Noble Hearts (Wild Hearts Romance Book 3) (22 page)

Our clothes were heavy, wet and uncomfortable, but not as uncomfortable as briars and insects snatching at even more of our bare skin would have been.

Overhead, two helicopters made a sweep of the area as we clung to the cover of the densest trees as we headed east into a valley swale before the land rose up again. It was one thing to vow to cross a mountain range, especially one with so cool a nickname as the Mountains of the Moon. It was quite another to trudge over and up day after day into thinning air, chasing the low hang of rain clouds.

Luckily, for more reasons than just the mountain climbing, Kayla and I were fit, although altitude sickness taunted us whenever we were forced higher, no less a threat than the militia or
Subs
. The okapi and Rottweiler, so long as we were diligent about not letting Gus’s neck wounds get infected, laughed at the pace, the altitude and the rain. Our progress, then, was dictated by how far and fast baby rhino legs could move—which, it turned out, rhinos were surprisingly well-equipped for steady travel—and how far and long Kayla and I were required to carry a 25-pound gorilla toddler who was not quite yet up to the challenge of the mountain on his own.

Another time, the trek might have been billed on travel sites as the highlight of a vacation travel package—hiking through pristine rainforest, surrounded by mountains, waterfalls and wild animals close enough to touch. Not to mention other perks such as having a hiking partner as stunning as Kayla and indulging in some off-itinerary free time.

Yesterday had been…incredible. Even the steady patter of rain that had picked up shortly after our waterfall tryst failed to dampen the intensity of the after-glow. I didn’t know when another opportunity for unscheduled activities might come along, but I prayed it would be soon.

What our travel brochure would no doubt blithely ignore would be the abundance of predatory helicopters circling the skies.

“They can’t be looking for us, can they?” Kayla’s annoyance at their persistence would have made me smile if my mood didn’t so closely echo hers. That was a lot of resources for what couldn’t be more than a handful of fellow refugees, if even that many, heading along the same path as us.

“One look at you and most men would scour the earth to get another glimpse,” I teased. “Your beauty will be our downfall.”

She stuck her tongue out at me.

“What exactly does that mean in Swahili?” I gave her my best innocent impression.

“It means that it’s more likely your smooth-talking rich white butt they’re after.”

Which was probably closer to the truth…if they were after
us
at all.

“I don’t think they’re here for us. There’s gotta be something else going on.”

Another mile in and Gus, padding just ahead of us, stiffened, nose in the air, and growled. Kayla was carrying the gorilla, so I caught Gus’s collar. Tamu and Nyota, trailing behind and snatching at browse as they came, lifted their heads, nostrils flaring as they crowded in close.

Kayla silently dropped the little gorilla behind her with the other babies, then shrugged the rifle in its sling from off her shoulder.

“Kushuka!”

The shouted command came from the north. I whirled that direction, but the growling Rottweiler lunged south. Suddenly, there was movement everywhere. A dozen men appeared out of the trees surrounding us. The AK-47s in their hands outmatched the Winchesters we carried, not only in number but in brute firepower.

Gus danced on his hind legs as I kept a choke hold on his collar. It had to be cutting into his neck wounds, but he wasn’t feeling it between the adrenaline pounding through his alpha male brain and his focus on tearing the men apart if they came any closer. I don’t think he understood the danger of rifles, and that lack of fear would surely get him killed.

Kayla understood only too well. “Don’t let him go,” she begged.

“Kushuka!”

One of the men in short pants, a bright blue tunic and a yellow armband advanced on us in a half-crouch, motioning with his rifle.

Kayla locked her jaw, but the fear in her eyes unnerved me. There was no surrender in her demeanor, but she bent over and laid her rifle on the ground then straightened up and took a step back, her right hand reaching protectively behind her to the babies.

“Wewe!”
The man motioned toward me.

The gesture was clear but Kayla translated anyway. “He wants you to drop your rifle too.”

It was swinging from the shoulder opposite the hand that was fighting with the Rottweiler. I slid it off one-handed and lowered it to the ground by its sling.

Jengo hooted from behind Kayla’s hips. Two men approached slowly. Gus redoubled his growls, his body twisting hard, demanding to be loose. Seeing Kayla’s eyes, I knew I wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Gustaaf, quiet!
Kuacha
!” Kayla’s tone was sharp, strong, taking even the dog by surprise. He dropped to four legs, his high-pitched whine indicating his challenge wasn’t over, just momentarily arrested.

The first man, rifle still at the ready, pointing in the general direction of Gus now, approached, peering critically at me through dark, half-squinted eyes. “British?” he asked.

“American.” I saw no reason to lie. My accent would eventually give me away. Besides, my research made it seem like there was less animosity here in this part of Africa toward Americans, and being ransomed seemed infinitely better than being shot.

The man’s thin-lined eyebrows went up as he considered what to do next. He turned to Kayla. “Are you his?”

“We’re…together…for now,” she said, watching the men warily as they closed slowly around us.

“What are you? Not Lentu.” That was one of the more populous tribes in the region.

Kayla set her jaw. “I am Ushindi. A plantation owner.”

“Belgian then? An Afrikaner?”

Kayla nodded. “My father was. My mother was Kamba from the village west of Hasa.”

That got an unexpected reaction from one of the other men closing in. “Name her,” he demanded.

“Asha. Her name was Asha, her mother was Shani, and she had a brother, Jafari.”

The second man visibly relaxed. “Jafari is my wife’s uncle,” he told the first man, who seemed to be the commander of whatever unit this was.

I expected the commander’s reaction to mimic the second man’s. Instead, he frowned. Maybe the frown didn’t mean what I thought it did. In some cultures, a nod of the head meant
no
not
yes
. “Where are you going?” The commander directed the question at me, not Kayla.

