Seleste deLaney - [Badlands 02] (11 page)

Chapter Eleven

The airship in Lupo’s employ had been too small to fuel a trip deep into the Badlands, but it was no matter. It brought them far enough. Gambini and his men would prefer the direct confrontations with the ground troops as they made their way. The losses at the hangar proved they needed the practice as well.

He spun around, watching as his men loaded onto the transport vehicle. It would take them to the Rockies and beyond, as long as the terrain didn’t do them in. According to the tracker, however, the
Dark
Hawk
had landed prior to the mountains. If things went smoothly, he wouldn’t have to test the transport’s capabilities at all.

Noise from the north grabbed his attention and he glanced up in time to see a trio of women on horseback bearing down on their position.
Only
three
? What a disappointment. Of course, the women were accustomed to only dealing with prisoners who crossed the border singly. Nor were they used to the men coming onto their land well armed.

He let out an exasperated sigh. This was not the time for distractions or delays. “Marco?” The man at the controls of the transport looked back at him, and Gambini waved an arm toward the women. “Take care of that.”

“Yes, Capo.”

He turned his back on the women, mentally counting the seconds while he rolled and lit a cigarette. As he sucked in a deep breath of tobacco, the explosion of the incendiary reached him, the blast of air buffeting his back. A frown crossed his face as he joined his soldiers on the transport. He reached out and flung a bloody arm from the front of the vehicle. It joined the remnants of the women and their mounts on the plains.

“Nineteen seconds, Marco. That will never do.”

Marco engaged the engine and the transport lurched ahead. “Yes, Capo.”

* * *

“Work, you mechanical monstrosity.” Tobias tweaked the bellows as the transport coughed and sputtered. He managed to urge another few hundred yards from the thing before it shuddered to a stop. After kicking the machine as he dismounted, he scowled at the incline before him.

Close enough he could smell Mason’s damn research.

With a grunt, he hefted a rock and propped it behind the transport’s wheel. At the very least the thing wouldn’t roll away on him, and he could use it to coast back down the mountain. Or at least part way down. He didn’t want to look behind him for fear the foothills were closer than he thought.

Though it didn’t have enough power to move the machine, the engine still gave off little whiffs of steam. After carrying him through the first day and late into the next, he was impressed it had anything left.

Now he needed to make a decision. He’d quickly discovered Henrietta had altered the machine to produce the necessary steam from a variety of fuels—some more efficient than others. He could surely find something on the mountain to keep it going, but it would take time. And likely not run for long.

Better to hike from here, maybe use a horse to get back quicker.

Tired as the long hours on the transport had made him, Tobias clambered into the seat again and disengaged the engine, listening to the steam whine through the chambers as it cooled. He would settle in here for a brief rest. Then he’d make his way to the fortress Henrietta had mentioned. He had a fair idea of where he was going—thus far, the path up the mountain had been simple enough to follow. Surely the rest of the journey would be of similar ease.

* * *

The first day, they’d ridden the horses until Henrietta was certain her legs were too numb to hold on any longer. When she’d thanked Ever for stopping at last, all she’d gotten in response was, “It was to save the horses, not you. We ride again at first light. Go to sleep.”

She’d tumbled to the ground and fallen into an exhausted slumber. Visions of the mountains in the distance haunted her dreams, painting them with blood and death. Faces shifted and morphed from one to another, death touching everyone she knew—Mahala, Noah, Ever, Spencer, Laurette...Carson.

Henri woke with her arms wrapped tightly around her waist, hands cramped around her old injury and the contraband clockworks hidden in the folds of her bustles. If Ever knew... But if everything went well, there was no need for her to discover them at all.

Ever had thrust some vegetation into her hands and told her to eat. They’d been back in the saddle moments later. Now, even with the prairie grass swishing and tickling her ankles as the horse moved and the sun beating down on them, the silence started to wear more than anything else.

Left alone with her mind, her thoughts kept drifting back to the dreams. If she managed to shake those for a second, her brain shifted to Carson and the kiss, and she yearned for another. She cleared her throat, desperate for conversation. “How long do you think the horses will last at this pace?”

