Merline Lovelace (3 page)

A quick nod from Zach sent one of the soldiers scurrying. The man returned mere moments later sloshing water from a tin ladle and passed it to Zach.

The Englishwoman pulled a lawn handkerchief from its tucked position in the bosom of her gown. When she dipped the handkerchief in water and bent to bathe the unconscious Hattie’s face, Zack feasted on the glimpse she gave him of lush, creamy breasts.

Some moments later, the unconscious woman stirred. Her one good eye opened and fixed on Zach. Another small whimper escaped her. At the pathetic sound, Barbara regarded him with seething contempt.

“You brute! Did you cause these bruises?”

Stealing a kiss from a high-arched female was one matter. Letting her think he’d take his fists to any woman, much less this bit of a thing, was another kettle of stew.

“No, ma’am, I did not.”

“Oh, so?” She arched a disbelieving eyebrow.
“Then why did this poor woman faint dead away at the sight of you?”

Zach supposed he couldn’t blame her for her skepticism. Hadn’t he just taken a kiss from her against her will?

“Could be because I put a bullet between her master’s eyes only this morning,” he admitted.

The lady’s mouth opened. Before she could respond to his outrageous statement, however, Hattie reached up with a trembling hand and grasped Zach’s wrist.

“I’m sorry to make such a fuss, Lieutenant Morgan.”

The moment Hattie said his name, Zach knew he was in for it. The English beauty stiffened and flashed him an incredulous look.

“
You
are Lieutenant Morgan?”

“At your service, ma’am.” He gave her a rueful smile. “I intended to introduce myself but became, ah, somewhat distracted.”

The fury that leaped into her turquoise eyes came close to distracting him yet again. A now thoroughly embarrassed Hattie reclaimed his attention.

“I expect I’m just hungry. I haven’t had anything to eat since yesterday morning,” she added apologetically.

Zach cursed under his breath. He and his men had been in such a lather to return to the post after a week in the saddle, he hadn’t thought to offer the woman so much as a bit of hardtack during the long ride.

“We’ll right that situation immediately.”

Scooping her into his arms, he pushed to his feet. Nate scrambled to offer the blonde a hand. She rose with a grace that belied the anger still staining her cheeks.

“I should like to continue our unfortunately abbreviated conversation,” Zach said to her. “May I call on you at Mrs. Nicks’s after I’ve found Mistress Goodson a bite to eat and reported to my colonel?”

“You may.” Ice coated the words. “But I must warn you, Lieutenant Morgan, I very much dislike being made a fool of.”

A lesser man might have withered under the icy blast, but Zach knew there was fire under the frost. Despite her haughty airs, this was no bloodless aristocrat. Zach had sensed her heat during those brief moments his mouth had covered hers. He’d felt it most forcefully when her fist plowed into his middle. Thoroughly intrigued by the woman, he stood aside as she snapped open her parasol and turned to his friend.

“Lieutenant Prescott, will you be so kind as to escort me to Mrs. Nicks’s quarters?”

“With pleasure, ma’am!”

Grinning under his mustaches, Nate marched off with his prize while Zach cradled Hattie to his chest and headed for the officers’ mess.

T
he officers’ mess was situated in a cluster of buildings on the grassy flats outside the pallisade enclosing the blockhouses, armory and enlisted men’s barracks. The one-story log structure served as a communal dining area, gaming room and social gathering spot for the officers assigned to Fort Gibson.

Whitewash brightened the interior walls, and a somewhat frayed carpet covered the plank floor. The furnishings included a well-scrubbed oak table set astride two barrels and two rows of cane-back chairs. An open-shelf cupboard displayed a stack of pewter plates, eating utensils, an assortment of dust-covered brandy bottles and each officer’s silver drinking mug. Since graduates from every West Point class after 1825 had seen service at Fort Gibson, a good number of the mugs were engraved with that
institution’s insignia as well as the officer’s name and regimental arms.

