Gypsy Lady (54 page)

In
the future, Jason would have no cause to complain; she would run his home, be
his hostess, and rear their two children; but she and her body would be closed
to him. Beyond the times they would naturally have to be with one another, she
wanted none of him—no more of those heartbreakingly dear rides together; no
more quiet picnics in the pine-scented forests; and no more nights of exquisite
passion when his touch made her flame with desire!

Cynically
she decided, he could slake his male needs on another woman and leave her to
find her own amusements. A derisive smile on her lips, she visualized what his
reactions would be if she were to take a lover, and then her eyes narrowed as
the idea expanded. What a laugh to cuckold Jason and present him with another
man's child! Mirthlessly, she giggled to herself. What a fitting revenge, and
the cream of the jest would be that he would know it, yet be forced to
acknowledge the child as his own! Extremely thoughtful, she went back inside
and climbed into bed, her mind busy with vengeful plans.

The
next morning, she was pleasantly polite to both men as they ate breakfast on
the sunny patio. Aware of the wary looks cast her way by Jason, she smiled
sweetly in his direction whenever their glances met. But the smile didn't light
her eyes, and by the time they were enjoying a last cup of chickory-flavored
coffee, Jason was frowning blackly.

Guy
was to spend the day with him inspecting the numerous changes being instituted
throughout the plantation, and at the last minute Jason asked curtly,
"Will you join us?"

Opening
her eyes very wide, Catherine replied airily, "How kind of you to think of
me! Unfortunately, considering my—er—delicate condition and the importance of
producing another heir, I don't think I should."

His
eyes hardening, Jason nodded brusquely and asked if Guy was ready. Guy was, and
a moment later Catherine was alone, her eyes unseeingly on the tinkling
fountain. Eventually, she roused herself from the lethargy that threatened to
overcome her and went inside.

She
managed to occupy herself, with Jeanne's help and the assistance of a black
servant, cleaning out the last storeroom. There were several dusty trunks that
yielded scraps of odds and ends, including some old- fashioned dresses that
must have belonged to Jason's grandmother. The sight of those unused gowns made
her remember that in a few months her own gowns would be useless. Thankfully
she recalled the bolts of soft materials that at Jason's insistence had been
ordered from New Orleans. As soon as Blood Drinker arrived, she would have
several loose gowns made to accommodate her expanding shape. But then she
remembered that they would be leaving for New Orleans soon, and she was sunk in
gloom.

She
had grown very fond of Terre du Coeur and would hate leaving it. Secretly she
admitted that she wanted this second child to be born here—yes, in this house
that had given her so much fleeting happiness!

That
evening at dinner, remembering Blood Drinker's possible arrival, she asked,
"Have you any idea when Blood Drinker will return?"

Jason
looked at her curiously before saying, "He's due back any day now.
Why?"

"Mmmmmm,
I just wondered."

His
glance rested on her a second longer. Then as if losing interest in her, he
began once more to talk with his father. They were discussing the merits of
raising cotton against Jason's plan of expanding his cattle herds. Growing
bored, Catherine excused herself and went to bed.

After
the troubled night before, she slept soundly and woke early. It was such a
glorious, bright, shining morning that she gave in to the urge for a ride
through the cool, pungent-scented woods, and quickly scrambling into breeches
and shirt and clamping on her head the wide-brimmed hat that she habitually
wore when out in the hot sun, she ran lightly to the stables.

A
sedate ride wouldn't hurt her—not yet, anyway. And the fact that Jason would be
furious after she had turned down his invitation yesterday added to her
enjoyment and caused a spiteful smile to cross her usually sweet face.

It
was early yet, the sun barely
risen
, and the plantation
was just beginning to show signs of waking. Catherine laughed at the
sleepy-eyed stableboy and said she'd saddle the horse herself. Quickly and
efficiently she did so, remembering mornings at Hunter's Hill when she had done
the same.

Without
effort, she swung herself up into the saddle and was on the point of kicking
the gray mare into a canter, when suddenly Jason loomed up out of nowhere and
laid a firmly detaining hand on the bridle. "What the hell do you think
you're doing? I thought riding was out for you," he snapped, his green
eyes like chips of ice and his mouth tight with anger.

Impudently,
Catherine smiled down at him. "That was yesterday—with
you!
This is today, and I feel like a ride by
myself."
As she finished speaking, she noted a man standing
by a foam-flecked horse and wondered vaguely if he was the reason for Jason's
presence. Nodding the direction of the waiting man, she added,
"I
believe he
's
here to see you. Don't let
me keep you."

A
muscle bunched in Jason's cheek, and he ground out, "Yes, I know he's
waiting. And the news he brings isn't good. Even if you weren't with child, I
wouldn't want you riding alone. Now get down off that damn horse and wait for
me at the house!"

Her
impudent smile wavered, and nearly blind with swift rage, she jerked the reins
from his grasp and spat, "You forget, I think, dearly beloved, that I am
not a servant!"

Jason
made a frantic lunge for the bridle, but the mare, restless and high-strung,
reared up, her slender, steel-pistoned forelegs striking out and giving Jason
barely enough time to leap out of the way of those thrashing hoofs. Catherine
held her seat, easily controlling the mare as the animal danced nervously
beneath her light weight, and as Jason approached again she shot him a mocking
look and deliberately dug her heels into the horse's silken flanks. Like an
arrow released from a bow, the mare shot forward nearly knocking Jason down as
he made another fruitless grab for the bridle. But the horse swept by him, and
Jason, his broad chest heaving, hands on his hips, green eyes narrowed, watched
Catherine gallop away.

Then
crossing to the waiting man he queried sharply, "How far away did you say
they were?"

