Gypsy Lady (57 page)

There
was a strained silence in the room when Guy stopped speaking. It was Adam who
asked blankly, "What do we do now?"

"Nothing,"
Jason said decisively. Crossing to Rachael he said softly, "I think you
have much to hold against the men of my family—not to mention my mother's
selfishness. Forgive us?"

"You're
not angry?" she asked almost timidly.

He
shook his head. "You took nothing away from me. My parent's marriage was
in shambles long before Guy met you—you were the innocent one harmed. And I certainly
don't begrudge Adam the Natchez lands. Tell me one thing, though. Why did you
marry the earl?"

Rachael
risked a glance at Guy's suddenly impassive face. "He was kind to me, and
after all the trouble he'd gone to—to save my reputation—I owed it to him. He
didn't love me, but I never loved him either. Your father had all my
love." She hesitated then added, "I would have tried to make our
marriage work, but you see, he only wanted an heir, and I had proven that
ability by having Adam. I think he always felt cheated when the only child we
ever had was a girl, Catherine."

Smiling
whimsically down at her, Jason said, "I'm thankful that you did have
her."

Guy
spoke up abruptly, his voice laced with gruff concern. "Rachael, you
should retire for the night. It's been an emotional evening for all of us and
especially you. We can discuss it more tomorrow if you wish."

Jason
watched the way his father hovered over Rachael as he escorted her from the
room, and his thoughts of his mother in that moment were not kind.

"What's
going to happen to them now?" Adam asked as the door closed behind them.

Jason
shot him a sharp look. "That rather depends on them, don't you think? More
importantly, how do
you
feel
about it?"

Truthfully,
Adam admitted, "Well, it's a bit of a facer to learn one's really a
bastard!"

Jason
grinned. "Don't let that bother you—people have been calling me one for
years!" For a second Adam maintained a serious expression, but then he
burst out laughing, saying, "Well, if
you
don't mind it, neither shall
I!"

Lying
in bed later that night, Jason found himself surprisingly disturbed. Oh, not
about what was in the past —curiously he found the idea of having a brother
pleasant—but it was the future for Guy and Rachael that disturbed him. That
they still loved one another was obvious and that nothing had changed in the
passing years was also apparent. Antonia wouldn't at this late date give Guy a
divorce, and so nothing had changed!

Musingly,
he decided that he wouldn't blame his father if he discreetly set Rachael up as
his mistress, but somehow, he couldn't see either one of them agreeing to such
a thing. Oh well, he thought glumly, they'll have to work it out themselves—his
life was full enough just keeping possession of his own prickly kitten.

The faint grayness of
predawn lay over the land as Blood Drinker and Jason rode away the next morning.
Ahead of them lay at least three days of hard riding to reach the Sabine River.
They were hampered only slightly by the loaded pack horse and the extra mount
that Jason had brought for Catherine. Both men would have preferred to travel
with just the clothes on their backs and a bedroll strapped behind their
saddles, but they had no idea in what condition Catherine would be found, nor
precisely how long a journey they were taking nor in what direction
their quarry would
lead them. At the moment though, they
were headed for a small clearing a few miles west of the Sabine River.

Several
years ago, an attempt had been made to establish a trading post there, and the
optimistically minded agent had cleared the forest land and had built a
smallish log building and a few lean-to sheds that he probably hoped to later
replace with barns and storehouses. The venture had failed mainly because most
travelers to the west took the old Spanish trail that lay a considerable number
of miles to the south. Eventually, it was abandoned and ironically, while not
profitable, it became a landmark and stopping place for the thin stream of
humanity heading into Spanish territory for various and usually nefarious
reasons. It was there at Trader's Clearing that Jason was to meet with Davalos,
and late in the morning of the third day, Jason and Blood Drinker crossed the
Sabine River some miles to the north of their destination. Taking great care
not to betray their presence, they approached the clearing.

It
was deserted, and for a moment the terrible thought occurred to Jason that
somehow he had miscalculated. But the possibility of a trap couldn't be
ignored, and it was only after they had circled and searched the outlaying
forest for any sign of hiding Spaniards that they stealthily made any attempt
to gain entrance to the building.

In
their preliminary search of the forest, they had discovered signs that several
riders had left very recently, and with a sinking heart, Jason stepped
carefully into the log structure, entering from a back window while Blood Drinker
remained secreted in the tall tress. The building was empty, but again there
were signs that as late as last night someone—Davalos?—had been there. Able to
draw no conclusions from the meager clues that remained, Jason opened the heavy
door and slipped cautiously into the clearing. Dodging between what cover
existed, his rifle clenched in his hands, he quickly searched the dilapidated
sheds and found nothing until he entered the last one.

