The Moon and the Stars (10 page)

He nudged his horse forward. “Do not worry. You will never be out of my sight.”

The rain had finally moved away, allowing weak shards of moonlight to strain through tattered clouds. Renault and Caroline rode along silently, although she had many questions that nagged at her.

She glanced at the man who rode beside her. He certainly wouldn't feel obliged to answer any of her questions, so she might as well save herself the trouble of being rebuffed. Misery engulfed her like a dark shroud. Life was unbearable, and it was only going to get worse.

Time passed, she did not know how much, but she was weary and so sleepy she could hardly stay in the saddle. Since she was unaccustomed to riding astride, she ached in places that had never before bothered her when she had ridden horseback. She shifted her weight, drawing a sharp glance from her companion.

She felt incapable of going another mile, but she stiffened her back and held her head high. She would almost rather fall down dead than to ask that man for
mercy. But after a while she slumped in the saddle, and her head kept falling forward. Her hand was cramped because she couldn't move it.

“Please,” she said at last, “can't we stop for a little while?” She studied his face and saw no yielding. “Just for a moment?”

He swung out of the saddle, unlocked one end of the cuffs, and unhooked the other from the saddle horn. She felt the power in his hands when he grasped her around the waist and placed her on the ground. “Do what you must, but we will only remain here for a few moments.”

The moon was riding high in the sky when they rode into a wide valley. Caroline felt she could not go another mile. Pain shot through her cramped body with each jarring step the horse took. Just when she thought she couldn't stand another minute, she saw the distant lights of Uvalde.

As they approached the town, they passed through a graveyard, and then a wagon yard. Because of the late hour the town was quiet and the streets deserted but for the tinny music that came from one of the saloons.

When they at last halted in front of a hotel, she wasn't sure if she had the strength to dismount by herself, but that decision was taken out of her hands when Wade removed the cuffs and gripped her waist, swinging her to the ground. His nearness made her forget about her physical pain for the moment, as she tried to get as far away from him as she could.

She stumbled and might have fallen but for the firm grip he kept on her arm.

“Just a little farther and you can rest.” He turned
her to him, a serious expression on his face. “Do not give me any trouble in this hotel. I will let the clerk think that you are my wife. This I do only to save you embarrassment. Do you understand?”

She jerked away from him, knowing if she didn't escape from him now, she might not get another chance. If she could just make it around the corner of the building, she might lose herself in the darkness.

She came to an abrupt halt when his hand clamped down on her shoulder and she realized that her struggle was ineffective against Wade Renault's superior strength. Out of sheer exhaustion, her body finally became limp, and she dropped her head against his shoulder. She could feel the stir of his breath on her cheek, and her chest rose and fell with effort.

“Do not try that again.”

It took a moment for her heartbeat to calm to a steady beat. Since she couldn't speak, she nodded as she moved away from him. As she approached the door of the hotel, he was right behind her, blocking any escape attempt she might have made.

“That was foolish,” he told her.

“I had to try.”

He opened the door for her and she went inside, so tired her legs felt like weights. A sleepy clerk handed them a key and pointed to the stairs, yawning. With a steadying hand on Caroline's arm, Wade Renault directed her up the stairs and into a dark room.

She stood swaying wearily while he lit a lamp; then she dropped down on the edge of the bed, wanting nothing more than to lay her head on the pillow.

He helped her out of the slicker and draped it on the bed post while water pooled at her feet.

“Your trousers and shirt still got wet. I will leave you so you can get out of them before you catch a chill. But,” he warned, “I will be just outside the door listening, so do not try anything.”

She turned her back to him, angered by his tyrannical tone. “I won't undress, and you can't make me,” she stated forcefully, turning to see that he had already left, and her words had fallen on an empty room.

