LaceysWay (11 page)

Kellog opened a cell door and gestured for Matt to step
inside. The soldier grinned impudently. It was easy to see that his prisoner
had done time before. It showed in the rueful expression on his face, and in
the wary hesitation of his stance.

With an exaggerated sigh of resignation, Matt took a step
forward as if to enter the cell. Abruptly he pivoted on his heel and slammed
his fist into Kellog’s face. The private, caught completely off guard, crumpled
to the floor without a sound.

Cussing softly, Matt scooped up the trooper’s rifle and
casually stepped outside, shutting the door behind him.

Corporal Amos Canary did a double take as Matt Drago stepped
out of the guardhouse. Belatedly he reached for his sidearm.

“I wouldn’t,” Matt warned, the rifle aimed at the corporal’s
midsection.

Canary froze. A fine sheen of sweat beaded across his brow
as he waited for the prisoner to squeeze the trigger.

“Smart boy,” Matt said quietly. “Give me your kerchief and
turn around.”

“Are you gonna kill me?” the corporal asked, his voice
quivering with fear.

“That’s up to you,” Matt snapped, and as the frightened
young soldier turned around, Matt tapped him lightly on the back of the head
with the butt of the rifle. Amos Canary slumped to the ground with a dull thud,
and Matt quickly tied the boy’s hands behind his back with the kerchief,
checked his pulse, and then drifted into the shadows.

He had to find Lacey, and they had to get the hell out of
Camp Verde. Fast. On silent feet, he padded toward the captain’s quarters.

Lacey sat on the edge of the bed in the Slaters’ spare
bedroom, sobbing uncontrollably. What had been the happiest night of her life
had quickly become the worst. She smoothed a wrinkle from the skirt of her
bridal gown, then let out a long, shuddering sigh as a fresh flood of tears spilled
down her cheeks. It was so awful! Only a short time ago she had been so happy,
and now Matt was locked in the guardhouse, waiting for some­one from Yuma to
arrive and escort him to prison. She would never find her father now, never
live with Matt as his wife. Never bear his children. A wave of self-pity washed
over her as she railed at the cruel hand of fate that had given her a glimpse
of happiness and then snatched it from her grasp.

The sound of someone or something tapping at the window
interrupted her tears. Lifting her head, Lacey glanced apprehensively toward
the window. A radiant smile lit her face as she recognized Matt peering through
the glass. Jumping from the bed, she flew to the window and raised the latch.
“Matt!”

“Come on, we’ve got to get out of here, right now!”

Lacey didn’t waste time arguing. Lifting her skirts, she
climbed over the windowsill and into Matt’s waiting arms.

Matt swore softly as he placed Lacey on her feet.

“What is it?” she whispered anxiously, her eyes searching the
darkness. Had they been discovered already?

“That dress.”

Lacey glanced down at her wedding gown, now sadly rumpled.
“What’s wrong with it?”

“It stands out like a beacon in a lighthouse. You’ve got to
get rid of it.”

“But I don’t have anything else to wear. Mrs. Slater sent my
clothes out to be pressed.”

“You can wear my shirt. That dress has got to go.”

With a sigh of resignation, Lacey began to unfasten the long
row of tiny pearl buttons that ran down the back of her borrowed gown. She had
difficulty with some of them, and Matt brushed her hands away and deftly
unfastened the last few loops so Lacey could step out of the dress.

“Get rid of those petticoats, too,” Matt said.

With a nod, she unfastened the tapes of the petticoats and
let them fall around her ankles. An eager light danced in Matt’s eyes as he
gazed at Lacey. Her hair had come loose and fell in glorious disarray around
her shoulders. Her chemise left little to the imagination, and he was sorely
tempted to carry her back into the bedroom and make her his wife in a manner
far more binding than a few words on a piece of paper. But there was no time
for that. Not now.

“Here.” He handed her his shirt, watched as she pulled it
on. It covered her from her neck to mid-thigh.

“Let’s go,” he said urgently, and taking her by the hand, he
led her toward the barn where their horses were stabled.

“Wait here,” he directed. Leaving Lacey standing in the
shadows, he ghosted into the dusky barn, his eyes darting warily from right to
left. There was no sign of a guard, and he let out a small sigh of relief as he
began to saddle their horses.

Just let our luck hold
, he prayed silently, and led
the horses out of the barn. A quick boost put Lacey onto Cinder’s back. Then,
still on foot, Matt led the horses toward the rear of the fort, giving silent
thanks to the powers that be that Camp Verde was not a walled fort.

Slowly, silently, they made their way into the darkness
beyond the camp. Only then did Matt swing into the saddle. They had just urged
their horses into an easy trot when a bugle began to blow.

“Damn!” Matt exclaimed. “It didn’t take them long to
discover we’ve gone. Come on, Lacey, let’s ride!”