The
gray thoroughbred that Catherine had ridden that fateful morning lay dead, its
throat brutally cut, the ground near its head damp with blood. Still saddled
and bridled, Jason judged the animal had not been dead too many hours, the soft
hide barely cool to his experienced touch. A knife, its blade blackened by dried
blood, rose up from the saddle and impaled a scrap of blood-spattered paper.
With a dangerously steady hand, Jason wrenched the knife free, and slowly, his
face betraying nothing, he read the message Davalos had left. Then without a
backwards glance, he disappeared into the forest and rejoined Blood Drinker.
The two men walked swiftly towards their concealed horses, and in short terse
sentences Jason relayed what he had found.

Blood
Drinker had grunted disgustedly at the news of the wanton and needlessly vicious
destruction of the horse, but Jason's news that Davalos was taking Catherine to
Nacogdoches, a Spanish fort deeper into Spanish land, caused his black eyes to
glitter with anger. Silently both men swung up on their horses and followed the
trail that the departing Davalos had so arrogantly made no effort to hide. But
then Davalos was in his own territory now, and he had Catherine, which must
have pleased him enormously. Jason could almost see the satisfied smile that
would quirk at the corners of the thin lips, and his own tightened angrily.

There
was little conversation between the two men as the day passed, but then there
was little need for words between them. Both knew the dangers that lay ahead,
and both were aware that if Davalos was able to reach the comparative safety of
the fort, they would be at his mercy. Their only hope was to overtake the
Spaniards somewhere within the miles of wild forest land that lay between them
and safety. By ambush or trap they would attack and somehow free Catherine.
There had been no clear plan when they had ridden away from Terre du Coeur, but
the driving thought uppermost in both minds had been to free Catherine—whatever
way possible— even at the cost of Jason offering himself to Davalos!

Davalos
needed him alive, and while the fact had to be faced that once Davalos had him,
he would dispatch Catherine much in the same manner he had her horse, Jason
had no choice but to give in to the Spaniard's demands. He realized that
Davalos might kill Catherine, but he didn't really believe the Spaniard
would—not from any compassion for her, but because his position would be infinitely
stronger if he had both of them as hostages. Once that was accomplished,
Davalos would be twice as safe from reprisal. And more importantly, Jason
reasoned grimly, torture of Catherine would loosen his tongue considerably
faster than anything Davalos could do to
him,
and
Davalos would know that! Damn him!

Increasing
fear for Catherine bit into Jason's vitals like a razor-toothed serpent, and unconsciously
he goaded his horse to an even more dangerous burst of speed as they plunged
through the tangled undergrowth of the tall trees and followed the trail.

From
the signs left behind, Davalos could only be six or seven hours ahead of them
at the most, and Jason had every intention of narrowing that time to nothing.
Viciously he yanked at the lead rein of the pack horse that followed
recklessly behind him. For a moment, he considered leaving the two extra
horses; he and Blood Drinker could diminish the distance between themselves and
their quarry faster if they had only their own mounts to worry about; but
caution, the thought that they might need that extra horse for Catherine as
well as every single item he had so carefully chosen to bring, stayed his hand.
Yet with every passing minute, every hour, the need to close the gap and to at
least gain sight of his enemy drove him onward. Even into the night they
traveled, their path clearly seen by the beam of a friendly full moon, whose
light silvered the trees and lit their way through the darkness.

Impelled
by a feeling of imminent danger, the premonition that he must reach Catherine
tonight took such violent possession of Jason that he was like some green-eyed
vengeful zombie, controlled by, and bound to, his woman. Fleetingly, he let
himself wonder if she was alive, and if alive, what terrible things Davalos had
done to her during this time she had been captive. Was she unharmed? Had she
been tortured? Raped? The thoughts flayed into him like diamond-tipped whips,
his eyes growing opaque with iciness, and his mouth thinning until it was only
a narrow slash across his hard face.

Onward
they raced through the moonlit night until at last the need for caution and the
desire not to stumble across the sleeping Spaniards as they camped slowed their
breakneck speed and gave their foam-lathered horses a chance to regain some of
the stamina needed to accomplish whatever lay before them. As it grew later,
the quietness of the night was broken only by the hoot of an owl or the cough
of the hunting cougar. More slowly now, the horses moved through the forest,
their hoofbeats muffled by the deep, centuries-old piling of decayed leaves
and pine needles.

Jason's
uneasy thoughts were bedeviled by worry for Catherine. Would she be able to
last through the punishing pace Davalos was now setting? The child she carried
within her slim body—what of it? And most of all, what was she thinking? And
how frightened was she? Too frightened to think clearly? Too frightened to be
of any help to himself and Blood Drinker?