“Not long.”

It was almost worse than being interrogated by the woman. At least she expected threats of violence now and could deal with them. Having been born and raised in the city, even the
Dark
Hawk
bordered on too quiet for Henri. This would drive her mad. “Then should we rest them? We’re not close to the fortress yet and—”

“There is an encampment in the foothills where we will get fresh mounts.” Ever glanced over her shoulder and shook her head, the sun-bleached streaks in her hair catching the light. “And find you more suitable attire.”

Henrietta bit her lip as she stared at her ruined skirt and its hidden treasures. “I hardly think new clothes should be a priority.”

“And I hardly think you are in any position to make decisions. Shut your mouth and ride. I already find myself tired of your blathering.” Her back straight, seat sure, Ever surged forward.

Nothing Henrietta said for the next half an hour got a response.

Then, exasperation in every syllable, she said, “Ever, would you—” and found a pistol pointing in her direction. Ever hadn’t even turned in the saddle, and Henri knew all too well she didn’t have to. The warrior could pull the trigger and choose at the last second whether or not to make it a kill shot. Either way, it would pierce her body exactly where Ever intended.

Swallowing her nerves and questions, Henri finally allowed herself to wallow in thoughts of Carson. If she wanted to cling to that last bit of her former life and remain a member of Philadelphia’s high society, she couldn’t be with him. Hero or not, he’d never be an acceptable husband for someone like her—someone already borderline unacceptable herself. But his mouth on hers... Just thinking about it made heat rush through her body to pool in the lowest reaches of her core. The movement of the stallion between her legs intensified the feeling but also made it more enjoyable. What would it feel like if Carson touched her there?

No
.
No
,
you
cannot
think
such
things
.
Thoughts
like
that
are
not
the
thoughts
of
a
lady
. The admonishment didn’t help. In fact it only made her want to feel more. She shifted against the horse, driving the tingling heat higher with every motion, until pleasure bloomed inside her, the sensations traveling through her body like waves.

And the memory of Carson’s kiss burned like fire on her lips.

Then she did it again.

By the time they reached the camp, Henrietta felt some strange combination of exhilaration and disgrace. What kind of wanton hussy did what she’d just done? She didn’t deserve society life if she couldn’t even contain her basest wants. And she couldn’t deny that she wanted it again—it and more, so much more.

She slumped from the saddle and took the food offered her with little more than a nod. Leaning against a scrub tree, she spooned stew into her mouth, tasting none of it. Even dismissing what she’d done on the ride, maybe she didn’t belong in Philadelphia and the high society that frowned on her very nature. But here...

God, what was she doing out here? History had shown trouble followed her, and this mess had proven no different. The
Dark
Hawk
didn’t need her, not really. Hunting for a new medical officer was just an excuse. Mahala and Spencer had enough skills to patch up the crew’s basic injuries.

And now? On a quest to stop Tobias and the mafia? She wasn’t a hero. As much as she’d promised Ever she could find what the men were after, she really wasn’t certain. Tobias had told her a lot, but was it everything? Perhaps he’d kept some secret back. Perhaps even the real research they wanted. Then again, what could be worse than unkillable gangsters?

Still lost in her thoughts, she started when a hand fell on her shoulder.

“Believe me, if these men you fear arrived in camp, the women would not take it so quietly.” Ever tilted her head sideways, eyeing Henrietta and making her tremble. They stood like that for a long moment before Ever broke the lull. “Follow me.”

Abandoning her empty bowl by the fire as they passed, Henrietta trailed close on Ever’s heels. No matter how many times she’d healed the Badlands troops, few of the women liked her. And the men who now numbered in the border guards leered at her as though she was something tasty to eat. Ever might want to kill her most of the time, but at least Henri knew that death would be quick. She couldn’t be sure about the rest of them.

Like a coward, she ducked under the tent flap as soon as Ever held it open, glad to be hidden from view and out of the burning sunlight. Then, as her eyes adjusted, she saw the reason for their visit: Ever had started rifling through a small pack of clothing.

