Captive Bride (8 page)

“Why have you come here, my son,” his mother handed a bowl of food to him, “with the white woman?”

“To speak of my father. I have many questions about his death.”

“And the girl?”

“She is the daughter of my enemy. I kidnapped her to find the answers.” He tipped the bowl and gulped down some of the rabbit stew, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You do not look upon her as an enemy,” Dawn Little Sky said. “Rather, with eyes that say much.”

“I have no fight with her, only her father.” He tried to keep his voice steady and his expression blank so as to hide his true feelings. His mother had always been able to read what was in his heart.

“Who now comes to our land—with many riders.”

Davy nodded. “Spotted Elk told me of this.”

“Did he tell you Silver Feather leads them?”

Davy’s eyebrows shot up. “No. I knew he was on my trail, but I thought I had more time. I will leave as soon as the woman is able to ride. But while I am here, I would ask you of my father. The night he died, how did you learn of his death?”

Dawn Little sky stared off into space. When she looked back at him, it was as if she didn’t see him, but had instead returned to that night. Her heart was open, the wound bare and bleeding. “I felt it…when…I knew something had happened to him, and that,” she hesitated, her voice a mere whisper, “his life blood spilled, and I waited. I knew my life’s circle had been broken.” Her gaze locked with Davy’s. “About an hour later, he brought your father’s body to me.”

“Who?”

“Silver Feather.”

The two words hit Davy between the eyes, like a gunshot. He’d expected the answer to be either the sheriff or a Triple S cowhand. “What did he say?”

“He said your father had been playing the white man’s game called poker and that he had won much money, and he was killed for it.” She swiped her hand across her eyes. “But this I did not believe.”

“How did he know?”

Dawn Little Sky shrugged.

“Who found my father’s body?”

“Silver Feather said the sheriff told him to bring your father’s body home.” She placed a hand on Davy’s shoulder. “But what does that prove, my son?”

“I don’t know—yet. One more question. Did my father carry the deed to the ranch around with him? I can’t figure out how someone got it.”

“This paper you call deed. It is important?”

“Yeah. It proves my father owned the ranch, and it should rightfully be mine.”

Dawn Little Sky shrugged her shoulders. “I know nothing of this deed.”

“Did anyone ever come to the ranch and ask about it?”

“No.”

“When I went there earlier, the house had been searched. Had you seen my father with this paper?”

She shook her head.

“So he didn’t take it to the bank or anything? Borrow money?”

“No.”

“What happened after Silver Feather brought…the body home? Did he leave right away?”

“No. He offered to help me bury…” Her voice broke.

Davy knelt beside his mother and hugged her. “I’m sorry to put you through this, but it’s important.”

“I know. I told him I wanted to be alone with my husband. He said that he would leave and return the next day to help me. I thanked him, then he left.”

“He returned the next day?”

His mother nodded. “Your father wished to be buried at the ranch—by his parents. Silver Feather dug the grave for me.”

“Was he in the house at any time? Alone?”

“I do not remember.”

“So I need to talk to Silver Feather.”

“You must walk softly with Silver Feather,” she warned.

“Why is that? I know he doesn’t like me, never has, but I never knew why.” He leaned forward and stirred the glowing embers.

“Many years ago, my son, when I was just a maiden, Silver Feather asked for me to be his wife, but I had met your father and had eyes only for John Larson. Silver Feather suffered dishonor when I left the village to go live with a white man.”

“Then why would he want to help you?” Davy quirked an eyebrow at his mother. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“He has hinted that he still wants me to be his woman.”

“What? With my father barely cold in the ground?” He clenched his hands into fists. “Why, that sonofabitch!” He stood and paced around the cook fire. “Why don’t you get some rest, Mother? I need to think about…everything.”

“Very well.” She stood, then ran her fingers through his hair, something she hadn’t done since he was a young boy. “I have missed you, Running Wolf. I have prayed to the Great Spirit for your safe return. Now you walk dangerous ground. You must be careful.”

Davy nodded.

“Good night, my son.”

