Captive Bride (7 page)

“Why do they call it the Staked Plains?” Abby’s question broke into his thoughts.

He chuckled to himself. “No one ever asked me that question. It is said the
conquistadores
named it that.”

She turned and arched a dark eyebrow at him.

“Surprised? That a jealous, revenge-seeking half-breed would know about
conquistadores
?” Although he tried to keep his voice light and nonchalant, as before he couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.

A flush tinged her cheeks. “I’m sorry about that. I was mad, and I wanted to hurt you.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m used to it, and believe me, I’ve been called a lot worse.” He shrugged.

“I know people can be bigoted and cruel. I never thought I was one of them.”

“You’re not. It’s just the...circumstances. That’s all.” Davy wished that was all it was, but deep down he knew different. It was one thing to spend a few hours learning to fish with an Indian kid, but another thing to associate with him in the white man’s world.

“Yeah, the circumstances.” She huffed out a long sigh.

“Anyway,” Davy continued, “it’s said the white man named the
Llano Estacado
which means ‘staked plains’ because cowboys crossing it drove wooden stakes into the ground to mark their trail.”

“It looks like a sea of grass. I can see where they’d get lost.”

“The white man gets lost, not the Comanche. This is home.”

“It looks harsh,” Abby said, “and unforgiving.”

“It can be.” Davy clucked to his horse. “There’s a place up ahead we can stop and have some breakfast.”

“But, but there’s nothing out here.”

“There is if you know where to look.”

Two miles later, Davy glimpsed a clump of yucca plants that marked the entrance to an arroyo. You could see for miles and miles out here and any movement attracted attention. He wanted to be below the skyline and conceal the smoke of his fire. He turned his mount and rode into the draw. A hundred feet down, several small trees offered inviting shade.

He slid from the saddle then held his arms up for Abby. When she willingly slipped into his grasp, he turned his head to hide his surprise. While he unsaddled the horse, she sat under the trees, took her handkerchief and wiped her face and neck. Again, remorse nipped at his heels, but he forced those thoughts aside. He had to stay focused.

“Can I have some water?” She licked her lips.

“Yeah.” He grabbed his canteen, uncapped it and held it out to her. “One swallow only.”

With a nod, Abby took it, then gulped down the tepid water. She went to take another drink, but Davy jerked it away. “Sorry. No more. Not until we find some.”

The pathetic look on her face made him relent, and he handed the canteen back to her. “All right. One more drink.”

She took a small sip and gave it back. “Thanks.” She waved a hand at the surrounding area. “Is there a river or stream or a water hole out here? And food?”

“If you know where to look.”

She shrugged. “Well, I certainly hope you know where to look.”

He chuckled. “I do.” He capped the canteen and looped the strap over the saddle horn. He’d let her have his drink, and the horse would need water real soon. If his figuring was right, they should reach water by late afternoon. “Speaking of food, I believe I promised you some breakfast.” He pulled his rifle from its boot and turned to her. “Do I need to tie you up? Or are you going to stay put?”

She didn’t answer immediately, just chewed on her lip as if trying to decide. Finally, she nodded. “I’m staying put.”

“Do I have your word on that?”

“I’m an O’Sullivan. I thought my word didn’t mean anything to you.”

“I’ve reconsidered.” He led his horse into a patch of shade, quickly unsaddled the animal and tied the reins to a bush. With a glance at her, he made his way down the draw. Hopefully, he’d get lucky and find a prairie chicken or maybe a jackrabbit. Otherwise, it’d be berries and yucca flowers.

He got lucky and found a covey of quail. A couple of well-placed shots brought down two of them. He hated having to use his gun because noise traveled a long way out here, but Abby needed food. When he returned, she sat in the shade near the horse. As he walked up, she scrambled to her feet. “I’ll gather wood,” he said and tossed the birds at her feet, “if you’ll clean them.”

A frown touched her lips. “I-I don’t know how.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Then I’ll clean them, and you can gather wood.”

“All right.” She scurried away.

When she returned with an armful of dry branches, he’d already cleaned the quail. In a few moments, a fire blazed. She watched as Davy banked the fire to control the smoke. Only a faint wisp escaped. He skewered the birds, and soon the delicious smell of roasting meat wafted over the camp. The aroma whetted her appetite. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this hungry. Probably never.