When Zach entered with Hattie, the mess was empty of everyone except the hulking private who served as its steward. The Polish recruit could speak barely five words of English but his incredible way with a ragout had earned him the coveted post of mess steward over others with more fluency and time in service.

Sure enough, Walenowski had just brought a pot of venison stew in from the kitchens behind the mess. The tantalizing aroma set Zach’s mouth to watering and the woman in his arms to gulping convulsively. Carefully, he lowered her into one of the chairs.

“Rest easy a moment, Hattie, and Private Walenowski here will fetch you some fresh-baked bread to have with that stew.”

The private quickly supplied her with the requested items, along with a flagon of ale. She fell on the food like a starving wolf, her spoon clattering against the tin plate. Sympathy for the wretched woman tugged at Zach as he watched her down every morsel before sopping up the broth with a bread crust.

“Would you like another serving?”

“Yes, please!”

She started to swipe her mouth with the back of her hand, but stopped with her arm halfway to her mouth. Coloring under her mask of bruises, she
reached for the linen square Walenowski had placed beside her plate.

“I’m forgetting my manners. My mam taught me better, but living these past years with Thomas…Well…”

With a daintiness that surprised Zach, she patted away the drop of broth at the corner of her lip.

“Will you be comfortable with Private Walenowski if I leave you for a while?” he asked, reluctant to abandon her yet again. “I must make my report to my colonel, then call on Mrs. Nicks to see if she’ll take you in.”

“You’ll come back for me, won’t you? All these strangers…” Her voice trailed off helplessly.

“I’ll come back.”

The promise reassured her. Zach left her with a second plate of stew. Rasping his palm against his chin, he decided he’d best rid himself of some of his trail dirt before attending to his errands.

Since the rangers bedded down in tents some miles distant from the overcrowded fort, Zach made a quick detour to Nate’s quarters. Along with his abundant mustaches and side-whiskers, Prescott possessed the most extensive collection of personal linens west of the Mississippi. He wouldn’t mind if Zach borrowed some shaving soap, a clean shirt and a fresh stock. Not a great deal, anyway.

Scrubbed, shaved, pomaded and smelling considerably more aromatic, Zach once again made his
way toward the post headquarters. The officer of the guard had already advised Colonel Arbuckle of the rangers’ return. He now awaited Zach’s formal report.

At the colonel’s gruff command, Zach marched into his office and offered a smart salute.

“Lieutenant Morgan reporting back from patrol, sir.”

Arbuckle returned it and leaned back in his chair. “Let’s have your report, Lieutenant.”

Matthew Arbuckle was a good man and a fine officer, one of the best Zach had served under. He’d commanded the Seventh Infantry Regiment for more than a decade and Fort Gibson since its construction eight years ago. Assigned the almost impossible task of resettling the eastern tribes and keeping peace among the warlike Plains people, he took great pride in the fact that not one of his soldiers had killed an Indian during his tenure as commander. Zach knew he wouldn’t be best pleased to learn one of his officers put a bullet into a white squatter.

The bewhiskered colonel took careful note of Zach’s account of the Pawnee raiding party, nodded when he reported the return of the three Osage captives to their tribe and scowled as Zach described the incident with Billingsly.

“This selling of false deeds to land in Indian Country must stop,” Arbuckle muttered. “Where did you say this Billingsly had settled?”

“Only fifteen miles northwest of here, sir, on the land reserved for the Cherokee.”

Zach pointed out the spot on the hand-drawn map nailed to the wall. Frowning, Arbuckle tapped a stack of opened letters Zach guessed had arrived by steamboat only this morning.

“Although that stretch of Indian Country is sparsely populated as yet, I’ve just received a dispatch from the War Department. We may expect additional emigrants for that area any day now.”

The information surprised Zach. “I thought Chief John Ross swore no more Cherokee would leave their homes now that the Supreme Court has ruled that Georgia law doesn’t hold over them.”