As his mother disappeared into the teepee, Davy stared into the flickering flames. The information he’d learned about the night of his father’s death twisted in his mind like a tornado, scattering his thoughts in all directions. He ran his hand over his jaw.

Memories crowded in around him, memories of a time when he was a boy and had spent many days among the Comanche. His life had been a jumble of emotions between the Indian world and the white man’s world. It sometimes had been, and still was, a difficult path to walk.

He stretched out by the fire and stared into the ebony sky. He had much thinking to do—and a lot of it centered on Abigail O’Sullivan.

****

Noise outside jerked Abby from her sleep. She shoved herself up on her elbows and surveyed her surroundings. For a moment, she didn’t recognize anything, and her pulse raced like a runaway locomotive. But then, although she’d never been in one, she recognized the conical shape of a teepee. A cook fire smoldered in the center of the teepee. Wisps of smoke drifted lazily toward the hole in the top. Buffalo skins and various woven baskets were piled around the outer circle.

She thrust the buffalo skin aside and discovered she was nude. Taken aback, she glanced around for her clothes. They were not in sight.

The rustle of footsteps grabbed her attention. She hastily pulled the robe up and then turned to the entrance. Two people entered the teepee. Dawn Little Sky smiled at her. Dark circles framed Davy’s eyes, exhaustion evident on his face.

When he saw she was awake, he smiled at her, leaned over and felt her forehead. “Good. The fever is gone. Do you feel better?”

She nodded. “Yes. Only a headache remains.”

“My mother’s healing herbs are very potent.” He squatted down beside the fire. “They can heal almost every illness.”

“Does she speak English?”

“Some.”

“Then please tell her thank you for me,” Abby levered herself into a seated position, “although it was her son who caused me to be ill in the first place.”

His answer was a mischievous grin.

“Where are my clothes?”

“My mother burned them, but she has brought more.”

“Burned? Why?”

“To kill the spirits that made you sick.”

“I see.” She glanced at the Indian woman who knelt beside her and took the bundle offered. A dress of soft doeskin and beautiful beadwork made her smile. “Oh, it’s so beautiful. Thank you.”

To her surprise, the woman answered in English. “You are welcome.”

Davy’s expression sobered. “My people tell me that white men have entered the
Llano Estacado
.”

“Your people? Was not your father a white man?”

A shadow crossed his eyes, but he didn’t answer, merely nodded.

“My father is with them?” Her heartbeat quickened. Would her rescue result in lives lost? Hers? Her father’s? Phillip’s? At the thought of her betrothed, guilt slammed into her. She’d not thought of him for the last two days.

“I don’t know. Silver Feather leads them.”

Despite her attempt to be brave, tears misted in her eyes. “What now, Davy? What happens now?”

“I have sent word to Silver Feather that your father is to meet me at the Painted Canyon. He is to come alone and unarmed.”

Abby caught his gaze and held it. “Then what?”

“I have many questions to ask him. If I am satisfied with the answers, I will release you to him.”

“So you’re putting him on trial?” Forgetting she was naked, she lunged at him and tried to slap him, but he caught her hand. “Who made you the judge and the jury?”

“I thought you would be happy.”

“Let me go.” His gaze raked over her, and she pulled the robe up.

“If your father had nothing to do with my father’s death, as you so ardently profess, then he has nothing to worry about, and you will be free to go home with him. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Yes, of course that’s what I want.” A small voice inside her screamed she didn’t want to leave him, but she squashed it. “But you have no right—”

“I claim the right.” His cold voice reminded her she didn’t really know him at all, just a flight of a young girl’s fancy. The boy she knew all those years ago no longer existed.

“Are you going to kill my father?” Her breath caught in her throat as she waited for his answer.

“You asked me that once before. My answer is the same. If he killed my pa, or had any part in it, then, yeah, I’m gonna kill him.”

His expression in his eyes was unreadable, and she blinked back tears.

“We are to meet your father at noon, and so we must leave soon. Do you think you can ride?”

“Yes, I think so.”

He nodded. “Good. You must eat before we go.”

Abby’s first thought was to refuse any food, but her stomach chose that moment to growl. He heard it, grinned, then left the teepee. She glanced at his mother.

