. Then Cricket spoke.

“I want to go to Creed.”

Startled, Rip looked down at Cricket. She could barely keep her eyes open, but she met Rip’s inquiring gaze with determination. Her face was pale except where bright red blood streamed from her temple. Her eyes drifted closed again, but she repeated in a whisper, “I want Creed.”

Rip had raised Cricket to be totally self-sufficient, yet to look to him for advice and succor. He’d somehow never expected her to seek solace from another man. It was painful to accept the fact that she’d transferred to Jarrett Creed the trust that had previously been given only to him. However, because he’d raised her to know her own mind, he accepted her decision.

Creed held out his arms, and Rip gently eased Cricket into them. For a moment both men held her together. Their eyes met, and a silent understanding passed between them. She belonged to both of them—and to neither of them. Cricket was what she was—a frontier woman, fierytempered and bold, demanding all that the vast new Republic had to offer her—and both of them would do everything in their power to see that she got it.

Once the exchange had been made, Creed held Cricket close. He brought her face up and pressed his cheek to hers, feeling the rightness of it. He smelled the familiar fragrance of her hair. He held the weight of her in his arms and swore she’d never be far from him again.

Rip watched the tender way Creed held Cricket, certain the Ranger would now be stepping into his shoes and taking care of her, until he heard Cricket speak.