Why did it seem so surreal to hear these men conversing in English? Swahili, I knew from my research, was Ushindi’s official language, and French was still commonly used in the DRC, but English was the language taught in schools. Swahili was used at home and casually. In business, politics and most other situations, it was English all the way. Yet here in an area of Africa so remote even satellites would have a hard time penetrating, it was hard to get past the bias that the natives here were as fluent in my native language as I was.

“Uganda,” I answered.

“And from there?”

“Home.”

He narrowed his eyes and peered intensely at Kayla and her menagerie. “All of you? To America?”

That was tricky. Were these men going to sympathize with Kayla since she seemed to be a distant relation to at least one man here, or with me, since I was a foreigner and not part of the political war? The commander’s dark face was inscrutable, especially since half my attention was on keeping the Rottweiler under control.

“Just me,” I answered carefully. “Kayla’s heading for Ethiopia.”

“And…those?” He gestured toward the animals cowering behind Kayla. They apparently understood better than Gus did what rifles were for. No, Gus knew well enough, I decided; he either didn’t care or thought he was somehow immune to death—not unlike a few rash young adults I’d known in the ROTC.

“They’re Kayla’s. Ask her.”

Once again the man frowned. This time I knew it was because I’d told him to speak directly to a woman. I understood there were a few matriarchal tribes in Africa—where women were revered. These men apparently didn’t belong to any of them.

“I want us to get out of here—out of Ushindi—alive. Does it matter what happens after that?” Kayla’s defiant tone hinted that Mama Bear was stirring.

Gus’s whines deepened into growls as the unit ringed in close. One of the men reached out to touch the rhino. Her skin flinched. Jengo screeched a reprimand and started a brave run at the man before Kayla deftly caught the little gorilla’s hand and clutched it tight.

“Don’t touch them,” Kayla warned, her voice cold—adding under duress, “please.”

“Why do you care so much for them?” The commander was no fool despite the simplicity of the questions he asked. He was after something in our answers. I just wished I knew what his agenda was.

Kayla lifted her chin, already having figured out the man’s allegiance better than me. “They are all I have left of Ushindi. Everything else the opposition has taken from me.”

“As they will take Ushindi itself.” The commander sighed, and I clearly heard the undertones of defeat in the sound.

“What do you know?” I asked. “We’ve been on the run for three days.”

“Half of Hasa is in flames. The other half is over-run by forces from the DRC.”

It was no less than what we’d expected, what we’d feared. Hearing it, though, made it all too real. Kayla’s gasp nearly broke my heart.

“Why are you still here?” I looked the commander straight in the eye. “If the Congo wants Ushindi back, they’ll have it. Along with the heads of any who stand in the way.”

“Where else would you have us be?” The sharp response in his eyes was resigned but defiant. “Ushindi is ours…until it isn’t. We are Ushindi.”

“Then help us. Help
her
.” I nodded toward Kayla, daughter of Ushindi.

He hesitated, his frown deepening. Had I pressed for too much too soon?

“I have a jeep,” he said at last. “Our outpost is there”—he pointed north—“just beyond the bamboo. One of my men can drive you to the border.”

“How far?”

“Thirty kilometers.”

Roughly 18 miles. That would save us two days at our pace in the rain.

“Go,” Kayla urged me.

I nodded, grateful for the offer until I realized she meant
only
me. “Wait—? What—?” It hit me then. We could get a dog and a toddling gorilla in a jeep but not an okapi and a rhino, young though they were. “No! If you’re not going, neither am I.” I didn’t even think about what I was saying until it was said. But nothing was going to make me unsay it. Those words had come from my heart.

“Don’t be a fool.” Kayla’s heart, apparently, was a little rougher around the edges than mine. “You have a chance. Take it.”

“You have that same chance. Why won’t you go with them?”

“You know why I can’t! I have a responsibility. An obligation. To them—and to myself.” She cut her flashing eyes away from mine and focused on a random tree some 20 feet away. “I don’t want you to go, but I need—desperately—for you to be safe.”

“Do you really think so little of me?” I tried to gentle the disappointment in my tone. I longed to wrap an arm around those suddenly vulnerable-looking shoulders that were bearing so much responsibility all on their own, but while Gus’s frantic efforts to pull free had calmed, I didn’t dare let off the pressure—or the guard—I had on him. “Do you really think I
want
—or
can
—abandon any of you? That I don’t
need
to be with them—with
you
—too? My life was pledged to yours the moment I walked through your front door and you saved me. We get through this together, or else—” 

“We get through it together,” she said firmly.

We found a free hand each then to clasp between us—an understanding, a vow, a gesture of ultimate affection neither of us was quite willing to admit out loud. But if our hearts knew, did these strange men need to hear and know as well?

“Asante-sana,”
I thanked the commander, hoping my attempt at his language would be appreciated. “But we’ll be taking our chances out of here on foot.”

The look he turned on Kayla and me transcended cultures. What we didn’t express out loud these strangers knew better than we. His expression softened as he reached into a small pack he’d carried with him beyond the outpost and pulled out a plastic baggie half-filled with a trail mix of dried fruits and nuts. Carefully skirting the reach of the snarling Rottweiler, he handed it to me.

The other men, strangers to us, followed their commander’s lead, giving up the treasures of their packs and pockets. One man produced a fresh mango from the depths of a drawstring pouch and handed it to Kayla. “For the rhino. It is luck to see one. We thank you for bringing it to us.”

Was it the luck of the little rhino, I wondered, that we were all still alive?

“Asante-sana”
, Kayla told the men, and I echoed her thanks again as we stuffed our backpacks with the odds-and-ends of food this militia unit on the wrong side of a civil war chose to gift us with. In all, there was enough to make a good dinner between us, but we’d stretch it out over the next three or four days.