Gypsy Lady (59 page)

When
the door closed behind him, Catherine ran to the window and stood staring
outside into the moonlit clearing. Her heart sank as she saw several soldiers
making the rounds, and when one detached himself and stood solidly in front of
her, grinning at her in the darkness, she stepped away, back into the
concealing gloom of the room. Biting her lip undecidedly, she sank down on the
blanket, one part of her recklessly wanting to risk an escape at any cost—even
that of offering herself to the guard— while a cooler, saner part of her brain
whispered. "Wait! You have no margin for error. There will be only
one
chance." And so, fitfully, her body aching and
soiled, she spent the night tossing restlessly on the floor, unable to sleep,
yet too exhausted to stay awake.

But
again, fear was not an emotion she felt. On the contrary, the rape perpetrated
on her unwilling body by Davalos filled her with cold fury—a kind of burning
fury that she had never before experienced. Not even immediately after Jason's
first brutal taking had she been so enraged. And she took grim enjoyment from
the fact that by being already with child, she had thwarted Davalos before he'd
had a chance to carry out his threat. Maliciously she smiled to herself—how
she would like to throw that knowledge in his face! But caution and the need to
protect the unborn child prevented her from making any outburst, and she was
thankful her body as yet betrayed no signs of the life that grew within it. She
was worried about the child though, and it was concern for the harm Davalos
could do to it that made her less inclined to taunt him to violence. And while
the last three days had been extremely unpleasant to say the least, she didn't
think any damage had been done. But uneasiness for the future fed ravenously at
the back of her mind, and she knew she had to escape.

She
must
escape! She faced the thought squarely and knew
she must do it soon. Every mile, every day took her deeper into unfamiliar
territory, and she could not delay much longer. There had been no opportunity
so far, but she couldn't afford to wait. Getting up, she went to the window
again. But even as she stood there undecided, she saw two of the soldiers meet
near a shed and then separate, one checking the main building, stopping for a
minute to talk with the guard that stood out of her range of sight by her
window, and the other patrolling where the horses were stabled. Her roped hand
clenched into a fist, and black frustration nearly drove her to smash it into
the wall. But then controlling herself, she sought out the blanket. Leaning
against one wall, she sat on the floor, the blanket spread over her lap.

So,
she told herself, you cannot do it tonight. But tomorrow night, no matter what
conditions exist, you
shall
free
yourself. And she sent up a silent prayer that Davalos would not touch her
again, for if he did, nothing would stop her from stabbing him with her knife!

Her
flesh crawled when she remembered those disgusting moments of his possession,
and she was unable to control the violent retching that shook her body at the
memory. The spasm passed, and she spent the few hours until dawn sitting like a
white statue staring blindly at the wooden door.

They
were up and ready to leave by dawn, Catherine being compelled to watch as
Davalos, taking vicious amusement in the task, deliberately killed the gray
thoroughbred, the horse's dying scream of agony as the knife bit deep seeming
to afford him a great deal of pleasure. Catherine was sickened again. Smiling
into her stony face, Davalos murmured, "Just a little warning for your husband."
And unable to prevent herself, she spat directly into his grinning face.

It
cost
her another
bloody lip, but Davalo's smile was
gone, his face dark with fury. Contemptuously she jeered, "Behold the
brave killer of defenseless animals and see how valiant he is against a helpless
woman."

Muttering
a curse he tossed her up onto his horse and mounted swiftly behind her. As they
rode off, she couldn't help taunting, "Your gesture will cost you dear,
Davalos. With the horse alive you could have traveled faster but now. . . ."
She let the words trail off suggestively.

Enraged
he hissed in her ear, "Silence, bitch! You will drive me to tear out your
tongue."

But
Catherine only laughed scornfully and retorted, "I don't fear you! You
gained nothing by the slaughter of the horse." Gleefully, she added,
"We shall lose time today, I think."