A half hour later, he handed her a skewer. Her eyes lit up, and she tore at the meat. “I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything so good.” She wiped her hands on her pants. “Is there any more?”

“No.”

She groaned aloud. “Can we rest here for a while?”

He nodded. “About half an hour, then we have to ride hard.”

“Have we been doing anything else?” She grabbed the bedroll and placed it under the nearest scrub oak, then collapsed on it. Sleep claimed her immediately.

It seemed like only minutes before she woke to someone shaking her.

“Time to get up, Abby. We’ve stayed here long enough.”

She opened her eyes to find Davy standing over her. “Just ten more minutes. Please.”

He kicked her boot. “Now.”

She shoved herself up on her elbows. Something stung her, and she jerked her hand back. “Ouch.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Oh, nothing.” She stood and stretched. Davy had already saddled the horse. He motioned for her to climb up. As she did so, her foot slipped out of the stirrup. She fell against him and put her hands on his chest. She could swear she heard the beating of his heart.
Get a hold on yourself, you idiot.
He tipped her chin back with his finger. Abby knew if he kissed her, she would be lost. She moved out of his embrace. “Guess we’d best be riding.”

His lips pinched together in a straight line, but he merely nodded. She mounted, and he vaulted into the saddle behind her, then steered his horse deeper into the ravine.

Hours later, as the sun sank below the horizon, Davy reined in his mount on the ridge above a small water hole. Abby’s body slumped against him. Once again guilt slammed into him like a bullet. She didn’t deserve this. If her father and Winston were involved in his father’s death, they deserved much worse.

But she didn’t.

He shook her gently. “Abby, we’re here. There’s water.” Her answer was a low moan. He shook her again. “Abby, wake up.”

When she didn’t move, he placed his hand on her forehead. Fever! He slid from the saddle and pulled her with him. He carried her to the water’s edge and laid her in patch of green grass. He hurried back to the horse, pulled a kerchief from the saddlebag and darted back to her. With gentle hands, he bathed her face and neck.

Then he remembered when she’d hurt herself. He grabbed her hand and studied it. There—swollen, fevered flesh. A bite of a scorpion. He cursed loudly. He’d not only kidnapped her, dragged her around the country, scared her half to death, but now he’d endangered her life. A scorpion’s bite could be fatal.

“Abby, darling, can you hear me?”

Her eyelids fluttered open. “I don’t feel well.”

As she said the words, her eyes rolled back in her head, and she collapsed into unconsciousness.

Davy knew he couldn’t stay there. He had to get Abby to his mother. She had great skills with wounds such as this.

Hours later, as the sun sent golden streaks across the desert floor, Davy reined in his horse and stared down at the Comanche village. The cook fires burned, and he could see people milling around. Familiar smells wafted up, and he sniffed appreciatively. After the quail at breakfast, lunch had consisted of a couple of pieces of jerky and wild berries. He scanned the area and found his mother’s teepee.

A dark figure emerged. Dawn Little Sky bent over and stirred her fire. Orange flames flickered in the shadows. Davy’s heart went out to her. She had loved his father with a fire that had burned brighter than life itself. He could only dream of such a love. Abby stirred in his arms. He’d once thought she was the one, but their worlds were too far apart.

And he might soon be dead—and maybe Abby too.

With a gentle nudge of his heels, Davy sent the horse down the slope. He kept outside the circle of light until he stopped in front of his mother’s teepee.

Her face showed no surprise.

He slid from the saddle, then lifted the unconscious Abby into his arms. Without a word, his mother opened the flap to the teepee. Davy walked in and laid Abby on a bed of furs. He knelt beside her and wrapped her in the warm softness. She mumbled a few words, but he couldn’t make them out.

Silken strands of ebony hair partially covered her face, and he gently pushed them behind her ear. Dirt and grime marred the perfection of her face. A bruise shadowed her forehead. He stroked her forehead. It was still hot with the fever.

He shoved himself to his feet and left the teepee. His mother sat cross-legged by the fire, and he joined her.

“My heart is glad to see you, my son.” She took his hand in hers.

