Merline Lovelace (20 page)

C
ircling his hands around Julia’s waist, Andrew lifted her onto Jupiter’s broad back. A firm grip on her thigh steadied her until she found her seat.

“Can you hold on for a moment?”

Limp and shaking uncontrollably, she nodded.

As anxious as he was to get her away from the scene of such carnage, Andrew had other tasks to perform first. Leaving her safely atop Jupiter, he strode through the mud and callously rolled over one of the wounded drivers. Blood poured from the hole in the man’s shoulder.

“Help me, Major.”

Fighting the urge to smash his fist into the man’s face, Andrew unknotted his neckerchief and threw it at him.

“Stuff that in the hole.”

“Ya gotta get me to a sawbones,” the driver whined, scrabbling in the mud for the scrap of yellow. “I’m bleedin’ a river here.”

“The only reason I’d waste a doctor’s time on you is to keep you alive long enough to dance at the end of a rope.”

He found the second injured driver on his belly, crawling through the grass in a frantic attempt to escape. With a total lack of sympathy for the wound in the man’s thigh, Andrew dragged him back and used a length of rope he found in one of the wagons to lash him to a wheel.

Two wounded, two dead.

Three, he amended with a glance at Walks In Moonlight’s body.

His jaw working, he drew out his knife. Four quick slashes cut the thongs on her ankles and wrists. Re-sheathing the knife, he gently drew her limbs together, then covered her with his India rubber poncho.

Those bastards would pay, Andrew vowed, spinning on his heel. Every one of them.

“We can’t leave her like that,” Julia whispered.

“We have to. The others might come back and make another try for their weapons. I’ll bring a squad to retrieve her body as soon as I have you safe.”

She nodded, but a film of tears glazed her eyes. Vicious bruises were already blossoming on her skin where it wasn’t coated with blood. The little that was left of her blouse hung in tatters. Swallowing a curse, Andrew ripped open the brass buttons of his uniform jacket. Swinging into the saddle behind her, he wrapped the jacket around her shoulders, then reached for the reins.

Halfway to the post proper, they met a squad of mounted men. Dennis O’Shea rode at the head of the troop alongside Sergeant Kostanza, a reedy, whiskered veteran of Shiloh and Antietam. Shock and anger filled the men’s faces as they took in Julia’s bruises and tattered clothing.

“The girls are at the stables,” O’Shea reported.

“Good. You’ll find two wounded at the freight wagons and three dead, including Lone Eagle’s wife, Walks In Moonlight.”

“Murderin’ bastards!”

“Three made a run for it,” Andrew said curtly. “They’re afoot, but desperate, so keep a keen watch.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Detail four men to escort the wounded to the guard house. The hospital steward can attend them there. Have them bring in the bodies with them. Send the rest of your men after the other three. I want them all. Every one of them.”

“Yes, sir!”

The troop thundered past. Cradling Julia in his arms, Andrew urged Jupiter into an easy canter. She clung to his chest as tremors shook her.

He was no stranger to brutal violence, or to the shock of survival against all odds. He didn’t know many men who wouldn’t shake like bread pudding after a battle. That Julia should react the same after what she’d just experienced was natural—and ripped a hole in Andrew’s chest.

When they approached the stables, she dashed an arm across her eyes and made a valiant effort to struggle upright.

“Sit easy,” Andrew told her. “I’m taking you to the surgeon.”

“But Suzanne and Little Hen—”

“You don’t want your daughter to see you so bloody and bruised, and Little Hen’s father should be the one to tell her what happened to her mother. I’ll leave you with Henry Schnell, then see to the girls.”

When they arrived at the surgeon’s quarters, he carried her up the front steps, just as he had the night she’d arrived. This time it was Maria Schnell who opened the front door, shocked at the sight of the bruised and battered woman he carried in.

“Dear God above, what happened?”

“She was attacked by those scum Henry Beauvais hired to drive his wagons.” Striding past Maria, Andrew headed for the parlor. “Is your husband to quarters?”

“He came home just moments ago. He’s upstairs, changing his uniform. I’ll get him.”

As he had on that hot June night when Julia arrived at Fort Laramie, Andrew lowered her to the humpbacked sofa.

“Please,” she begged. “Go find Suzanne. She’ll be frantic.”