Her
words proved true, for they were not able to cover as many miles as before, and
her hopes expanded when after they had settled for the night her hands were
left tied in front of her. Davalos seemed to be growing more carelessly
confident each mile they took, and that night he made a disastrous error by
letting Catherine sleep just beyond the light of a small fire and partially
concealed in the shadow of a large boulder. Her violet eyes gleaming, she
watched the fire sink lower until her body was in complete, unrevealing
blackness. Except for one dozing guard who sat propped against a tree, the
others lay on the far side of the fire, asleep.

Quickly
she found the knife and effortlessly sliced through the rawhide that bound her
hands and feet. Then taking great care to make little noise, she bunched the
blanket
as best she could to resemble a sleeping body. A second glance would have shown
it for what it was, but hopefully by the time anyone grew curious, she would be
many miles away. The knife held tightly in her hand, she ducked behind the
boulder, her heart thudding against her ribs with terrified excitement. Again,
she surveyed the sleeping encampment, and her mouth grew dry as the guard
blinked and cast a blurry eye around the quiet camp.

The unsaddled horses were
tied in two rows to a length of rope stretched between the trees.
Unfortunately, one of those trees was the one the guard had chosen to rest
against. For the first time, the taste of fear was in her mouth as stealthily
she stalked her unwary prey. To kill a man was an awesome thing, but to do it
in cold blood, to noiselessly creep behind him and drive the knife lightning
quick and deathly deep and deadly silent into the unprotected throat, was even
more monstrous than she imagined—yet
she did it!

The man gave only a
startled grunt before he died, and her chin trembling with revulsion, she
prevented the body from slumping to the ground, letting only the head slip
forward as if he slept. Grimly she made certain that he stayed propped against
the tree. In a manner reminiscent of her husband, she glanced distastefully at
the corpse and wiped the bloodstained blade carefully on the dead man's
clothes. For a long moment, her narrow-eyed gaze sought out Davalos's sleeping
form, and the sudden feral light that blazed in her eyes was frightening in its
intensity. But then she realized there was too much risk involved, and
regretfully she slipped over to the horses.

The horses moved restlessly
as she approached, perhaps smelling the blood, and swiftly she selected a deep-
chested, clean limbed gelding from the second row. Carefully she unhitched the
animal,
and moving cautiously, her heart in her throat
and her legs quivering like jelly, she led the horse away from the camp.

The need for haste was like
a four-fanged devil on her back, but she willed herself to walk slowly,
noiselessly guiding the animal in a wide arc out and away from the sleeping
Spaniards. It was some minutes of nerve-racking, cautious stepping before she
felt safe enough to risk mounting the horse. Then with quicksilver grace and
speed,
she leaped upon the horse, her legs gripping tightly around the animal's middle
..
With Catherine's sudden weight upon its back
,,
the gelding snorted and danced for an instant while
Catherine's blood drummed through her tense body and she strained to hear if
the camp had been awakened. But there was no sound from the direction of the
camp, and now more confidently she urged the horse towards the trail that she
knew lay directly to her left.

Once
more, she was grateful for the gypsy years, for the knowledge she had of
following signs, and most importantly for the self-reliance those years had
taught her, She- was now alone in a hostile wilderness, her only weapon a knife
and her only advantage the gelding she rode, but she was unafraid.

She
found the trail easily enough, but again the need for caution made her keep the
horse at a slow, quiet walk. Finally, about a mile down the path, Catherine
decided she was far enough away to risk kicking the horse into a run.

Any
other time, she would have enjoyed this wild ride through the moonlit night as
the horse flew down the trail that lay like a twisted silver ribbon, between
sweet smelling pines. But tonight, there was the knowledge that behind her lay
degradation, danger, and possible death
,.

The
shadows from the towering trees fell in black, eerie shapes across her path,
and Catherine sent up a silent prayer of thankfulness for the bright moonlight
that enabled her to urge the horse to an even faster pace. She bad to put' as
many miles between herself and Davalos as possible, yet she had to conserve her
own strength as well as her horse's energy
..
She
couldn't afford to stop until she reached Terre du Coeur, and so she alternated
the
gelding''.?
speed
,
holding him to a brisk walk, then urging the animal into a distance-eating
gallop,, and then slowing him to a walk again before he tired.