Lacey nodded as she urged her horse after Matt’s. It was
scary, riding through the black night, unable to see more than a few feet
ahead. A low shrub, a prairie dog hole, a sudden dip in the terrain, all could
spell sudden disaster when you were riding hell for leather through the dark.

The wind whipped Lacey’s hair into her face and stung her
cheeks and bare legs, but the fear that they might be caught spurred her on.
She could not bear to think of Matt confined behind iron bars, could not
imagine life without him.

They rode hard for over an hour, pushing their horses as
much as they dared. Lacey’s legs were numb with cold, her thighs chafed from
rubbing against saddle leather, but she rode stoically on, her eyes fixed on
Matt’s bare back. They had to get away, and she knew she would endure any
discomfort necessary to insure Matt’s freedom.

The sky was turning to pale gray when Matt reined his
lathered gelding to a halt. Lacey’s mare slid to a stop beside him, and Matt
saw that Lacey was slumped over the mare’s neck, one hand wrapped in the
horse’s mane, the other fisted around the reins. Her eyes were closed.

“Lacey?”

Her eyes fluttered open. “I’m awake,” she murmured. “Let’s
keep going.”

Matt grinned wryly as he slid to the ground and lifted Lacey
into his arms. Her head fell against his shoulder, and he saw that her eyes
were closed again.

“Go to sleep, honey,” he said softly.

Lacey’s eyes flew open. “No, Matt. Let’s keep going. I’m not
tired.”

“Lacey, take it easy,” Matt chided gently. “The horses are
tired, even if you aren’t.”

Lacey nodded. With a sigh, she snuggled against him and he
saw that she was sound asleep. For a moment he held her in his arms, not
wanting to let her go, not even for a minute. Then, with a weary sigh, he
placed her on a patch of dry grass and began to unsaddle their horses. Hobbling
them nearby, he spread Lacey’s bedroll on the ground, then carried her to the
blankets and put her to bed. Curling up beside her, he covered them with his
blankets.

In minutes he, too, was sound asleep.

Chapter Seven

She was drifting on a cloud, safe and serene, all her
troubles behind her. Turning, she smiled at Matt and he took her in his arms
and kissed her. His lips were warm, coaxing, his hands gentle as they moved
slowly over her flesh. Gradually Lacey came awake, to realize that she was not
dreaming at all.

Opening her eyes, she saw Matt beside her. He was propped up
on one elbow, his free hand lightly massaging her stomach. He smiled at her, a
lazy smile, and then he lowered his head and claimed her lips in a long and
hungry kiss.

Warmth. Waves and waves of delicious warmth engulfed Lacey’s
body as Matt’s mouth moved over hers. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she
kissed him back, her lips parting at the touch of his tongue.

She was breathing heavily when Matt took his mouth from
hers.

“Good morning, Mrs. Drago,” he whispered huskily.

Lacey smiled happily. “Good morning, Mr. Drago.”

Matt bent to nibble her earlobe. “We’ve been married one
whole day,” he murmured, his breath warm against her neck, “and we’ve not yet
had a honeymoon.”

“I know,” Lacey said. The words came out in a breathy
whisper. It was hard to think, hard to speak, when Matt was holding her close,
his lips trailing kisses along her neck.

“Lacey…”

“Do we have time?” she asked, blushing a little. “The
soldiers…”

“To hell with the soldiers,” Matt rasped. “I want you now.”

Lacey nodded shyly. She had never expected Matt to make love
to her outside, in broad daylight.

The rising sun fell in muted shades of gold over Lacey’s
skin as Matt slowly unbuttoned her shirt and slid it over her shoulders. Her
chemise came next, and then she was gloriously naked. She was his, he thought
possessively, all his. Lawfully, legally his. Her skin was fair, faintly
flushed under his approving gaze. Her hair was like a red-gold cloud, her lips
as pink and velvety as a wild rose.

Lacey watched from beneath the veil of her lashes as Matt
began to remove his trousers. He was beautiful, she thought, grinning, and
wondered what he would think if she told him such a thing, for beautiful was
what he was.

She went willingly into his arms, her face lifting for his
kiss, her body molding itself to his as though they had made love a thousand
times before. His skin was warm and firm against hers, the muscles in his back
and arms taut beneath her questing fingertips. They kissed for a long,
breathless time, hands eagerly exploring. Lacey gave a little gasp as she felt
the very visible proof of Matt’s growing desire. Strange, to think she could
arouse him to such heights, she who had never known a man before Matt came into
her life. It gave her a feeling of power to know she could make him tremble
with desire, make his dark eyes blaze with passion, cause his lips to murmur
love words as he was murmuring them now.