“Not until I know you’re all right.”

“I’m just a little bruised.”

A little! Angry marks circled her wrists and ankles.
A purple lump had formed on her temple. Her torn pantalets and ripped blouse would probably reveal cruel finger marks when they were removed.

She saw his jaw work as he eyed her torn clothing. Stumbling over the words, she tried to reassure him. “They didn’t have time to—to finish what they started.”

The reality of what would have happened if he’d been delayed another five minutes tied his gut into knots.

“They were so savage,” she whispered, her eyes as bruised as her face. “So vicious. I couldn’t help Walks In Moonlight. I couldn’t—I couldn’t stop them.”

Her anguish brought him to his knees beside the sofa. “You got Suzanne and Little Hen away.”

His gruff reminder broke her fragile hold on her emotions. Shuddering, she held out her arms.

“Hold me. Please, Andrew, just hold me.”

“I have you, my darling.”

The words came from deep within him. Waiting until the worst of the storm had passed, he growled into her hair.

“I have you, Julia, and I won’t let you go. Not again. Not ever. I’ll resign my commission, go back to Mobile with you and Suzanne. It will take time, but I think I can get her to accept me in place of her papa.”

She pulled back. Tears still blurred the brilliance of her violet eyes, but Andrew detected the same des
perate hope in their depths he knew must be reflected in his own.

“I don’t think it will take as long as you think. Or that you’ll have to resort to such drastic measures. Suzanne’s first thought this afternoon was to find you.” A wavery smile pushed its way to her mouth. “She even admitted that she doesn’t think you meant to mash her prairie dog pup. With a little persuasion, maybe we can convince her to forget about going back to Mobile.”

After the horror of the cholera outbreak and her near brush with brutal rape, Andrew couldn’t imagine that Julia would even consider making her home on the frontier, much less raise her daughter here.

“Is that what you want, sweetheart? To stay at Fort Laramie?”

“No.”

The hope that had surged into his chest died an instant and painful death, only to leap to life again when she gave him a shaky smile.

“I want to stay with you, Andrew. Here at Fort Laramie, or wherever your duties take us. We’ll follow the bugles like a proper army family…if you’ll have us.”

“If I’ll have you!” A strangled sound escaped him, half laugh, half groan. “I’d like to see either one of you try to get away from me now.”

He gathered her to him, gently, so as not to add to her aches, eagerly, so as to satisfy his.

Julia lifted her mouth to his. For a moment, a mo
ment only, she buried the horror of Walks In Moonlight’s death. Blood and tears mingled, fusing their hopes, their hearts, their pasts, the future yet to come, until Henry Schnell’s gruff exclamation pulled them apart.

“Save your kisses for later, man.” The bewhiskered surgeon ran a quick, expert eye over Julia, scowling under his bushy brows. “Tell me what happened.”

Andrew rose and related what he knew of the attack in a hard, tight voice. Maria Schnell bustled into the parlor during the telling, carrying a china washbowl and linen cloths. Shock blanked her plump features when she heard of Walks In Moonlight’s death.

“You’ll have two, possibly three wounded prisoners waiting for you at the hospital when the troop returns,” Andrew told the surgeon.

“The steward can tend to them until I get there,” Henry snapped. “Now move aside, and let me have a look at your lady.”

The major turned back to Julia, his face grim. “I have to find Lone Eagle and tell him what happened before he hears it from someone else. Then I’ll bring Suzanne to you.”

He tracked the Arapaho scout down in the Company C mess. With the troopers detailed to kitchen duty banging pots and grumbling in the background, Andrew related the horrific event in the only way he
could. Sparsely. Succinctly. Without the detail Lone Eagle would soon see for himself.

“I shot two, wounded two more,” he finished, his jaw working. “We have a patrol out searching for the three who escaped.”

Eyes as black as night stared straight through him. Lone Eagle wore his dark-blue army blouse with its double row of brass buttons over buckskin leggings, but the major didn’t make the mistake of thinking that his years of service had in any way softened or tamed him. A warrior stared back at him.

“We’ll bring them in,” Andrew promised. “They’ll pay for what they did.”

Lone Eagle’s hand moved to the knife handle protruding from an exquisitely beaded and fringed sheath.

“Yes,” he said in a flat tone that left no doubt in the matter. “They will pay.”