“I wish that Running Wolf had not taken you from your family and brought you here. Your presence puts him, and you, in danger.”

“Are your people going to kill me?”

The woman’s lips quirked into a half smile, and she turned her head. “No. There are those here who resent all white men, but Running Wolf will not let anyone harm you. I think you mean more to him than just a captive. How do you feel about my son? Many of your kind frown upon one with mixed blood.”

As she stood, Abby chose her words carefully. “I’m very angry with him for doing what he has done. If he hurts or kills my father, I will seek revenge on him. I hope it doesn’t came to that because, because of our friendship many years ago.” At the woman’s confused expression, Abby explained. “I knew Running Wolf a long time ago, when we were children. He never told you that?” The woman shook her head. “As far as how I feel, I will be truthful and tell you that I do have feelings for him, but I’m very confused. How can I care for someone who has kidnapped me and means to kill my father?”

“These feelings I know,” Dawn Little Sky said. “My heart was heavy to leave the Comanche, but John Larson was my life.”

“That must have been a very difficult decision to make.”

“It was. The path we walked was hard, but I never regretted it.”

“Do you think my father had something to do with his death?” Abby shrugged into the doeskin dress. It felt soft and smooth against her skin, and she stroked the soft material. After days in pants, to have a dress again pleased her.

Dawn Little Sky shrugged. “I do not know, but ever since the white man spoke of the iron horse, many strange things have happened.”

Abby stopped abruptly. “Iron horse? You mean the railroad? Who talked of the railroad?”

“The one called Winston. He came to the house and told John Larson that he must sell his ranch.”

“What? You must be mistaken.”

The woman locked gazes with her, and Abby could see she spoke the truth. “I’m sorry. Your words shocked me. What did your husband say?”

“He said no.”

“What happened then?”

“The man became angry and threatened John Larson. Then John Larson threw him off the ranch.”

Philip? That sounded like a Philip she didn’t know. “Does Davy know?”

“No. This thought did not return to me until now.”

Abby’s stomach lurched. For the first time, doubt entered her mind. Had Philip, or her father, been involved in the death of John Larson? Her father and the other big ranchers had tried to entice the railroad to this area for several years, to no avail. A railroad would enable them to get their herds to market quicker and more economically.

Her hands trembled as she slipped her feet into the moccasins.

At that moment, the flap opened, and Davy strode into the room. When he saw her, his gaze raked her body. “It is time to go.”

“You look different. What is that on your face? Is it…war paint?” When he didn’t answer, she turned to his mother. “Is it war paint? Oh, please tell me it’s not.”

“Don’t worry, Abby. It’s just our way. You wouldn’t understand.”

“You’re right. I don’t understand. Explain it to me. Make me understand.”

He shook his head. “We must go now.”

With her heart thumping against her ribs, Abby followed him out of the teepee and to the waiting horses. Fearful of what the day would bring, she sent up a silent prayer for her father’s safety.

And Davy’s.

Chapter Seven

As Abby climbed into the saddle, Davy caught the concerned expression on his mother’s face before she disappeared around the side of the teepee. Last night she’d told him that she’d lost one man she loved, and she didn’t want to lose another. Her words had struck a chord deep inside Davy for his mother very seldom voiced her feelings. But while she’d wanted him to leave the village—and Abby—and go south to Mexico, she’d understood this was something he had to do. His spirit would not let him rest until he’d avenged his father’s death.

Abby caught his gaze and held it. She said nothing, but the look in her eyes spoke volumes. Her pale face seemed even more pallid in the bright sunlight.

“Let’s go.” He pointed southwest. “That way.”

As she rode off, he put his heels to his mount’s flanks and followed. Overhead, the sky was devoid of clouds, empty but for a lone hawk circling lazily above. As they crested a rise above the village, Davy reined in his horse and stared down at the cluster of teepees. This might be his last sight of his mother’s home. If the Great Spirit chose that path for him, so be it.

After a moment, he turned and headed toward Painted Canyon. Abby rode silently beside him, her face drawn, her knuckles white as she gripped the reins. He wished he could assure her of her father’s safety, but he could not.