She basked in the love shining in his eyes, in the husky
sound of his voice as he praised her beauty, in the touch of his breath upon
her face. She was on fire for him when, at last, he possessed her. She reveled
in his touch, in the complete sense of satisfaction that came when her body was
joined with his. She forgot everything then, everything but the press of his
flesh against hers, the sweet sense of wonder that swept them into a world of
their own. He was hers, this wonderful man who knew her body so intimately. Her
man. Her husband. Hers forever…

Later, sated and content, she was on the verge of sleep when
Matt’s low-voiced curse sounded in her ear.

“What is it?” Lacey asked, alarmed.

“Don’t move,” Matt warned. “There are about thirty Indians
watching us.”

“Watching us?” Lacey squeaked.

“Yeah.” Very slowly, Matt stood up, and as he did so he
dropped his shirt over Lacey, covering her from her neck to mid-thigh.

He let out a long breath. For a fleeting moment, he thought
of diving for his gun, but he knew such a move would be suicide and so he just
stood there, waiting, his hands clenched in impotent fury at his sides.

The Indians snickered among themselves as they glanced from
Matt to Lacey. It was easy to see what the white man had been doing only
moments earlier.

Three of the warriors slid to the ground. Wordlessly they
grabbed Matt’s arms and tied his hands behind his back. That done, they moved
toward Lacey.

She cowered on the ground as the Indians approached her.
Dear God, what did they want from her? She threw a pleading glance in Matt’s
direction, but there was nothing he could do to help her now. One of the
warriors indicated she should get dressed, and she did so as quickly as
possible, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment as thirty pairs of eyes watched
her slip into Matt’s shirt.

Ten minutes later Matt and Lacey were mounted on their
horses. Lacey’s hands had been tied behind her back, her feet tied to the
stirrups of her saddle. Matt was similarly bound. The Indians had not seen fit
to let him dress, however, and they laughed and made obscene gestures in his
direction as they rode along.

“Matt, what’s going to happen to us?” Lacey asked in a
hushed tone.

“Nothing good, I’ll wager,” Matt replied, then grunted as
the warrior riding beside him struck him across the face.

“No talk,” the Indian warned.

They rode until nightfall, then the Indians made camp in a
gentle swale. Lacey was lifted from her horse and tied to a tree. She watched
apprehensively as the Indians dragged Matt from his horse, then surrounded him,
their eyes alight with mischief. One by one, the warriors struck the naked
white man with the palms of their hands, and when that failed to evoke a
response, they began to hit him with their knotted fists, and then with sticks,
until Matt’s body was covered with angry red welts.

Tears welled in Lacey’s eyes as she watched the Indians
abuse her husband. Why were they being so cruel? What was going to happen to
Matt? Would they kill him? And what would they do with her?

Matt was breathing heavily as he faced the warriors, his
teeth clenched, his eyes defiant. His whole body ached from the numerous blows
he had received, but he never uttered a sound of pain or protest, knowing that
the Indians would consider it a sign of weakness and would torment him even
more just to watch him squirm.

When the warriors realized the white man was not going to
whine or beg for mercy, they tired of the game. Tying him to a tree, they left
him alone and went about the business of preparing a meal and lighting a fire
to turn away the chill of the night. Matt sank wearily to the ground. What had
they gotten themselves into?

He looked over at Lacey and gave her a smile, hoping to
reassure her. She looked so scared, so pale. He tested his bonds, hoping he
might be able to slip his hands free, but the ropes were securely tied, and
struggling only caused him pain.

Lacey tried to return Matt’s smile, but she failed
miserably. She was too frightened to put up a brave front, too fearful of what
the future held. Her gaze darted to the Indians, but the warriors seemed to
have forgotten about their prisoners and were gathered around the campfire, gnawing
on jerky and dried venison. No food was offered to Matt or Lacey, and when the
Indians finished eating, they bedded down for the night, leaving two warriors
to stand guard.

Lacey was so frightened, she was certain she would never be
able to sleep, but soon her eyelids grew heavy and she dozed off, her dreams
dark and troubled.

When she awoke, it was dawn and the Indians were breaking
camp. Matt was jerked to his feet and thrust onto the back of his horse, and
soon Lacey was mounted on Cinder, her hands and feet tied as they had been the
day before.

They rode all that day, and the next, and at last they came
to a narrow chasm that led into a large canyon. Ordinarily Lacey would have
gasped with pleasure at the beauty of the canyon, for it was filled with
towering trees, grass, and wildflowers. A stream gurgled merrily some yards to
her left, emptying into a small lake that was as blue as the sky above. But she
had eyes only for the numerous Indian lodges clustered between the sheer canyon
walls.

She felt her blood run cold as a multitude of Indian women
and children came running toward them, and there was much shouting and laughter
as the warriors dismounted, hugging their women and children. After the first
brief burst of excitement, the men began to unload the pack horses, doling out
blankets and clothing and foodstuffs that had obviously been taken in several
raids.