She
had been traveling steadily for almost two hoots, unerringly picking out the
signs she had committed to memory to guide her back—there, the huge, dead pine
snag rising blackly stark above the forest; and there,
the
 
small
, winding creek that cut across
the clearly discernible trail followed by the Spanish—when suddenly she became
aware that she was not alone.

At
first, she hadn't heard the sound of pursuit above her own horse's hoofbeats,
but then slowing the gelding, she instantly became aware of the ominous tattoo
of sound behind her. Throwing one frustrated glance of fury over her shoulder,
her face illuminated by the moon, she dug her heels into the horse and
compelled the animal into a neck-breaking burst of speed. Down the trail they
sped, and by the tingle of awareness that shot along her spine, she knew the
pursuers were gaining; but still she kicked her horse to an even more reckless
pace. Suddenly, without warning, as they came around a bend in the trail,
Catherine went flying from her horse as the animal ran full tilt into a
half-rotted log that lay across the trail. Both woman and horse were thrown,
the gelding skinning his knees and lower jaw on the rough ground, while
Catherine landed with a sickening thud a few feet beyond the horse.

She
had a moment of consciousness as a tearing pain ripped deep in her belly before
the red light burst in her brain, and her last coherent thought was, "Oh,
my God— I'm losing my baby!"

Waking was agony, and even
as she swam up through layers of pain-filled awareness, she knew the unborn
child was no more. Nearly defeated by that knowledge, she lay for several
seconds of semi-wakefulness, her gaze unfocused, her mind uncomprehending of
anything but her terrible sense of loss
,.
Vaguely she
realized someone was holding her in his arms, and like an animal alert to
danger, she stiffened and blindly struck out at the arms that, if she only
knew, held her so gently. But she was held powerless against a familiar, hard
body, and at first the muffled words were unclear.

Then
like a bolt of lightning Jason's words made sense. "Shush, kitten. Keep
still,
amour.
You've hurt yourself,
sweetheart. Don't struggle so,
please,
love!"

The
unaccustomed endearments caused her to blink unbelievingly, and dumbly she
stared up at the lean face inches from her own.
"Jason?"

The
blank astonishment in that one word made him smile crookedly at a time when he
had never felt less like laughter. His lips brushing her forehead, he muttered,
"Yes, little spitfire. It's your hateful husband, but you're safe now. I
have you, and you have nothing
to
fear
from Davalos."

"Not
hateful
,
"
she
murmured, and like a tired child, one who has borne too much, she buried her
head against his chest and quite effortlessly fainted.

Jason
felt her slump, and for a terrifying second a fearful feeling of utter
helplessness swept over him. But then the soft, even breathing relieved his
mind of its greatest terror, and gently he laid her on the blanket Blood
Drinker had hastily
unpacked and thrown on the ground. Wrapping the slender form, Jason said dully,
"She must have lost the baby, and she's losing blood. I have to get her
somewhere fast where she can be safe and undisturbed. She can't be moved too
far or she may hemorrhage to death." Bleakly he added the words that were
obvious to both men, "She may, anyway."

Silently, Blood Drinker
looked slowly from Catherine's white face to Jason's carefully unemotional one.
On the point of speaking, he was halted as Jason said grimly, "There's a
hunting cabin a few miles from here. It's not much, but it's shelter not easy
to find. Davalos certainly won't find it, and I can make her fairly comfortable
there. Once we're settled at the cabin, I want you to return to Terre du Coeur
and as fast as possible bring back enough men to give Davalos a distaste for
further intimacy with us."

Blood Drinker frowned, and
Jason, anticipating the argument he knew would come, forestalled him by saying
briskly, "Don't worry about Catherine and me. The cabin is hidden in a
small valley well off any known trail. I built it one winter when I decided to
try my hand at trapping, and it's not easily found even if Davalos is lucky
enough to blunder up the valley. We'll be safe."

A noncommittal glance was
Jason's answer, and without further words between them, they gathered their
horses and mounted. With Catherine's body cradled next
to
his, Jason led the way
through the forest. Blood Drinker followed more slowly, destroying all signs of
their passage and covering their trail as they rode to the long-fingered,
narrow valley Jason spoke of. It was truly a hidden valley, for even knowing
where it was and in spite of the spreading light of dawn, Jason very nearly
missed the opening himself. The sloping terrain and the thick forest blended so
perfectly that there was no clue that the valley existed, and Blood Drinker
grunted with satisfaction as his eyes swept assessingly over the area.

