Pale Moon Stalker (The Nymph Trilogy) (41 page)

"I had no idea of the scale of the warfare," she said, thinking of the thousands of Sioux, Cheyenne and Arapahoe who had sealed Custer's fate when he attacked them...and the slaughter of the Indians that had followed. "What happened after that?"

"The riders told us the Zulu forces were heading our way, flush with victory. Chard set the men to fortifying an outer perimeter, then a smaller inner redoubt that would serve as our last stand..." He grew silent, remembering the battle.

Sky sat patiently, waiting.

Finally, he started speaking again in a drugged voice. "The next afternoon, just as we were finishing the fortifications, a small troop of militia rode up and told us that right behind them was an army of four to five thousand Zulu. I don't think any of us expected to live through their attack..."

"And those men, they just left you?"

"They were no fools. They had horses and knew the terrain. Had no wounded to carry. They fled. Can't say I blame them. We had only around a hundred able-bodied men."

"Forty or fifty to one!" she gasped out.

His eyes closed for a moment, but a small bitter laugh escaped. "We shared your consternation. Especially when the Zulu appeared, filling the ridge overlooking the station as far as the eye could see. Thousands and thousands, slapping their short spears on their shields. It sounded like the roar of a dozen steam locomotives. The very earth shook...and they cried, '
Useto! Useto!
' Kill...kill...

"They climbed over the bodies of their fallen warriors to breach our outer perimeter, vaulting over the wall. We fell back to the redoubt... After that it was simply, 'First rank, preesent. Fire! Second rank, preesent. Fire! Third rank...' " He shuddered.

By now she was holding on to him, stroking his sweat-soaked face as he relived the bloody horror. It seemed that once the floodgate had been breeched, he could not stop.

"The noise was like a dozen cannon pounding inside my brain. Deafening. And the stench of blood...it was everywhere...we were bathed in it. Flaming hell, I shot men with the barrel of my revolver pressed directly into their flesh...I watched that flesh explode...but the brave fools kept coming...wave after wave...all through the night... Then for some reason, they finally stopped..."

His body was shaking. He made soft gasps that Sky knew were suppressed sobs. Hating what she had to do, she pressed him to go on. "What happened next?"

"With the dawn, we could see the full extent of the carnage...like some bloody madman's depiction of hell... So many corpses there was no way to begin to count…piled like cordwood, one on top of another...chest high in places. Some of the lads started puking ... I ordered them to the outer perimeter. We had to climb over the dead to reach it...and all I could think of was all of those widows and orphans we had made...for the glory of civilization and the empire." His voice was bitter.

"And then the most bizarre thing happened..."
 
He paused again, shaking his head in wonder and confusion. "Up on the ridge surrounding us, they reappeared, thousands of them—as if we hadn't even touched their ranks... They began to chant in unison. I know a bit of Zulu, but one of our native scouts translated it for us. They were singing a song of praise...telling us that we were worthy warriors! All I felt was guilt...shame...disgust... Bloody, puking disgust for what we'd done—been ordered to do—because of our stupid, arrogant government...may all bureaucrats rot in hell!"

He turned his head, but she could see the tracks of tears streaming down his cheeks. Using her hand, she forced him to face her. Softly, she said, "You don't understand. True Dreamer knew that you did not. I'm certain he could explain it better than I, but he charged me with the task...to banish the dark warriors from your mind forever."

He said nothing as she gathered her thoughts and continued, all the while holding him close. "You were not raised in a warrior culture, but you are a warrior, nonetheless. It would have been easier to understand if you had lived among the Zulu—or the Sioux. With them, young men do not expect to become old men. Life is hard. They and their wives and children know that a man can meet death during the hunt, fording a river, or in battle. Death is a part of life. Every day must end. Every life must end. Existence is one huge wheel. We are born, we live...and we die. We are part of the design that goes on after us. What matters is how we live while we are here."

"I lived by killing men who were defending their homes and families from invasion," he said stubbornly.

"You are not a Custer or a Chivington, Max! You and your men were warriors facing warriors. True Dreamer said that yours was a great battle with much bravery on both sides. The Zulu understood. That's why they honored you and allowed you to depart instead of killing you. The men in your nightmares aren't angry ghosts, but images of your own lack of understanding. There is no need for them to haunt you...ever again. Now...you will let them go. True Dreamer's talisman saved your life. And now, my love will free you...if you only believe what I have told you."

"You really do...love me?" he murmured. When Sky nodded, he could see that tears ran silently down her cheeks as well. He smiled weakly at her. "Crafty old medicine man...even craftier wife. I love you more than life, Sky Eyes of the Ehanktonwon...m'lady."

When his eyes closed and he drifted off to sleep, she whispered, "I love you more than life, Maxwell Stanhope, m'lord." With that, she carefully stretched out alongside of him on the bed. They slept a deep and dreamless sleep…

Far to the south, in a lodge on the Cheyenne reservation in the Nations, True Dreamer stared into the embers of a small fire...and nodded in contentment.

* * * *

Max awakened to find Sky curled against his side. A sense of deep peace pervaded his whole being, a feeling he had not had since Edmund had died. All his ghosts had been laid to rest because of this remarkable woman. As he gazed at her with pure love shining in his eyes, her own opened and she smiled.

"Good morning, slugabed. I'm starving and I love you—oh, and did I mention that I was starving?" he added with a grin.