Davy leaned over and brushed a kiss across his mother’s cheek. “As is mine.”

“You look troubled, my son.”

“I am sorry I was not there when my father was killed.”

“Do not feel guilty, Running Wolf. There was nothing you could have done.”

“I wasn’t there to save him, but I will avenge his death, Mother. I promise you.”

“I do not wish vengeance at the cost of your life.”

He didn’t answer.

“The girl?”

“Her name is Abigail O’Sullivan. She is the daughter of the man I think killed my father.”

His mother’s dark eyes bored into his. “She is special to you, my son?”

“No, no. She is a means to my revenge, that’s all.” He took his hat off and turned his head lest she read the truth in his eyes.

“Word has come of this girl. It is said the soldiers will come, and Silver Feather chases you.”

“Ayee, it is true. But she is sick and needs your healing hand.”

“I will see to her. We will talk more later. You must go see Chief Spotted Elk and tell him of this.”

Davy nodded and rose to his feet. “I will go now.”

Chapter Six

A headache pounded at Abby’s temple. Her body burned as if on fire. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach while nausea reared its ugly head. She moaned, but the voice she heard didn’t sound like hers. It sounded more like that of a wounded animal.

A soft voice fought through the fog in her head. Even though she couldn’t understand the words, the strange chant mesmerized—and comforted her. She relaxed and sank further into the beckoning darkness. Several times the voice came again, summoning her to the light. Still Abby fought returning.

Then a new voice broke through the swirling confusion of her mind, coaxing and cajoling her to follow the familiar sound. The light grew brighter, and she opened her eyes. A face hovered inches over her own. His hand rested on her arm.

Davy!

This time, though, his dark eyes revealed no animosity, only concern. He ran his finger down her cheek. “Abby, I’m glad you’re back. I was worried about you. How do you feel?”

“Tired, very tired. Want…sleep.” Her eyelids grew heavier.

“No. Must eat now,” a third voice said.

“Abby, wake up.”

She forced her eyes to open. “No, no. Don’t want any food.”

Davy grabbed her shoulders, lifted her and slipped some soft skins behind her. “Yes, you’ve got to eat.”

As he propped her up on the mound of animal skins, she caught a glimpse of the woman who knelt beside him. Although definitely older, the woman in the picture on the mantel at the Larson ranch stared back at her. Davy’s mother. Gray hair hung in two long thick braids while a beaded head band covered her forehead. Her doeskin dress embellished in the same beaded pattern fell from slender shoulders. Wary brown eyes, so mindful of Davy’s, stared back at her from a bronzed face.

She handed a bowl to her son and spoke to him in Comanche.

“She says you must eat to gain strength to fight the bad spirits which have made you sick.”

Abby shook her head. “Not hungry.”

“You are one stubborn woman, Abby O’Sullivan, but I’m stubborn too.” He lifted the bowl to her mouth. “Now drink some of this.”

Abby sipped the warm broth. While it was delicious, she had no appetite but forced herself to swallow several mouthfuls. Then she pushed the bowl aside. “No more.”

“All right. That’s enough for now.” He lowered her onto the soft skins.

A warm cocoon enveloped Abby, soothing her. She retreated into the fuzzy realm of sleep. The last thing she remembered was Davy’s hand smoothing her hair back—and liking it.

****

Davy covered the prone figure with a buffalo robe and smoothed her hair back. With a muttered oath, he again cursed himself for putting Abby through this ordeal. He should have found some other way to avenge his father’s death. He must have been out of his mind when he thought to kidnap her. It was his fault that she was very ill. If anything happened to her, he couldn’t live with himself.

“Come, my son, she will sleep now. We must talk.” His mother left the teepee.

With a last glance at Abby, Davy followed and joined his mother at the cook fire. As she prepared food, he squatted on his haunches and stared into the flickering firelight. His conscience troubled him. Had he delivered Abby into danger? Perhaps the Comanche as well?

His meeting with Spotted Elk had gone as expected. The chief was not happy he had brought danger to the tribe, yet he understood Davy’s desire for avenging his father’s death. Spotted Elk had informed him that white men had entered the
Llano Estacado
. That had not surprised him. The Comanche always knew when intruders entered their realm.