“Little Hen’s at the stables with Suzanne. Will you come with me to tell them what happened?”

“I will come.”

They found the two girls sitting disconsolately on upturned barrels just inside the large, open stall where the farrier worked. The brawny sergeant wore his blacksmith’s apron over his canvas work uniform. Soot grimed his face and big, meaty hands. He might have frightened his charges if they weren’t very well aware that his affection for the little soldier girl and
her shy friend had, as he’d once confided wryly to Andrew, turned even his black heart to mush.

When Suzanne spotted Andrew and Lone Eagle, she hopped off the barrel and flew across dirt churned by the passage of hundreds of hooves. Her headlong rush propelled her straight into the major’s arms. He swung her up, fighting the urge to crush her against his chest.

“Did you find my mama?”

“Yes.”

“Did the bad men hurt her?”

“A little, but she’s all right.”

“What about Little Hen’s mama?”

He glanced over her shoulder, watching while Lone Eagle took his daughter’s hand and walked out of the stables without uttering a word.

“Walks In Moonlight was hurt, Suzanne. Badly.” He couldn’t think of any way to soften the brutal truth. “She died.”

Shock, denial and fear shook the girl’s small frame and found instant release in tears. Wrapping her arms around Andrew’s neck, she buried her face in his shoulder. He patted her back, mumbling assurances until her shuddering sobs had eased enough for him to carry her out of the warm, earthy-scented stables.

He’d just lifted her onto Jupiter’s back to take her to Julia when he spotted a solitary horseman bent low in the saddle and racing fast for the main post. Recognizing his striker, Andrew bellowed out to him.

“O’Shea! Over here!”

The private’s gelding skidded to a halt a few yards from the major. “We got one, but the other two escaped.”

His eyes burning with fury, the New Yorker dismounted and drew the major away.

“We followed their tracks to where the Platte and the Laramie come together. They went into the water and it took us a while to pick up their trail on the other side. We finally found it…right beside the bodies of two of our boys. One took a knife in the back. The other’s throat was cut.”

The oath that ripped from Andrew was short and savage.

“They took the troopers’ mounts and lit out. Sergeant Kostanza and his men are going to stay on their trail, but he sent me back to get your orders.”

“Find Sergeant Major Eastland,” Andrew snapped. “Tell him I want a full squad ready to go in twenty minutes. They’re to carry half rations, so we can travel fast, but tell him to issue twenty extra rounds per man.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have them assemble on the parade ground. I’ll notify Colonel Cavanaugh and join the squad there.”

“Yes, sir.”

Both men spun around and headed for their mounts. Andrew didn’t even consider telling Suzanne what had occurred. Enough tragedy had heaped on the girl’s still-fragile shoulders for one day.

Nor did he have time for more than a few words
with Julia. Scrubbed clean of the blood that had spilled over her and clothed in one of Maria Schnell’s wrappers, she gathered Suzanne into her arms and hugged her so fiercely the girl squealed. Andrew schooled himself to patience until the tumult of their reunion subsided enough for him to be heard, then murmured a few quick words in her ear.

The little color that had returned to her cheeks washed away. Stunned, she stared up at him.

“They’re riding mounts with army brands,” he told her grimly. “We’ll find them.”

Mindful of Suzanne’s tear-filled eyes, he squeezed Julia’s arm in lieu of the kiss he ached to give her and turned away.

“Andrew!”

She hurried after him, her daughter still in her arms. The clear, piercing call of the bugle punctuated her soft farewell.

“Good hunting, and come home safe. I’ll be waiting for you.”

Rubbing a grubby fist in her eyes, Suzanne added a small, weepy chorus. “Me and Daisy, too.”

The fugitives led them on a long chase.

Knowing their necks would stretch if captured—assuming they lived long enough to climb the gallows steps—the freight drivers must have figured they had nothing to lose by cutting north toward the Powder River country. If they made it through three hundred miles of plains hunted by hostile Sioux and northern
Cheyenne, they could lose themselves in the wilds of Montana Territory.

Sergeant Kostanza and his small detachment followed in determined pursuit. Anticipating that Andrew would follow with reinforcements, the frontier-savvy veteran sent another trooper back to meet them. He led them northwest on a quick march, directly into the heart of Sioux territory.