The ruling had been a controversial one, to be sure. Ever since gold had been discovered on Cherokee land in northern Georgia, that state had been among the most vociferous in attempting to force the provisions of the Indian Removal Act on its native populations.

Just last year, the U.S. Supreme Court recognized the Cherokee Nation as sovereign, thus rendering them immune from Georgia laws. The ruling had infuriated Andrew Jackson. The president was committed to moving all eastern tribes to land west of the Mississippi. Angrily, Jackson had declared that if Chief Justice Marshall insisted on making the law, he could damn well enforce it.

Various states had interpreted his denouncement
of the ruling as a signal to increase the pressure on their native populations. Lootings, beatings, even killings went unpunished. Yet the Cherokee had vowed to continue to fight the Removal Act through the courts. Or so Zach had thought.

“It appears there is increasing division among the Cherokee Nation,” Colonel Arbuckle now informed him. “Some of their leaders believe they must bow to the inevitable and move west. Others have vowed to fight removal.” Sighing, he tugged on his side-whiskers. “I don’t have to tell you, Morgan, this is a bad business.”

“No, sir, you don’t.”

“All these damn treaties only make it worse,” Arbuckle grumbled. “No one can say with absolute certainty what land belongs to which tribe. Those unscrupulous land speculators back East have taken great advantage of the situation. They’re selling false deeds as fast as they can print them. Ah, well, perhaps the commission President Jackson has appointed will sort through the mess.”

“Perhaps.”

Privately, Zach held little hope that the three-man commission expected to arrive at Fort Gibson any day now could untangle decades of conflicting negotiations.

“In the meantime, we must continue resettling the eastern tribes as best we can. I’ll expect you to make yourself and your company ready for escort
duty after you deliver Lady Barbara to Morgan’s Falls.”

The lines of worry faded from the colonel’s face. A fatuous smile replaced them. A longtime bachelor, Arbuckle nevertheless had an eye for the ladies.

“You’ll be most grateful to me for assigning you this task when you encounter the lady, Morgan.”

“I’ve already encountered her, sir.”

“Indeed? Is she not utterly captivating?”

“Utterly.”

“She was most surprised and interested to learn the woman she’s traveled so far to find had a son under my command.”

“Did the lady indicate
why
she’s come in search of my mother?”

“I didn’t wish to pry, but I formed the impression it has something to do with one of your mother’s business interests.”

Zach supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. His mother was a shrewd trader and financier who’d invested in a number of enterprises over the years. Her varied interests included a steamship line operating out of New Orleans, timber sales to several sawmills and a tannery that cured the beaver, mink and muskrat pelts she’d once trapped with her French-born first husband. Yet somehow Zach couldn’t envision Barbara Chamberlain being concerned with the fluctuating price of beaver pelts.

“I’m sure she’ll explain all when you speak with her,” Arbuckle said.

“Yes, sir.”

After promising to deliver a written copy of his report before departing for Morgan’s Falls, Zach crossed the grassy flats and made for the establishment of Mrs. Sallie Nicks. He didn’t doubt the generous-hearted widow would take Hattie in, but he didn’t want to just show up on her stoop with the woman in tow if her house was as full to overflowing as Prescott had indicated.

The gregarious Mrs. Nicks was the widow of General John Nicks, who’d secured the lucrative license to sell provisions to the garrison at Fort Gibson. Upon her husband’s death, Sallie had taken over duties as supplier to the garrison. She was a merry-eyed, shrewdly competent woman much courted by the officers and visitors to the post. The rumor that she’d inherited an estate valued at more than twenty thousand dollars from the general along with the right to continue operation of their store only added to her charms.

She occupied a two-story plank house close by the river and the warehouses where she stored her goods. As Nate had warned, the residence was full to overflowing with visitors who’d arrived via the steamboat. And with every officer in the garrison not currently on duty, Zach soon discovered.

They crowded shoulder to shoulder in the parlor where Mrs. Nicks presided over a silver tea tray. Zach presented himself first to the widow, then to her guest. Sallie acknowledged him with a warm smile, Lady Barbara with an infinitesimal dip of her chin.