“I told you already. I don’t need other attire, what I’m wearing is fine.” She could reposition the clockworks to conceal them, but...

Ever leveled that unnerving gaze on her again, the calm one that made Henri wonder if her death would come from a bullet, a blade, or one of the warrior’s beloved crossbow bolts. “You are not a fool, Henrietta. Why do you do this to yourself?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“That is a lie. You know precisely what I mean. Your finery and frippery. What purpose does it serve you?”

Henri lifted her chin, keeping her bearing as proud as she could manage, and attempted to shift the conversation. “Why do you have your tattoos?”

For once, Ever turned away. “They are a mark of my victories in battle. It is the way we measure success in the borderlands.”

It was the first time Henri had ever had the warrior woman at a disadvantage, and as much as she knew she should stay silent, she couldn’t resist prodding. Lips twitching, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Now who’s lying? They’re reminders, Ever. Each one is a life you’ve taken—for better or for worse.” She stepped forward until she was close enough to reach out and touch the other woman. “And I bet you remember the man that belongs to every single one of them.”

Ever jerked upright, a pair of breeches in her hands, and edged away as if to measure them against Henri’s height. “Ridiculous.”

Henri closed the distance between them again, backing Ever against the canvas wall of the tent, and touched the uppermost chevron on her left arm. “This one. What was his name?”

“I do not recall.” The lithe woman tried to duck around Henri but, when she refused to budge, Ever balled the clothes in her hands, her face purpling with rage...or embarrassment. “I rarely know their names. He was a boy. Barely old enough to be free of his mother’s discipline, but foolish enough to think he could escape.” She stared at a corner of the tent, her eyes distant and glassy with tears Henri knew would never fall. “Stupid enough to rush at me with a drawn blade. He was dead before his body hit the ground.”

Remembered pain hung heavy in the air, and Henri had to choke down an image of Zeke’s body before she could speak again. She pointed at another chevron, one whose lines were not quite straight. “And this one?”

Swiping the backs of her hands across her eyes, Ever ground her teeth together and glared. “What is your point?”

Henrietta hadn’t planned on answering, hadn’t even really known the answer until that moment. When she opened her mouth though, the words poured out, and the truth in them pierced her soul. “Only that we all have to remember the pain we’ve caused. You wear your reminders under your skin. I just wear mine on top.”

Tears welled in her own eyes at the admission. Her heart had always felt the truth, but saying it aloud—to Ever of all people—gave it power. Was she truly clinging to the trappings of society life as punishment?

The warrior woman met her eyes, the ache of memories replaced by something else, something close to respect, and held out the breeches. “Keep your corset, but the skirt is ruined already and ill-suited for the climbing we may need to do.”

“Thank you.”

“I will attempt to find you other boots as well.” Ever brushed past her, pausing as she swept open the tent flap. “Even here in the Badlands, no one completely covers themselves in their pain. When you learn to accept what you’ve done, you will understand that.”

As the canvas swished shut and Henri fingered the folds of her skirt, she wondered if that moment would ever come for her. Holding the clockworks in her hands, she only knew for certain it wouldn’t be today.

* * *

Even with food and a good night’s rest followed by more food, Carson still felt weak. He cursed under his breath as he tried to slide one of the crates from the stack in the cargo bay.

“Hey, Marshal Alexander, let me help you with that.” The kid rushed across the loading bay and grabbed the other side of the crate, hefting it with him and easing it to the floor.

“Thanks...” He shouldn’t have needed the help in the first place, and now he couldn’t even remember the kid’s name to thank him properly.

“Noah, sir, I’m the mechanic on board. It’s why I wasn’t around much yesterday—fixing the airbag so we could take off.”

The flight-worthiness of their ship was ensured by a boy who barely looked old enough to be out from under his mother’s skirts. Carson tried not to think about it. Then again, he had questioned Mahala as the ship’s pilot as well, and the flight so far had been smoother than on the military vessel he’d left behind. And at least Captain Pierce wasn’t questioning his mission.