The Darkest Heart (48 page)

Approaching from the direction she had come were riders—three of them.

Candice quickly reached for her rifle and drew it out of its scabbard. She laid it at her feet and put Christina on her back. She retrieved and cocked the rifle, holding it loosely but with a hint of menace in the crook of her arm.

Then she saw that the riders were soldiers and relief flooded her. And with it, hope. Her first thought was that maybe they would escort hex back to the High C.

The men pulled up, staring at her with surprise and interest. “Ma’am,” drawled a bulky, middle-age man with a sergeant’s stripes. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, Sergeant, thank you,” Candice said, holding her rifle casually. She became aware of her appearance—of her faded white blouse stretched too tautly over her swollen breasts, of the griminess of her brown skirt, her reddened hands, her sunburned nose.

“What are you doing out here alone, ma’am?”

“I’m on my way to the High C,” she began.

“Damn,” exclaimed a young soldier. “I thought that was her! Sarge! That’s Candice Carter!”

The sergeant’s gray eyes widened. “The one who eloped with Kincaid but returned with the breed that rides with Cochise?”

“The very one,” the young man exclaimed.

Candice tensed. She felt the change in the atmosphere immediately, as slightly perceptible as it was. The soldiers’ manner went from polite concern to tense, perhaps even hostile and lascivious interest.

“Sarge,” the young man said hastily. “I heard that the breed killed Kincaid in El Paso—over her.”

They stared.

Candice felt sweat dripping down her temple.

“I dunno about Kincaid,” the sergeant finally said. “But Jack Savage is wanted for the murder of two men in El Paso in April.”

Candice remembered how the mob had come after them when Jack had returned to her in the spring. Oh, God. It wouldn’t matter to these soldiers that Jack had been protecting her and himself—that it had been self-defense.

“And she’s got a kid,” the same man said, nudging his horse forward. “A
papoose.”
He grinned. “Looks like a half-breed.”

Candice raised her rifle, whirling on the man, who was not much older than she was, but whose intent was questionable while his lust was not. “Stay back!”

He chuckled. “Little Injun whore’s got some spunk, Sarge! What do you say?”

“Relax, Ladd. Where are you coming from?” the sergeant asked harshly, eyes hard.

Candice thought quickly. But not quickly enough.

“Bet you she was with that breed. Look at the kid—in a cradleboard and buckskins. She must be coming from Cochise’s camp,” Ladd said shrewdly.

Then Ladd, the sergeant, and the third soldier exchanged worried glances. “Where’s Savage?” the sergeant asked abruptly.

She made her decision. “He’s out scouting, miles from here. I’ve run away from him. I need your help—please. He abducted me against my will—kept me prisoner. I waited until the child was old enough to travel. Won’t you please help me?” Her tone was feminine and desperate, helpless and seductive.

The sergeant stared with doubtful and piercing eyes. “I heard all about you, Miss Carter. Or is it Mrs. Kincaid? I ain’t sure whether to believe a word you say, especially not as you got that little breed on your back.”

“Christina’s white,” Candice cried furiously.

“Let’s make her talk,” Ladd said eagerly, “A woman like that, hell, she’s already a whore. What’ll one or two more times matter?” He chuckled.

“If you touch me—a white woman, abducted by a man against her will, kept prisoner in an Apache rancheria—you’ll
all be court-martialed,” Candice said as firmly as she could. She was frightened.

“She’s got the best tits I ever seen,” Ladd said huskily.

“She’s right,” the sergeant said. “We’ll take her back to the fort and let the major decide what to do with her.”

“Let’s have some of what she’s got first,” Ladd growled.

“No.”

The man hadn’t spoken before, but it was so vicious that everyone, including Candice, swung to look at him. He was very young, no older than Candice, badly sunburned, red-haired and blue-eyed. “She’s a white woman, you can see that,” he said, staring at her. “No white woman deserves to be raped.”

“You jerk, McDowell,” Ladd said. “She’s no different from any whore in any saloon. She’d like it, believe me!”

“Enough. We’re taking her back to the fort. Hand over that rifle, ma’am,” the sergeant ordered.

Candice gripped her rifle harder. She hesitated. There were three of them. What was she going to do? Kill one or two? Then she’d hang for murder, woman or not. And she had Christina to think about, to protect. Frowning, thinking, she lowered the rifle. The sergeant looked at Ladd, who rode over and took it away.