She was cold and miserable, she admitted to herself. She undressed, glad that she had worn the petticoat. Even though it was damp, she would use it as a nightgown. She practically dove beneath the covers to get warm. Caroline was not about to call Wade. He could just stay out in the hallway all night, for all she cared. It occurred to her that she would be at his mercy here in this room alone with him. She could not see him molesting a woman: The image just did not fit with the behavior of the bounty hunter. In any case, Caroline was just too sleepy to worry about him.

As her body sank into the lumpy mattress, her eyes closed. She did not hear Wade reenter the room and drape her damp clothes on the chair so they could dry.

She was unaware of the moment he blew out the lamp and moved a chair in front of the door. He unbuckled his gun belt and let it slide to the floor. He sat down in the chair and rested the gun on his lap.

He was a light sleeper, and he knew every time she moved. He heard her sigh in her sleep, and he watched the moon play across her beautiful face. How innocent she looked in sleep. He wondered why she had killed her husband when he would probably have given her the world for one of those smiles that had so captured Captain Dunning at the picnic.

Wade's head drifted backward to rest against the cushioned chair, and he closed his eyes. She might look like an angel, but there were horns on that pretty head. The old story of roses having thorns would fit her just right.

Caroline was sleeping soundly when a hand lightly touched her shoulder. “Wake up, Mrs. Duncan.”

In confusion, she blinked her eyes, disoriented for a moment, and then her eyes widened on Mr. Renault. Everything came rushing back to her at once, and she sat up so quickly the covers fell to her waist.

“What do you want?”

His gaze slid down her shoulders to her breasts, which pushed through the thin chemise. His heart slammed into his gut, and he quickly turned his back to her. His voice was low when he said, “Madame, I will be waiting for you outside the door. You need to get dressed. I left breakfast for you on the dresser. Eat quickly. I want to leave Uvalde before sunrise.”

Caroline was shaking with horror. She had forgotten she had removed her clothing because it was wet. She clutched the cover up to her chin. Had he thought she was trying to entice him with her body? She was so horrified he might think that had been her plan, she didn't have to be told twice to get dressed. This man had already seen more of her than she cared to share with him.

Later, a single lamp lit the dimness of the lobby as he led her out of the hotel. No one was about.

“Do not speak if we should meet anyone,” he warned, sliding his fingers through hers so it would appear that they were a married couple. Suddenly he
stopped, glancing at her hand and frowning. He raised her hand toward the lamp and examined it carefully. “The cuffs have bruised your wrist. Why did you not say something?”

“You put cuffs on people all the time. You must have noticed what they do to your prisoners,” she said angrily, jerking her hand from his grip.

He reached for her hand again and led her closer to the lamplight, touching the red, raw streak. “Your skin is so soft. I never thought the cuffs would hurt you.” He looked into her eyes, and she could have sworn she saw contrition in his gaze. “I know you are sore from riding. I have liniment that you can rub on your body tonight when we stop. It would not hurt to rub some on your wrist as well.” His tone was deeper, his accent more pronounced than before. “When we get away from town, I will pad your wrist so the cuff will not cut into it.”

“Why should you care?” she asked stingingly.

His brow arched, and he gave her a hard look. “I always like to bring my prisoners in without bruises.”

His words hit her full force. She was his prisoner.

The blood-red sunrise found them riding in open country. Caroline remembered her old nurse once telling her that a red sky in the morning was an ill omen that something bad was about to happen. She had never been superstitious before now, but something bad had already happened to her. She wondered what Brace had told Mr. Renault about her, and how much money he had paid him to bring her back to Charleston.

She had not yet lost hope—there was still a long
way to go, and she might get a chance to escape before they reached Charleston. She wanted to go home, but on her own terms, and not cuffed by this man.

Her little filly had spirit and, at Caroline's urging, shied sideways and tossed her head in protest. Wade reined in his mount and waited for her to bring the horse under control.

“I feel the need to remind you, madame, that you cannot outrun my horse, so save yourself the trouble.”

