The Maverick's Bride (9 page)

She lifted her eyes to his. “Your attentions have not escaped my notice. But—”

“Say no more,” he cut in. “You have two months in the protectorate. Time enough to prove my loyal, kind and generous nature. Give me opportunity to demonstrate the falseness of other men, Emmaline.”

She had heard such words of avowal many times. Men were always in pursuit of an unmarried heiress, she had learned. Two months of Nicholas Bond’s persistent courting—the thought was enough to turn her dreams to dust.

She stepped away from him. “Surely you can find another woman more willing, sir. Nursing—not marriage—is my life’s goal. Now if you will excuse me.”

“Wait.” He caught her hand again. “I must have you know that a guard will be posted outside your window tonight. But do not leave the railcar under any circumstance. The lions are not to be taken lightly.”

He lifted Emma’s face to the moonlight and pressed his lips
to her mouth. The kiss was hard and possessive. Emma stiffened as a sense of panic rose in her throat.

When he drew away, his eyes wore a dark pleasure. “Good evening, Emmaline.”

“Good night, Mr. Bond.”

Her mouth dry, Emma stood aside as he brushed past her. When the car door clanged shut, she closed her eyes and leaned back against the paneled wall.

Dear God,
she lifted in silent prayer.
Why have You led me into this? What am I to do?

Her eyes burned with unshed tears. Brushing her cheek with the heel of her hand, Emma hurried back to her compartment. She pushed the door open to find Cissy at the open window, her soft white nightgown ruffling in the cool breeze.

“Sister, what are you doing?” Flying across the room, Emma pushed the younger woman aside and slammed the window. “Have you forgotten the lions?”

Cissy’s face was a mask of pale shock. Her bright blue eyes blinked as she lifted her hand to her mouth.

Alarmed, Emma grasped her sister’s shoulder. “Cissy, what’s wrong? You look as if you’d seen a ghost.”

“I heard him,” Cissy whispered. “I heard him, Emma.”

“Heard who?”

“Dirk.” Cissy turned back to the window. “He was calling my name.”

“
D
irk?” Emma shook her head.

“I know it sounds mad,” Cissy acknowledged. “But it was his voice. He was calling me. I heard him say,
Cissy, Cissy.”

“Impossible. By now Dirk is at his post on the border, miles and miles from here.” Emma tried to pull her sister away, but Cissy lifted the window again and leaned over the sash.

“Be quiet and listen, Emma. I beg you.” Golden hair dancing in the breeze, Cissy stared into the blackness. Dismayed, Emma sat on the bed. She was powerless to dispel her sister’s imaginings. Powerless to disperse her own confusion.

“There!” Cissy jerked back inside. “Just listen, Emma. Dirk is calling me.”

“It cannot be him.” Emma crossed to Cissy’s side. She could hear nothing but a cacophony of chirping crickets and buzzing insects. Drawn to the light of the lamplight, moths and pebble-sized beetles whizzed through the window and smacked into walls. A lone African guard manned his station some distance away, his rifle resting against his shoulder. When a big scarab alit in Emma’s hair, she jumped back from the window.

“Cissy, do be sensible.” She tried again to drag her sister inside. “We must shut the window. The compartment will fill with insects and we shan’t get a moment’s sleep.”

“Shh! There he is again.”

Against her better judgment, Emma returned to the window. This time she heard a distinctive sound. It was not a young man calling his lady, but rather a low, stomach-deep grunting. Heart stumbling, she focused on the noise. Yes, there was something outside. A sniffing, searching grumble. She reached for her chatelaine bag.

Then she heard it.

“Cissy! Cissy!”

Or was it the wind? Was it the grass whisking beneath a lion’s tawny underbelly?

“Cissy…Cissy…”

“Oh, Emma!” Cissy threw her arms around her sister for an instant, then she ran from the cabin. “Dirk! Dirk, I’m coming.”

“No, Cissy!” Struggling to free the gun from her bag, Emma grabbed at her skirt, yanked the lamp from the wall, and followed her sister down the dark passageway. “Cissy, stop! The lion—there’s a lion.
Dear God, please help us.”

Just ahead, Emma heard the iron railcar door clang open and shut. Throwing herself against it, she fumbled with the latch. “Cissy, stop, I beg you. It’s not Dirk.”

When the heavy door swung open, Emma stumbled down the dark stairs in pursuit of her sister. An earsplitting roar shattered the night, stopping her cold. Close on its heels came the sound of anguished screams. Emma held the lantern high. Before her on the grass stood an enormous lion, its powerful jaws clamped on the throat of the railway guard. He lay limp, his long legs and arms hanging on the ground like a rag doll’s.

The huge cat eyed Emma.