The Indian women laughed scornfully when they saw Matt,
naked and helpless. Some spat at him, a few smacked him with their open palms,
cursing him loudly in their native tongue.

One warrior, taller than the others, dropped a rope around
Matt’s neck and led him away. Lacey stared after her husband until he was out
of sight. Fear for Matt was soon swallowed up in fear for her own life as a
short, stocky warrior dragged her off Cinder’s back and forced her to follow
him into one of the crude brush-covered huts.

A plump Indian woman was nursing a child inside the lodge.
She smiled at the man as he entered, then frowned when she saw the white woman.

The warrior pointed at the squaw. “My woman,” he said to
Lacey in stilted English. “You will do whatever she says.”

Lacey nodded, too scared to reply. So that was to be her
fate, she thought bitterly. She was going to be a slave.

The Indian woman did not speak English, but she quickly made
it known to Lacey that Lacey was at her mercy, that she had better behave and
do as she was told, or be prepared to suffer the consequences.

The next few days were a nightmare. Lacey was forced to
gather wood, carry water from the river, prepare meals with ingredients that
were foreign to her, and do a dozen other household chores. Her new owner had a
quick temper and a sharp tongue, and she did not hesitate to strike Lacey when
she was displeased, which was often. Wind Woman’s husband, Sun Beaver, rarely
interfered. The white woman belonged to his wife. In fact, the lodge and
everything it contained belonged to Wind Woman. Like all Apache men, Sun Beaver
owned nothing but his weapons, clothing, and horses.

Lacey longed to talk to Matt, but she never had the chance.
He was not a slave as she was. Rather, he was simply a prisoner. Dressed in a
brief deerskin clout, he was kept tied outside the lodge of the man who had
claimed him, much as one might keep a dog. His hands were still bound behind
his back, a rope circled his neck, tethering him to a tree. He was fed scraps
from the evening meal and allowed to relieve himself at dusk and dawn.
Otherwise he remained tied up. Occasionally, as now, the Indian children would
gather around him, pointing and jabbering away in their guttural tongue.

They had been in the Indian camp almost a week before Lacey
summoned enough nerve to go to Matt. She waited until the hour after midnight
when the camp was quiet and the fires had burned down to ashes, then, her heart
in her throat, she crept out of Sun Beaver’s lodge and made her way across the
village to Matt. He was asleep, his body curled into a tight ball in an effort
to keep warm, for he had no blanket to ward off the cold. Gently, she placed
her hand on his shoulder and shook it.

Matt woke instantly, all his senses alert. He frowned when
he rolled over and saw Lacey kneeling beside him. She was taking a terrible
risk, just being there. If she was caught, she would likely be punished.

“Oh, Matt,” Lacey murmured, and all the fear and unhappiness
of the past six days sounded in her voice.

“I know.” Matt scooted to a sitting position and Lacey
wrapped her arms around his waist, her head resting on his shoulder.

Matt cursed the rope that held his arms behind his back,
preventing him from taking Lacey in his arms as he so longed to do. If the days
had been long for her, they had been doubly so for him. Sitting there hour
after hour with nothing to do wore on his nerves. Several times a day he walked
around the tree as far as his tether permitted, first one way and then the
other, just to pass the time. He sweated in the sun and shivered at night, and
always his thoughts were for Lacey. He watched for her constantly, occasionally
being rewarded with a glimpse of her as she went to the river for water.

“Do you think we’ll ever get out of here?” Lacey asked.

“I don’t know, honey,” he replied. “The camp is heavily
guarded.”

“We could try,” she said. “Now! Tonight!”

“No. It’s too dangerous. We’d never make it out of the
canyon without being seen by the guard at the entrance.”

“I hate it here. Please think of something. I’ll do anything
I can to help. Anything.”

“I know. Here now, don’t cry.” They sat together for several
minutes. Matt rested his chin on the top of Lacey’s head, his eyes thoughtful.
He spent a good deal of his time trying to figure a way to escape, but so far
no opportunity had presented itself. And Lacey only complicated matters. Alone,
he would have taken any risk that would bring him his freedom, but he could not
take chances that might cause Lacey harm. Her life had become more precious to
him than his own.

The fragrance of her hair filled his nostrils and he kissed
the top of her head and then, as she lifted her face toward him, he pressed his
lips to hers in a long, hungry kiss, drinking in the taste of her as if she
were life itself.

Lacey moaned softly, her mouth opening to Matt’s as his kiss
grew deeper and more intense. Her arms went around his neck and her body
pressed close to his until, somehow, they were lying on the ground side by
side. She forgot where they were, forgot everything but the fire of Matt’s
kisses and her own rising desire. Eyes closed, she strained toward him, her
hips grinding against his, until she thought she would die with needing him.