She gave him a scathing glare and pulled against the handcuffs. “If I were a man—”

“If you were a man,” he cut in, “it would be a pity.” She lapsed into silence as his laughter drifted back to her, and she mumbled under her breath, biting back an angry retort.

The day had been sweltering, and Caroline pulled her hat low over her forehead, knowing she would be sunburned if not for the hat he insisted she wear. That angered her—in fact, everything about him angered her. Wade Renault never missed the slightest detail. He had seemed genuinely bothered by the bruise on her wrist, and that confused her. If he was as heartless as he appeared to be, why should he care?

They had been riding all day, stopping only when necessary. Dusk fell just as they crossed the Frio River, and she was glad it was cooler. As they rode along the riverbank, Caroline could see nothing but dense thickets, and she wondered how they would ever maneuver through the thorn bushes.

She fell behind Mr. Renault, and he guided them to a well-worn path that had been hidden by undergrowth.

The sun was making its last splash across the western
horizon, and it was not yet full dark when they rode out of a craggy limestone canyon that stretched out to a grassy plateau. Renault held up his hand for her to halt.

“We will camp here for the night,” he said, dismounting.

Caroline waited while he unlocked the handcuff from the saddle horn and clasped it around her other hand. She gritted her teeth as he lifted her from the saddle and set her on her feet.

The first step she took was jarring. She could hardly walk without pain shooting through her thighs and legs. But she would sooner die than let him know how sore she was.

“Where are you taking me?” she demanded, dropping to her knees, completely exhausted.

“I thought you knew,” he said, leading the horses forward. “To Charleston, of course.”

“I mean, are we going to travel all the way on horseback?”

He studied her for a moment before he answered. “Of course not. I will make other arrangements once we get to San Antonio.”

She stood, slowly suppressing a groan of pain. She moved to the edge of a hillside, staring at the buttercups that were intermingled with sage bushes and cactus. The wilderness seemed so far-reaching it appeared to go on forever, and it felt as if she and Mr. Renault were the only people on earth.

Too weary to stand any longer, she once more dropped to her knees. She could not remember ever being as tired as she was at that moment.

As she sat there dazed, she watched Mr. Renault unsaddle
and hobble his horse. She assessed him for the first time as a man and not an adversary. He did not wear the clothing she would have expected a bounty hunter to wear. She watched the way his green shirt molded to his shoulder muscles when he lifted the saddle from her horse and settled it on the ground. He carelessly tossed his hat on the saddle as he bent to hobble her horse. She liked the way his dark hair fell neatly across his broad brow. He wore black trousers and black boots, but not the Western boots that everyone in Texas seemed to prefer—his were English riding boots—and of course there was the gun belt slung low over his hips.

His golden eyes were dangerous for any woman who became trapped by their intensity. She leaned back on her elbows, trying to imagine what his life might be like. But she had no notion of what a bounty hunter did when he wasn't out hunting someone.

She studied his profile and was once again struck by how handsome he was, though not in the traditional sense. His features were too ruggedly chiseled for classic male beauty. He turned to her and found her assessing him, and there was a questioning expression on his face. A woman would feel safe under his protection. Not her, of course, he would probably be the death of her. For all she knew, he might have a wife; no one knew much about his life, and he was not forthcoming with details.

He walked toward her with long strides, his voice deepening several tones when he said, “If I take the cuffs off, you must give your word that you will make no attempt to escape.”

She could not think straight, so she merely nodded her head.

“And,” he stipulated, as he bent down and unlocked the cuffs, “I will leave them off tonight if you will promise not to try anything.”

She glared at him. “I promise not to run away right now—I'm too tired to get very far anyway. But I already told you that I will most certainly escape if I get the chance.”

He seemed not to hear her, but instead stared at the angry redness where the cuffs had cut into her skin—the one wrist was raw and nearly bleeding. “Why did you not tell me that the padding had fallen off?” He raised his gaze to hers.