The place Jason had taken
them looked like a tree- studded, shallow ravine with a small, clear stream
running through the center of the secret valley. The stream itself originated
from a crystal blue lake at the north end of the valley, and it was
there,
concealed among the trees, that Jason had built a
one-room, rough-hewn cabin that overlooked the lake. Even if the cabin was
crudely made, it was shelter; but while the days were still fairly warm, the
nip and chill of autumn was in the air, and the nights were growing
increasingly cooler.

It was broad daylight
before they had finished unpacking. While Blood Drinker had seen to the
unsaddling of the horses and then turning them loose into a small, wooden-pole
corral behind the cabin, Jason had quickly and efficiently put the cabin to
rights. When Catherine regained consciousness a second time, she found herself
comfortably ensconced in a neat, wooden bunk attached to one wall of the cabin.

She raised her head, and
her gaze moved curiously around the room, noting the small stone fireplace,
more a hole in the wall than a fireplace and, against the wall opposite her,
the two sturdy pine chairs and a tiny table. At the moment, the window above
the table was thrown open, the thick wooden shutters lashed back against the
wall, but regardless of the bright beams of sunlight and the cool, fresh air
that drifted through the room, there was still the unmistakable dampness and
the faint, musty odor of a building long-unused.

Exhaustedly, Catherine let
her head fall back against a rather lumpy pillow. Closing her eyes she weakly
called Jason's name. He couldn't possibly have heard her low call, but as if
sensing she was awake, an instant later he opened the stout door and walked
swiftly over to her bed.

He wore the dress of a
backwoodsman, the fringed buckskin pants and shirt. His moccasined feet made no
sound as he approached Catherine's side. Her eyes had flown open at the sound
of the opening door, and with a queer mixture of love and disillusionment, she
stared up at Jason, never guessing that having hidden his emotions for so long,
it was habit that made his face blank and his green eyes remote. Nonetheless,
he couldn't disguise the faint note of concern in his voice when he asked
casually, "Feeling better?"

She nodded slowly, her eyes
clinging to his, not aware of how darkly purple they seemed against the
whiteness of her skin nor how obvious were the signs of strain about the soft,
pale lips.

"I lost the child,
didn't I?" she asked unnecessarily, and Jason nodded, saying gently,
"it doesn't matter, kitten. We'll have others, and all that really
matters now is
that you're all right."

"We
won't, you know," she persisted, driven to make things clear.

Puzzled,
he frowned slightly. "Won't what?"

"Have
any more children."

He
smiled reassuringly and soothed, "Don't worry about that.
Time enough to cross that bridge when we come to it."

Depleted,
she hadn't the will to continue, yet at the same time, illogical though it was,
it seemed the most important thing in the world that he know she would not
submit again to his body's demands; and doggedly she muttered, "I don't
want you to give me another child."

Jason's
indulgent, half-tender expression vanished, and his mouth tightened.
Noncommittally he said, "We'll talk about it later. Right now, you just
rest and get well."

Worn
out and weakened by the loss of blood, she pathetically turned her face to the
wall and shut her eyes, unable to continue the argument. Jason stared at the
closed, weary face, his eyes dwelling on the mauve shadows beneath the lowered
lids that told more clearly than words how very close to depletion of reserves
she was. He had never felt so helpless in his life, and there was nothing he
could do except hope that rest and his own inexperienced care would hasten the
healing of her body. He was even denied the release of some of the cold, coiled
hate that sat like a viper on his chest, for until Catherine was safe, taking
revenge on Davalos had to be forgotten. But he promised himself silently that
as soon as Catherine was out of danger and returned to Terre du Coeur, he and
Blood Drinker would find Davalos and this time—this time—there would be no
mercy, no second chance for Davalos!