“Maybe she’s got a knife on her,” Ladd suggested, almost smiling.

“Search her,” the sergeant said.

Ladd jumped down, eager to comply. He stared at Candice’s clenched face, then eyed her bosom.

“I’m not carrying a knife,” Candice lied. She was, but it wasn’t on her person, it was in her saddlebags. “You can see,” she said, holding out her arms so he could see there was no weapon stuck in the waistband of her skirt.

He reached out and placed both hands on her waist, ostensibly feeling for a knife. Candice shrugged away angrily. He grinned. “Lift up your skirts,” he said.

She stared.

“Either you do it or I do it,” he said, grinning.

“You carrying a knife under there?” the sergeant asked.

“No,” Candice said firmly. Her heart was hammering too rapidly.

“Then lift ’em. You want Ladd to lift ’em?”

She didn’t. She lifted her skirts, to just above her knees.

“She’s not wearing pantalets,” Ladd breathed, staring at her bare calves and knees. The other men were staring too. Ladd bent and checked each boot, then stood. He eyed her calves again. “Higher,” he said.

“You bastard,” she hissed. “What do you think, it’s glued to my thigh?”

Maybe stuck in a piece of rawhide.” Ladd grinned. He reached up and grabbed her skirt and raised it. “Mother of God.” He gasped, staring at her shapely thighs and the patch of gold hair curling between them.

Candice spun away. “Satisfied?” She tried not to tremble. There was a large bulge in his trousers, one impossible to miss. She was afraid.

“Mount up,” the sergeant said grimly.

Candice obeyed, daring to look at the men. They were all excited, she could see the animal hunger in their eyes. Even the redhead who had tried to defend her, but at least he wasn’t looking at her; he seemed embarrassed at his own reaction.

It will be at least another day and a half until we reach the fort, Candice thought desperately. Good God. How was she going to protect herself and Christina during that time?

And what would she do when she got there? Somehow, she would have to protect Jack too.

“Won’t you sit down, Mrs. Kincaid?”

Candice stood with Christina in her arms, watching Major Bradley warily. She had waited outside his office for thirty minutes while he was closeted with Sergeant Holden. True to his word, they had ridden hard all day and had arrived at Fort Buchanan while it was still light. She sat, letting her Stetson drop onto her back.

“It is Mrs. Kincaid?”

What did it matter? Candice nodded.

They gazed at each other with equal intent. Candice was very much aware of the major’s regard, from the top of her head to the tip of her boots. There was, possibly, the faintest glimmer of male interest, but she wasn’t sure. He was lean, of medium height, about forty, quite attractive in a formal, military way. He smiled at her and sat behind his desk. “I hope the past few days haven’t been too trying on you, Mrs. Kincaid.”

“I was very lucky to have run across your men,” Candice said demurely.

“Indeed you were. Tell me what you were doing alone in the desert, Mrs. Kincaid.”

Candice was prepared to do whatever she had to to protect her child, herself, and Jack. She knew that if the major even suspected her feelings for Jack, or knew that Jack was Christina’s father, he would try and use her against Jack and the Apaches. The fact that word had already drifted this far about Jack’s killing Kincaid made it impossible for her to deny that she had been with him. And now she had to worry about the murders of the two men in El Paso. Any lies she told would have to be told very well.

“I was running away,” she cried passionately, a quaver in her voice. “He abducted me. He killed Virgil and kidnapped me. I fought him, but he tied me up. He knew I was with child. He kept me prisoner in the Apache camp. I finally pretended I was no longer interested in running away, and after Christina was born, I took the first chance I could get, and I escaped.” She willed tears to fill her eyes, and they did.
She looked at him pleadingly. A vulnerable, helpless female. He did not seem moved.

He was studying her with great attention, but she could see the cold doubt in his eyes. “Who is this child’s father?”

She hated telling this lie more than the others. “Virgil was.”

He stared at her unblinkingly, and Candice blessed the fact that Kincaid had the physical attributes that could make him Christina’s father.

“I find it difficult to believe you could escape after being held prisoner all that time.”