Slowly she lifted her pistol, pointed it at the creature’s head, and squeezed the trigger. But as the gun exploded in a blinding flash, the lion bolted into the night with the dead man.

“What’s happening? What’s going on here?”

The area around the railcar filled with running figures—Godfrey Pickering in his bathrobe, Dr. McCulloch with a rifle at his shoulder, Nicholas with a lantern in hand.

“Emmaline, where is your sister?” Pickering took her arm and shook it roughly. “Where is Priscilla?”

Emma sagged. “She ran off—the lion…”

He clutched his chest. “A lion?”

“Look!” Dr. McCulloch shouted. “Blood on the grass. A lion attacked here. Miss Pickering, did you see what happened?”

“Did you fire that shot?” Nicholas dashed to Emma’s side. “Where’s the guard?”

Emma pushed away from the men, feeling faint. Her healing skills could not save the poor man now. As she sank down in the grass, she heard a shout.

Adam King rode his horse into the clearing, his pistol drawn. A short, barrel-chested young man followed on a smaller chestnut horse. Dismounting, Adam knelt in the grass beside Emma.

“Are you all right?” His voice was almost a whisper. “Where’s your sister?”

Drawn to Adam’s deep eyes, Emma saw his concern. The younger man crouched nearby. His shock of yellow hair bobbed as he spoke in the same slow tongue as his companion.

“You okay, ma’am? We heard a—”

An air-splitting roar stopped his words. Emma stiffened. Clutching the pistol in her cold fingers, she stood.

Cissy.
The word formed on Emma’s lips, but the sound never reached her ears. She had to find Cissy. Somewhere in
the night, her sister wandered alone and unarmed. One of the two man-eaters had not yet made a kill.

A second roar sundered the night. Emma ran toward the sound, lamp in one hand, pistol in the other. Shouts rang out behind her, but nothing could stop her now. She had seen what the lion could do. She could not allow that to happen to Cissy. Her sister was still alive. She had to be!

As she ran through the dark brush, she nearly collided with the chestnut horse. Emma set the lamp on the ground and caught the leather reins. Pushing the pistol into her pocket, she jerked her skirts above her knees, set her foot in a stirrup and heaved herself onto the saddle.

“Wait—that’s my horse! Hey, Red!” The shout sent the chestnut skittering sideways as Emma grabbed its long mane.

“Emma!” Adam’s voice was far away as she rode into the night breeze. “Emma, come back! Soapy, where’d she go?”

“Emmaline. Emmaline!”

The black sky melted into a purple glow, and still Emma rode, calling her sister’s name. As the hours wore on, visions of the guard’s limp body and Cissy’s pale face kept her focused.

Her sister had to be alive. Emma must find her.

She rode much of the night with eyes closed against thorny branches that tore at her sleeves and skirt. But as the sun peeked over the distant escarpment, she lifted her head to a sky streaked with orange, pink and lavender.

Only then did Emma give in to the sorrow that threatened to engulf her. Cissy, her beloved, beautiful sister was so childlike, so trusting. Even now, that perfect body might be lying torn to shreds by a killer lion.

As the horse ambled along, Emma wiped her cheek. Where was she now? She had come so far, searching through the
night, for nothing. Peering across the tall grass, she felt a tremor of shock. This was the African bush country. And she was alone. As lost as Cissy.

In the distance, zebras tugged mouthfuls of grass, oblivious to the woman in a tattered white shirt, wet suede button boots and a khaki skirt damp to the knees from the long dewy grass. Rolling grasslands studded with scrub thorn trees stretched away on every side. Against the sunrise a grove of bright green thorn trees wound like a snake toward the horizon. A stream ran among them, Emma surmised.

Far to the south she discerned a great mountain like a cloud of purple smoke on the horizon. A sudden squeak turned Emma toward a gray squirrel peering at her from a rocky perch. The sharp-faced creature had no tail, but it sat upright as it crunched a beetle and dropped iridescent blue shells onto the stone. The satisfied munching reminded Emma of her own hunger.

The horse plodded onward, and as the sun climbed in the cloudless blue sky, Emma grew hotter. She had no idea where the Tsavo railway camp lay, but a river might lead to people. People meant civilization. At least in England they did. She shook her head as she thought of herself in the heart of Africa.

As the tired mare picked her way through the grass, Emma patted the damp neck. Riding had been a rare pastime on the country estate. Her father thought it unladylike. True, her legs ached from the chafing saddle and her back protested the unaccustomed posture, but Emma was relieved to find she could control the horse by tugging the reins as she had seen carriage drivers do.

By now the sun was well above the horizon. The plains animals vanished in search of shade. The grove of thorn trees still seemed miles away, and Emma wondered if she would
reach it that day. Her body begged her to stop and rest, but she was too frightened to consider it.