"Not
more than an hour. I damn near killed my horse to get here as soon as I could!
Packy is still following them, so even if they don't come here directly, we'll
know where they are."

Biting
his lip undecidedly, Jason, his eyes still staring in the direction that
Catherine had disappeared, said, "Go rouse the rest of the men and get the
women and children up to the big house."

Embarrassed
at
his own
temerity but nonetheless determined, the
man blurted out, "What about the missus?" At the icy look he received
he wished he had torn out his tongue with white-hot pincers before asking.

Damn
it! Jason thought angrily. What about her? Davalos only wanted him, but he
couldn't take the risk that his stubborn, willful Catherine wouldn't meet up
with the returning Spaniard and come to harm. He'd better let Guy know the
situation and then take a few men and go after her.

Shouting
for one of the boys to saddle up his favorite black stallion and a half-dozen
other horses as well, he started off in the direction of the house. As luck
would have it, he met Guy as he descended the staircase.

Guy
was smiling, having just spent an enjoyable few minutes with his grandson, but
at the expression on Jason's dark face, his smile faded and, concern sharpening
his words, asked, "What is it?"

"Davalos
is on his way back, and Catherine just rode out of here like a wild Valkyrie. I
have to go after her." Pausing, he eyed his father levelly, then
continued, "I haven't time to explain everything, but the men as well as
their families know what to do. And right now, I want you to forget every kind
memory you have of

Davalos and remember only
that I'd view an approaching band of marauding Comanches with a far more
lenient eye than I do him!"

His own face matching the
grimness of Jason's, Guy nodded with quick comprehension.
A
moment later Jason was on his way to the stables.
He spotted most of his
men armed and escorting the white-faced women and children up the slope to the
house. Calling to several of them he briefly explained the situation again.
Grim-faced, they all walked quickly to the stables, and swiftly mounting the
waiting horses, they thundered off in the direction that Catherine had taken
earlier.

Where the hell would she
have gone?
he
wondered uneasily. And he cursed the
luck that Blood Drinker wasn't back yet—that Cherokee could follow the trail of
a feather across stone! His own tracking abilities were not to be slandered,
but he wished like the devil the Indian was with him. But in spite of his
misgivings, he discovered Catherine's tracks easily enough, and quickly the men
followed them to one of the wide streams that crisscrossed the property.

Almost as if she had known
Jason would be tracking her, Catherine had urged her horse to the center of the
shallow creek, and Jason cursed again because precious minutes were wasted
casting about for the clue that would show where her horse had left the water.
After finding it about a mile downstream, Jason, with a growing sense of
urgency, guided his horse from the creek into the pine forest.

Suddenly, the air shook
with the sound of gunfire, and viciously Jason, his heart a lead stone in his
breast, kicked the stallion into a dead run and raced in the direction of the
shots, the others galloping close behind Him. It took them almost fifteen
minutes of wild riding, ducking low-limbed branches, and following the
twisting path to reach the glen where Catherine had gone-—but by then, it was
too late.

The glen was empty except
for a riderless horse standing over a still figure sprawled on the ground. His
face white, Jason slid from the stallion and ran to the motionless form. It
wasn't Catherine, but he instantly recognized Packy, the boy who had been
following Davalos, and with a sick dread in his body, Jason knelt beside the
wounded boy.

At
his approach, Packy opened his blue eyes and muttered, "They got the
missus, them dirty greasers! She fought like one of them panther she-cats, but
there were too many of them." His eyes pleading, his voice weak from the
loss of blood that seeped through his shirt from an ugly wound, Packy said
laboriously, "I tried to stop them. I think I nicked one, but the missus
was right in the middle, and I was seared I'd hit her!"

Hushing
the boy, Jason praised. "You did fine. Boot worry—we'll get her back.
Right now, we need to get you some medical aid," Forcing himself to grin
confidently at the boy, he said, "Before I let you pass out, can you tell
me how many there were?"

"Twenty
or thirty—looked like the same bunch as last time.'
⁵

Jason's
face stony, his mind deliberately blank, be carried the wounded boy in his arms
to Terre du Coeur. And only after he had removed the bullet and Packy was
resting comfortably, did he answer his father's anxious questions. Betraying no
outward emotion, his voice perfectly controlled, he explained briefly what had
happened.

Guy
was horrified. "You've got to go after her!
At
once!"

Jason
stared with icy eyes and shook his head a decisive no.

"Why
ever not?" cried Guy. "She's your wife, and even if it was her own
fault, you can't abandon her to them!"

"It
wasn't
her own
fault!" The words came low and
passionately from Jason. "I didn't tell her Davalos was back in the area.
If I had, no matter how angry she was with me, she wouldn't have disobeyed
me!" Bitterly, he added, "I know her that well, at least."

"What
do we do now?"

"We
wait."

"I
beg your pardon! Have you lost your wits?" Guy demanded angrily.

His
outward calmness hiding his own fears, Jason met his father's furious stare and
said quietly, "Davalos wants
me.
Capturing Catherine was nothing more than a lucky accident for him. And her
life means little to him. If cornered, he'd kill her without question.
Certainly, I could have left Packy and continued after them, but it's unlikely I
would have overtaken them, and it's much more probable that if I had been able
to get within shooting distance Davalos would have killed Catherine then and
there. Do you think that would help the situation? Or have you considered that
in an exchange of gunfire it might be my own bullet
that,
kills her? I can't take the risk. And remember this—I know how Davalos's mind
works. He'll use her as a lure. I know you don't like it, I don't like it
myself, but knowing Davalos, very shortly he'll send me his terms. All we can
do is
wait—
and pray."