Renegade Bride (16 page)

"Let go of my wife, you bastard, or I'll send you to kingdom come!" John shouted.

"John! No!" Hattie screamed as LaRousse placed her in front of him.

"And I weel sleet 'er throat—" LaRousse returned loudly. "Or you can put down your gun and we can talk." He tightened the blade against her throat to silence her.

"Let her go!"

"I'll kill her."

"Goddamn you—"

"'Ave eet your way," LaRousse crowed and raised his elbow threateningly.

"No!" John threw down his gun and it rolled down the slope. "Wait. Don't kill her, for God's sake."

LaRousse nodded to the giant. "Go get 'im, Bennett."

Bennett leered and started up the hill for John, who walked to meet him. He was met with Bennett's ham-like fist to the gut. The air gushed out of him in a whooosh and he crumpled in pain. Hattie screamed again asBennett picked him up by the collar and dragged him down the hill.

He hauled her husband to his feet and pinned his arms behind him. John's hair hung down in his eyes, his expression, dazed, agonized. Chest heaving, his look went from Hattie to LaRousse. "What do you want?"

"Devereaux," LaRousse replied. "A passenger on A.J. Oliver's stage. 'Ee was 'ere yesterday, no? Where ees 'ee now?"

John looked bewildered. "Wh-what do you want with him?"

LaRousse's smile was grim. "Answer me."

"John—don't—" Hattie rasped.

"Shut up," LaRousse ordered with a jerk.
"Where?"

Desperate, Lochrie hesitated. "Let her go and I'll tell you."

"As you might 'ave noticed, you're not een a position to bargain, monsieur. I lose my patience." The blade nicked Hattie, drawing blood, and she inhaled sharply.

"All right, all right," John panted. "He... he went west toward the mountains... looking for another ford across the Sun River. He... he was headed to the Gulch. Alder Gulch."

LaRousse's gaze drifted in the direction of the river, pulled by the unseen enemy. "Alone?"

"No—no, the woman went with him."

This brought a curve to the half-breed's lips. "Good."

Hattie rolled her eyes shut. It was over, she thought. Over. They were going to die now. She knew it as surely as she could feel the monster's blade against her throat.

Two other men moved up beside LaRousse. The one called Downing hung back near the house. Raven turned her back on the whole scene and stared out across the vast rolling prairie.

"Please," John pleaded. "Let us go now. You have what you came for."

LaRousse frowned. "Oh, I couldn't do zat. You know us now."

"I swear we won't—"

"No."He scanned the endless blue dome of sky above. "Eet ees a good day to die, ees eet not, my friends?"

Bennett and Poke roared with laughter.

Lochrie spat at LaRousse, hitting him squarely across the cheek. John bucked furiously against Bennett's hold on him, but the huge man kneed him in the kidneys, dropping John to his knees with a strangled moan.

LaRousse slashed the spittle from his face with the back of his sleeve. "For zat," he said through gritted teeth, "you weel live—just long enough to watch us kill your wife, slowly. Eh, Bennett?"

Bennett pushed John to the ground with his foot and grunted, pig-like, tearing at the tattered belt on his filthy pants.

Hattie felt LaRousse's hand drift up to her breast, fondling her. Dimly, she heard John scream her name. Then she did the only sensible thing she'd managed to do since she'd laid eyes on the murderous heathen.

She fainted.

* * *

Mariah pulled her mare to a halt beside Creed's roan. The roar of the current was only slightly less deafening here than it had been the last few miles of the Sun River. Creed was already knee-deep in swirling eddies, surveying the forty-foot span of water for its crossing potential. Her gaze drifted involuntarily to the way his worn deerskin leggings hugged his muscular legs and the way the V of perspiration between his shoulders made the moss green shirt cling to the contours of his back.

Disgusted by her insidious curiosity, she forced her gaze to the shoreline. Petunia stomped at the river's rocky edge and yanked hungrily at the long, slippery tufts of sweetgrass, half-submerged by the spring runoff. The river spilled through the shade of giant, sheltering Ponderosa Pines, hedges of creambrush tufted with white blossoms, and glacial boulders glinting in the heat of the day.

The sun's arc indicated it was only noon, but already Mariah wished the day would end. She was still stiff as an old washboard, despite Creed's assurances to the contrary.

They'd climbed steadily, following the path of the river. He had stayed closer to her. He'd even taken pains to point out some flora and fauna along the way. Yet, he'd erected the old familiar walls around him again and kept aloof.

In truth, she was relieved because she found she liked the other Creed she'd glimpsed earlier, the one who smiled and laughed. And that, she suspected, was a very dangerous thing.

The river narrowed here significantly, though the deceptively calm center pool looked dark and deep. The noon sun bore down on her, soaking through her numerous layers of petticoats and underthings—clothes designed for shady strolls through civilized parks and afternoon tea in cool, breezy parlors. Certainly, they weren't fit for riding through the wilds of Montana behind a man who thought the height of fashion was dead animal skins.

She tamped at her glistening neck with an already-soiled lace hanky and watched Creed edge deeper into the water, feeling for the bottom. The current tugged at him, nearly knocking him over, but he braced his legs apart and balanced one hand on a boulder.

Her heartbeat quickened apprehensively as she stared at the roiling water. She rubbed her damp palms against the fabric of her skirts.
Courage, Mariah,
she cautioned herself mentally.
Courage.

"Bottom's fairly smooth," Creed shouted, wading back to shore. "The horses can navigate it, I think. We'll cross here."