As the hours wore on, her thirst grew unbearable. Black spots darted before her eyes. Vultures circled overhead. The mare began to falter and stumble.

As she floated through mists that sifted across her vision, Emma’s mind wandered. She was walking with Cissy beside the Thames as boaters plied the green water. Now they were having tea with Aunt Prue. Cissy giggled in her bright pink organdy gown. They were children, running ring-o-roses around their mother’s skirts as she strolled beneath oak trees at the country estate. And they sang a favorite song.

“Lavender’s blue dilly dilly,” Emma murmured through parched lips. “Lavender’s green. When you are king, dilly dilly, I shall be queen.”

Her mother’s skirt transformed into a shady thorn tree. Beneath it, a pride of lions feasted on a carcass. Emma caught her breath and pulled on the reins.

One lion licked its lips. Four striped legs lay splayed on the ground. A zebra.

As Emma stared, the limbs became human legs and arms. The head no longer bore stripes, but a thick mane of golden hair around a pale, blue-eyed face.

Screaming at the gruesome vision, Emma dug her heels into the mare’s sides. As she did, a lion bounded to its feet with a roar. Averting her eyes from certain death, she rode head down. The mare stumbled along until suddenly her hooves disappeared beneath her. Emma tumbled onto the grass. Knives of pain thrust through her sides and ripped into her stomach. A black fog gathered before her eyes, and she was lifted up into a silent emptiness.

A throbbing heartbeat in her ears brought Emma to the threshold of consciousness. A black curtain hung before her eyes. And there was a smell—a pungent smoky smell that caught at her stomach and twisted it into contortions of agony.

But it was the touch of a bare human palm on her cheek that made her sit up screaming. Coming fully awake, Emma struggled to stand, pushing away the hands.

An urgent voice murmured something as strong arms captured her. Still she fought them, unable to see even though her eyes were wide open.

“Emma.” The voice was one she knew, and she twisted around to see countless pinpricks of light sparkling in a band across the inky sky. She began to distinguish a man—firm jaw, strong nose, tall hat.

“Adam?”

“I’m here, Emma. Thank God I found you. I’ve been looking since last night.” The dark face turned in profile. “Some friends of mine found you here beside Soapy’s horse. Old Red stayed with you, although she’s in pretty bad shape herself.”

Adam reached across to stroke the horse’s velvet cheek. Nearby, a fire crackled, and Emma noted dark shapes reclining around it. With a start, she remembered her search, her frantic journey across the wilderness.

“Cissy!” she cried out. “Have you found my sister?”

“Not before I left. Don’t fret, Emma. They’ve sent out four big search parties. Everyone’s looking for her.”

She nodded. Cissy was not dead. Something in Emma’s heart reassured her. Somewhere, somehow, her sister was safe.

“Sit with me now. You need to rest.” Adam helped her onto a blanket on the grass. He wrapped his arms around her and stroked her hair.

Emma longed to tell him about Cissy’s quest, about the lion and the guard, but all she could to do was relax against Adam’s broad chest. Lulled by his gentle fingers, she closed her eyes as the tension drained out of her.

“Thank you for searching all night for me,” she murmured. “Now we must find Cissy and take her to Tsavo.”

“Emma, your sister is gone.” Adam ran his hand down her arm. “You have to accept that she may be dead. I need to take you back to the railway.”

“No.” Emma shook her head. “Cissy’s not dead. She ran away after Dirk called her, and then the lion came.”

“The lion—you saw the blood on the grass?”

“It was a guard. I came out of the train after Cissy, and…” Emma faltered. “The lion had the poor man by the throat.”

“The night watchman? Are you sure?”

“It wasn’t Cissy. My sister is alive. She may be with Dirk.”

“Who’s he?”

“Dirk Bauer. Her suitor. He’s a German soldier. Cissy insisted Dirk was outside the railcar calling her name.”

“Did you hear him? Was the fellow really there?”

Emma looked down. “I’m not sure. I heard something. It sounded like a man calling, but it might have been the wind. Dirk should be at the border with his contingent.”

“Emma.” Adam’s voice was so low she could barely hear it. “There’s something I have to tell you. Before I do, I want you to take heart about your sister. It’s rough in the wild, but she could have lasted this long. You survived, didn’t you?”

“Barely.”

“What I need to tell you is about your father.” Adam laid his hand on her shoulder. “When you and your sister left, your father went down. He collapsed. And then he…then the doctors carried him into the railcar.”

“He’s dead, isn’t he,” she said flatly—a statement of fact, not a question. “Father saw the blood on the grass and thought it was Cissy. He believed the lion had killed her. I didn’t stay to explain. And now he’s dead.”

“It wasn’t like that, Emma,” Adam told her. “Your father was worried about you. He didn’t want to lose you.”