Jason
needn't have worried about Catherine being frightened, for even after four
days of Davalos's brutal behavior, she was still almost livid with rage: rage
at Jason for not stating why she shouldn't have gone riding that morning, rage
at herself for once again blindly leaping into folly, and pure, murderous fury
at Davalos! If ever she hated, she hated that slender, thin-lipped Spaniard!
Her body ached from his abuse, but so filled was she with undiluted venom that
she was indifferent, numb to whatever he did to her.

Fright
was not one of the emotions that coursed through her body, not even in those
first horrifying moments when Davalos and his troop had swooped down so
purposefully on her in the glen. She had been too busy lighting like some
untamed, wildly clawing animal to be frightened, and in spite of being
overpowered—for she was just one slim woman against many men—she managed to
nearly claw one man's eye out, while another lost a portion of his cheek to her
neat, white teeth and still another would have pain for some days between his
legs where the sharp tip of her riding boot had unerringly struck. And when
Packy in a desperate attempt to save her had exploded from the woods, his gun
blazing, she hadn't been frightened but only terrified that the boy would come
to grief, as he had when Davalos leveled a careful shot in his direction. Her
eyes wide with horror, Catherine had watched powerless as Packy slumped in the
saddle and then slid slowly to the ground, the widening patch of blood very red
against the faded blue of his shirt.

With
Catherine clamped across his saddlebow, Davalos and his troop had wheeled and
sought the safety of the woods, dragging her riderless horse behind them as
they galloped away to hide and lie in ambush only a few miles from the violent
scene of her abduction. A dirty gag hastily thrust between her lips
effectively halted any warning she could have given, and the ropes that
tightly bound her hands behind her back made escape impossible. But still, she
thrashed furiously like a maddened, trapped animal until Davalos had struck
her across the temple with his pistol, and mercifully the blackness of
unconsciousness had burst in her head.

When
she awoke, it was dark, and she discovered herself tied like a sack of grain
across the back of a horse. Her head ached like thunder, and with every step
the horse took, the throbbing pain in her brain seemed to reverberate through
her entire body. Even then she wasn't frightened, only incredulous that such a
thing had happened, and filled suddenly with sick worry about Jason and what
he would do.

When
the full enormity of her predicament blasted through the pain-washed waves of
returning consciousness, she very nearly gave in to a feeling of defeat. What
did it matter what happened to her? She had nothing to live for now, and
certainly, if Jason was captured or killed because of her, the burden of guilt
that his death would bring would crush her like an ant beneath a boulder.
Dully, she stared at the passing ground, her body swaying in motion with the
horse, but then, insidiously, - like a snake sliding from beneath a rock, the
thoughts came: Are you so weak to give in without a struggle? What of your son,
Nicholas? Can you bear the knowledge that he will grow to manhood, raised by
strangers and never knowing a mother's love? What of the child that grows
within you now, will you let it die with you? Like the blade of a sword, the
thoughts cut savagely through the uncaring lethargy that threatened to sap her
will to fight, and unable to stop them, the thoughts slid on. And Jason, will
you concede to him the final victory? Allow him to be so easily freed of a
marriage that has irked him since its inception? The dullness vanished from the
violet eyes, and the spark that made them glow almost incandescently would have
given another man pause, as would the set jaw of the finely boned face.

Davalos
had only a few meetings with Catherine on which to base his opinion of her, and
on those occasions she had been trying to be a model of decorum; but like a
fool, he had overlooked the signs that should have warned him that here was no
frightened, whimpering, gently reared lady to be cowed by the shocking events
of the day. She possessed a steely determination that Davalos had overlooked.

Also,
he did not know her history and that she
had learned
things from gypsies that were never forgotten, nor more importantly, that she
carried, hidden on her body, the small, razor-honed knife. It never occurred to
him to search her for a concealed weapon. Yet, he did know that Jason's wife
was unlike any woman of his acquaintance, and suspiciously he eyed her as they
made camp that first evening.

Releasing
the gag and expecting tears and possible hysterics, he was totally unprepared
for Catherine's cool, almost contemptuous, "What a bloody fool you are! I
hope you have enjoyed your life so far because no matter what you do to
me
Jason will kill you just as soon as he overtakes
us."

Smiling
almost kindly at his astonishment, she added, "If I were you, I'd leave me
here and put as much distance between yourself and my husband as possible.
He's very hot-tempered, you know, and I don't think he's going to think very
kindly of what you have done. He'll kill you!"