Mariah's throat tightened. "You
think?
Are you sure? It looks... deep."

He tossed her an irritated glance as he mounted Buck. "We've been following this river for miles with no ford more likely than this. Unless you plan to follow it to the headwaters at ten thousand feet, it's the best we'll find."

"Uh... h-how much farther would that be... exactly?" she asked hopefully.

"Two days too far." He reined the gelding around to her. "What's the matter?"

"The matter?" she echoed glancing at the dark water. "Nothing."

The truth dawned on his face.
"Maudit,
Mariah. You can't swim, can you?"

She gulped. "Well, I... of course. I—I've just never done this before. Chicago has bridges for this sort of thing." She was unable to summon the courage to tell him she'd never done more than paddle around in the pond near her house as a child, never in more than three feet of water, and had a deathly fear of murky, dark pools in which she couldn't see the bottom.

What good would it do to tell him that now? It was cross or suffer his endless mocking I-told-you-sos. That she couldn't abide. Besides, she reasoned, she wouldn't literally have to swim. She'd be on Petunia's back. She could do that. Surely she could do that.

He shook his head disgustedly, obviously not fooled by her bravado. "I should have known. Why didn't you tell me, for God's sake?"

Her jaw tightened. "Would it have helped my cause?"

"Your cause was a foolish one, mademoiselle. And I'm the fool who brought you." He sent an uneasy look back at the tumbling river. "Well, there's nothing for it now. You'll be safe enough. All you have to do is hang on. Can you do that?"

Color stained her cheeks. "I never said I wouldn't cross."

"No, you didn't." He yanked Petunia's reins from her hands and dragged them over the mare's head. Snatching her valise, he slung it over his saddle.

He glared at her. "Remember, just hang on to her mane and the saddle horn. I'll be right beside you." He nudged Buck toward the riverbank downstream from her and yanked the brim of his hat down low over his eyes.

Her palms prickled with moisture. Taking Petunia's mane firmly in one hand, Mariah gripped the saddle horn with the other as her mare followed Buck toward the bank.

As if she could sense Mariah's nervousness, Petunia threw her head back with a snort. Creed gave her a gentle tug and both horses edged into the icy waters of the Sun, stepping cautiously around the slippery, moss-covered rocks at the edge of the river.

Slowly, they made their way into the rushing current. Mariah felt the freezing water soak through her leather boots and tug at the hem of her dress. She ignored the impulse to hitch her skirts higher. Instead, she tightened her grip on the horse. Cold panic crept up the back of her neck as she stared into the dark pools ahead.

"You all right?" Creed shouted over the roar of the water.

She heard him, but didn't answer. Her teeth were clamped shut. Every fiber of her being was concentrated on gripping the mare with her knees. Petunia's rump angled downstream, pushed by the strong current, and knocked against Buck.

Mariah couldn't breathe, couldn't move. She was paralyzed with a kind of fear she'd never experienced before. It was unreasonable and she knew it. She'd get a little wet and then she'd be out of the river. All she had to do was hang on and watch the other bank coming closer. Closer. That was it. She'd keep her eyes straight ahead.

But Petunia lurched just then as the river bottom dropped out from under her. Mariah let out a shriek as she was plunged shoulder-deep into the water. She reached instinctively for Creed's arm, only inches away from hers.

Instantly, Creed fought to disengage her hand, his gelding already on the drift from her. He'd underestimated the current below the surface and even now, it pulled hard at the two horses.

"No!
Don't hold onto me, Mariah! Hold your saddle. Hold onto the mare!"

"Creed!" she cried, tearing at his sleeve. Her breath came in short panting gasps. "Don't leave me."

"I'm right here,"—he leaned toward her, trying to save her precarious balance—"but you must let go of me."

"Oh, my God!" she cried, her voice shrill with terror. "I... I can't!"

"You'll pull yourself off the -!"

Petunia's great brown eyes showed white as she listed sideways in the current, and Mariah felt herself being dragged from the saddle by the weight of her heavy skirts. She clutched at the saddle horn, but felt her wet hands slipping. All the while, Buck moved farther and farther away. "Cre-e-eed!"

He couldn't stop it.
Dieu,
he was right there and he was helpless to stop it! He watched her go as if in slow motion—reaching out to him with her other hand, plunging into the freezing water, her eyes wide with terror.

Chapter 9

The frigid water closed over her scream as she disappeared beneath the swift-moving glassy surface. Creed's hand clamped around her wrist before her fingers tore free of his shirt. The current swept her around behind Buck, twisting Creed in his saddle, bringing the gelding's rump around.
God help me.
His heart pounded violently, his breath locked frozen in his chest.

He tried to haul her toward him, but he had no leverage. The dark current was a living thing, dragging her ferociously, possessively as if it had already laid its deadly claim on her.

"Nooo-oo—!" he roared, feeling her slipping from his rapidly numbing fingers. Her hair floated just out of reach. "Come up," he screamed. "Help me, Mariah—damn you!"

She sputtered to the surface then, gasping, reaching for him with her other hand. She flailed with grim panic, wild-eyed with terror. "Cree-e-uhp," she managed before the current dragged her under again.

His decision was instinctive, inevitable. He couldn't pull her to him on the animal's back, but he might be able to pull her with him to the shore. Kicking away from Buck, he plunged into the freezing water. He had her only by the fabric of her sleeve. He could still feel her fingers desperately, seeking his wrist as they plummeted down the river together.