She lifted her chin. “He had another woman, a squaw. And child. She hated me. She was happy to help me escape.” She began to cry. “I just want to go home. Back to my family.” She blinked at him. “Please help me.” She gazed at him with all the pitifulness she could muster.

He studied her, then poured himself a glass of whiskey, studying it before drinking it. “You were in Cochise’s stronghold?”

“Yes.” Careful, she warned herself.

“So you know where it is?”

“It’s in the Chiricahua Mountains,” she said honestly, but that was a commonly known fact.

“Perhaps you can prove your story by helping us locate the stronghold.”

“But I would never be able to find it!” She gasped. And it was true. “Jack brought me there almost seven months ago, and I never left it once.” A complete lie. “Until this time. Datiye—his wife—arranged for a guide. I don’t know how she did it. But we left before dawn, at dark, the morning after Jack went out scouting. When the sun came up I was in the Sulphur Springs Valley, and the guide left me there. I would love to help you, more than anything I’d love to see that bastard caught and hanged, but how could I ever find it again? The entrance, from what I’ve heard, is narrow and secret, impossible to find unless you know where it is.”

Her heart was pounding. He had to believe she hated Jack and the Apaches but knew nothing. If not, he could keep her as a prisoner indefinitely. Worse, release her and let her fend off the soldiers who considered her a breed’s whore. He was a soldier fighting against the Apaches, so the safest
bet for her and Christina, she had realized since she had first been taken prisoner by Sergeant Holden, was to pretend she was on their side. But—wasn’t she?

Before, she had thought she was, and thought it was clear cut. Now she didn’t know what she thought. She only knew she would never want anything to happen to Jack, or Shoshi, or Cochise and his family. It was very fortunate that she probably never could find the stronghold, and that she knew nothing of their war plans.

“You must be tired,” the major said suddenly. “I will give you my quarters and have hot water brought for you. I would be honored if you would agree to dine with me afterward.”

So he does find me attractive, she thought, smiling brightly. Or is this another game? What is he thinking? “I would love your company for dinner,” she breathed. “After living with nothing but savages, and then your men … a real gentleman would be such a pleasure.” She fluttered her lashes delicately.

“Good. I’ll have my aide escort you to my quarters.” He stood.

“Major?”

“Yes?”

“Will I be given an escort home tomorrow?” While she smiled easily, inside she was tensed in knots.

“In a few days,” he said. “Certainly you don’t mind sharing what you can of your experiences in Cochise’s rancheria? It might prove to be of vast importance to the army in their campaign against him.”

She lowered her lashes docilely. “No, of course not. Perhaps—you could send word to my family that I’ll be on my way home soon?”

“As soon as I have a man available,” he said, and ushered her out.

Major Bradley paced to the window, waiting. He watched as she appeared and crossed the yard, her baby in her arms, wearing the cowboy hat, the aide at her side, his face flushed. Incredible, he thought, that a woman dressed as she was could still be so desirable. And he knew he had been in this godforsaken land too long.

He turned as Sergeant Holden entered. “How can we make it known she’s here?” he asked. Holden was a veteran of
many Indian wars. Bradley didn’t mind asking his advice; in fact, he relied on it quite often.

“Who do you want to know?”

“Jack Savage,” he said, smiling. “The man went to a lot of trouble to kidnap her, and if Ladd is right, he killed Kincaid to do it, then kept her prisoner—against her will or not—for a long time. I do believe she ran away from him, because there’s no other explanation for her being alone in the middle of the desert. I also believe he’ll come after her. Especially if the child is his—and I think it is.” He stared back out the window. “Although she is a commendable little liar.”

“I see,” Holden said, not smiling, but with professional interest. “I’ll have sentries and pickets on double watch. Do you want him alive?”

“Absolutely,” Bradley snapped. “He’s our key to Cochise.” And to my future, preferably behind a desk in Washington. “But we still have to let him know we have her.”

“That’s easy,” Holden said. “Don’t even worry about it. Cochise knows everything that goes on from Fort Yuma to El Paso. He’s got scouts everywhere. They talk with their smoke signs. I’ll bet the news that we got Savage’s woman is already drifting back to him.”

“But I want to be sure.”

Holden frowned. “Well, we don’t want to make it too obvious, like we’re sending out an invitation. The best we can do is send a few boys into town to spread the word. But I know Cochise will hear of it through his own sources before ours.”