Blood
Drinker's entrance broke into his savage thoughts, and turning from Catherine,
Jason joined him, both men sitting Indian fashion on the floor near the fireplace.
Glancing from one lean, dark face to the other, in that moment it would have
been difficult to choose which was the savage and which the gentleman. Both
were dressed identically, their features similar. Both had the same high
cheekbones and straight, slightly haughty noses, but there was no relation
between them, unless one counted the summer years ago when they had solemnly
cut their wrists and let their blood mingle, vowing to always remain blood
brothers.

Green eyes stared into
inscrutable black ones, and after a minute Jason said, "You're not going
back to Terre du Coeur, are you?" It was more a statement than a question,
and gravely Blood Drinker shook his head.

His voice full and
melodious, he said, "It grieves me, brother, to disobey your wishes, but
the Spaniard is a hidden snake armed with fangs of poison
who
must be destroyed. Even as we sit here, he is coiling and preparing to strike
again."

"God,
damn it!
I know that! I intend to go after him, but my wife must be safe first!"
Jason's frustration was obvious in his low, angry words.

Blood Drinker nodded
slowly. "What you say is true. And I would not deny you the vengeance your
blood calls for—yet you are hampered by the bond to the woman. While we wait,
the snake can hide himself and to find him again will be no easy task."

Bleakly, Jason eyed him.
"You intend
to go
after him— alone." Again it was a
statement, not a question.

For the first time in days
there was a glimmer of amusement in the Indian's black eyes.

"Would you, my
brother, do less for me?" Blood Drinker asked quietly, and an unwilling
glint of answering amusement entered Jason's green eyes.

No, Jason wouldn't do less.
If their positions had been reversed, he would do exactly as Blood Drinker
planned to do. His main objections to Blood Drinker's decision were that he,
himself, badly, very badly, wanted to do the killing of Davalos, and the
unvoiced anxiety that Davalos would somehow be able to harm Blood Drinker. The
thought of his oldest friend being killed while doing something he, himself,
should do and
ached
to do, left the bitter taste of acid in his
mouth. He glanced at Catherine lying so still and pale in the bunk, and the
compelling need to kill Davalos was so strong that for one tiny instant he
actually considered leaving her here and going after Davalos with Blood
Drinker. Yet, even as he thought it, he knew he could not and would not.

Realizing he could not sway
Blood Drinker from his chosen scheme and resigned if not satisfied, Jason said,
"I can't stop you, but it's going to be dangerous—very dangerous. He'll
be expecting us to do something, and your task will be the harder because of
it."

Shrugging carelessly, Blood
Drinker retorted, "The dan
ger only adds to the
pleasure of success." Then suddenly the black eyes became fixed at a point
behind Jason's left shoulder, and turning his head around in that direction, he
discovered that Catherine had again awakened.

She
was propped up on one elbow, her loosened, tangled black hair hanging over one
shoulder, and her eyes were locked painfully with the Cherokee's. Jason,
watching the pair of them closely, felt as if some silent message was being
passed—as if Blood Drinker had guessed something that he had not.

Her
eyes fever bright, Catherine stared mesmerized at Blood Drinker's impassive
face, astonished by the sure knowledge—without a word being spoken, without one
hint given—that the Indian
knew
exactly what had been done to her! An imperceptible nod confirmed her wild
surmise, and through clenched teeth she hissed, "Kill Davalos, Blood
Drinker! Kill him for
me!"

Cast
in the role of unwilling spectator, Jason, his eyes narrowed and hard, said
dryly, "It appears I'm outvoted. At least we
all
agree. Davalos is to die."

Catherine
shut her eyes and sank back weakly into the bunk, and quickly Jason stood up
and strode to her side. Gently he brushed her hair from her white forehead and
murmured teasingly, "What a bloodthirsty little wench you are. You should
be resting and not eavesdropping on our conversation. Such things are not for
your delicate ears."

The
violet eyes flew open at his words, and with a touch of returning spirit she
flashed, "If you don't want me to overhear you, pick another place—other
than my bedroom."

After
a caressing flick of one long finger against her cheek, Jason walked back to
Blood Drinker, and together the men left the cabin. Watching the door shut behind
them, Catherine muttered with a spurt of annoyance, "Well! They didn't
have to take me literally."