“I’ve come to beg a favor,” he said to the widow. “I hate to ask it when you’re entertaining so many guests, but I wonder if I might impose upon you to take in one more. I brought a woman back to the post with me.”

Sallie’s eyes twinkled. “A woman? Your mother will be pleased to hear it, if every unmarried female in Indian Country will not. Who is this woman?”

“Her name is Hattie Goodson. She’s the indentured servant of a squatter we were forced to evict. I should tell you, ma’am, she had a rough time of it at the man’s hands. Could you find a corner for her until I can make arrangements to send her home?”

“Of course! Bring her here at once.”

“Thank you, I will. But first…” His glance went to the blonde surrounded by scarlet and blue uniforms. “Lady Barbara, may I beg a few words of private speech with you?”

His fellow officers responded to his request with a round of protests. Nate Prescott led the chorus.

“I say, Morgan! You’ll have the lady to yourself when you escort her to your parents’ place tomorrow. Surely you wouldn’t be such a dog as to snatch her from us tonight!”

“It’s about the journey that I must speak to her,” Zach replied. “If she can tear herself away from your company, that is.”

“I shall contrive to do so,” she returned coolly before turning a brilliant smile on Nate. “You will remember you’re taking me in to dinner this evening, will you not?”

“How could I forget!” He threw a smug glance Zach’s way. “Too bad you won’t be able to join us, old fellow. I know you don’t have a decent frock coat here in camp. Although…” His eyes narrowed. “I must say, that shirt looks as though my tailor might have sewn it.”

“He did.”

Ignoring his friend’s sputter of indignation, Zach escorted the lady to the small back parlor Sallie indicated they might use. It was crammed with the bedrolls and backpacks of the visitors she could not squeeze into the rooms upstairs, but otherwise unoccupied.

With a show of bored disinterest, the Englishwoman twitched the fringe of her shawl into place. Zach realized he’d have to grovel like a mud-bellied carp before he was restored to her good graces. If then!

“I must offer an apology for my earlier behavior,” he began.

“Save your breath, sir. I consider your conduct inexcusable.”

“All I can do is plead a misplaced sense of the ridiculous and beg you to forgive me for funning the way I did.”

“Let me be sure I understand you. You beg pardon for allowing me to think you the oafish boor, but not for kissing me in that detestable way?”

One corner of his mouth kicked up. “I’ll be sorry indeed if you found that kiss detestable. I, for one, found it most enjoyable.”

Barbara didn’t doubt it for a moment. He’d molded his mouth to hers with an expertise that bespoke long practice. Seeing him now with his prickly whiskers gone, most of the dirt scrubbed from his person, and that roguish smile in his eyes, she suspected more than one local miss had allowed him to steal a kiss.

Well, Barbara was no local miss. Necessity had taught her to select with great care the men she allowed close to her. She didn’t base her choice on their rakish smiles or, as in this case, admittedly splendid physique, but rather on their bank accounts and family holdings. And this man’s family holdings must of necessity be the sole focus of her interest.

“May I have your assurances you’ll refrain from such
funning
during our journey to your parents’ home?”

“You may.” In direct counterpoint to her coolness, the smile in his eyes deepened. “But I give them reluctantly.”

“Very well. If it is convenient for you, perhaps we could depart after breakfast tomorrow.”

“It’s quite convenient, but curiosity compels me to ask why you want to go to Morgan’s Falls.”

Curiosity and a son’s desire to protect his dam, Barbara guessed.

“My business is with your mother,” she said with a shrug. “I will discuss it with her.”

The smile left his eyes. Without moving so much as a muscle, he went from affable to hard and still and somewhat dangerous. She guessed this must be the face he showed his men.

Or his enemies.

“I’ll escort you to Morgan’s Falls,” he said slowly. “But only if
you
give me assurances you mean no harm to me or mine.”