"I'll see what Mrs. Broom can do about breakfast," she replied, slipping from the bed. "While I'm at it, I'll inquire about that wagon—if the doctor approves of your traveling by tomorrow." She paused, then added, "Oh, and I love you, too."

He watched her remove her night rail and slip into her buckskins. All the while, he could feel his body hardening. "I need no physician to tell me that I am greatly improved."

Glancing at the "lodge pole" again rising beneath the sheets, she chuckled. "I suspect by the time you spend a few hours bouncing in even the best sprung wagon, you'll not feel so 'exalted.' "

"There are other kinds of bouncing I'd be willing to risk right now, m'lady" he replied, loving the return of their old banter.

"I'll bring an extra ice bag to cool your ardor," she said, starting for the door.

Then he noticed the medicine medallion lying on the table. "You removed it...after we talked during the night."

"Yes, I did," she said simply. "True Dreamer told me that I would know when the time was right."

He nodded. "It's almost frightening, that old man's powers...and yours. We'll have to return his prized possession to him." He looked at her questioningly.

"Yes, when I see that you're mended sufficiently enough, we will." With that settled, she slipped from the room.

As she walked downstairs, Sky realized that it no longer mattered whether or not she was carrying Max's child. He was not bound to her by duty, but by love. After last night, she knew that he had never betrayed her. He trusted her enough to bare his innermost soul.

Fawn had been correct. She had been foolish for even considering "throwing away" such a man. Grandfather was probably right, too. She possessed too much "foolish white-man blood." Sky laughed like a young girl, free to love as she had never been before in her life.

That evening as she arranged pillows behind Max so he could sit up, she explained her feelings. "I knew I would always love you, but I didn't want to tie you to me with a child."

"I have wanted you for my wife since we were in London, even considering the possibility that you might not be able to have children. I should have told you then—Harry's will and its provisions be damned! I love you."

"You've told me now. That's all that matters. But I do want your babies, Max. You were certain the fertility drugs and spells we fell under that night in the Cheyenne lodge had worked. Perhaps they did. It will be over a week before I can be certain."

"Just in case it failed, we can continue with due diligence to see that—"

"You are unbelievable!" she said, laughing as she kissed him.

Max did not release her, but cradled her head with one hand and deepened the kiss. Only a tap on the door announcing the arrival of their dinner prevented his sickbed seduction from going any further.

* * * *

The following day Dr. Broom pronounced Max fit to travel in a wagon. He expressed amazement at Mr. Stanhope's recovery. But, as Sky had predicted, by the time they had spent a day in the wagon, her husband was in considerable pain and willing to accept laudanum so he could sleep that night. Early the next morning they reached Pueblo, where Steve Loring's private railcar awaited. So did several telegrams. Blackie Drago offered congratulations, saying he knew they'd track down Deuce. Steve reiterated in more detail that all legal ramifications regarding McKerrish's death had been settled and his guest suite awaited the weary travelers.

Additionally, Cass had taken it upon herself to inform Sky's family about their adventures and his injury. Of course, her elder brother demanded that as soon as Max recuperated sufficiently, he was to escort his wife to St. Louis for a visit. Rob had been incessantly pestering his parents with questions about when his famous English uncle would return.

Jerome Bartlett expressed shock and dismay at Phillip's actions and did indeed confirm that the body assumed by Scots authorities to be Phillip was actually Cletus. Sky felt guilty for suspecting the loyal family solicitor of malfeasance, not to mention attempted murder. Over Max's signature, she sent a letter, giving Bartlett full authority to handle all the baron's financial interests in Britain and appoint a new estate manager for the Ruxton lands.

When a Pueblo newspaper reported that the Limey had killed a dozen desperados in a street fight in Clean Sweep, Max went into a towering rage. "What did I use? A Gatling gun! A dozen men—bloody, flaming hell, weren't the six we faced enough for them!"

Sky shrugged, gently shoving him back onto the soft pile of pillows on the luxury railcar's bed. "Literary license. Oh, and Max, they're calling you 'Lord Limey' now." When he gave her a fierce glare, she suppressed her laughter.

As to what the Stanhopes would do with his very considerable fortune in America, Max and Sky reached an agreement. He wanted to spend it on her people and their new Cheyenne friends. Agreeing, Sky proposed not just feeding, clothing and schooling the people on reservations, but providing them with opportunities such as she had been given so they could survive in the white man's world.

They agreed to select the brightest among the youth and send them East to study medicine, law and government, either in fine colleges or by employing private tutors, as Clint had arranged for her. They both agreed that one of the first to be offered this opportunity would be True Dreamer's granddaughter Fawn, and they would serve as her legal guardians.

When they reached Denver, a much exhausted Maxwell Stanhope, the infamous bounty hunter known as the Limey, was willing to climb meekly into a large freshly made-up bed and take a mid-afternoon nap in the Lorings' guest suite. Thus began the arduous road to recovery.

Within the week, he refused any further laudanum, saying, "I'll become a bloody opium eater if you insist on forcing another spoonful of that ghastly tasting stuff down my throat!"

At the end of the following week, he was taking brisk walks around the lavish grounds of the Loring estate. It was a quiet time for Max and Sky to spend talking about the past and their very different childhoods.

"I was ever a rebel, even before Edmund died. Always getting into trouble with my tutors. Received some good canings. University bored me, too. That was when I met Cynthia Warrington at a ball."

"She was married to a much older man and seduced you." Sky did not phrase it as a question.

Max sighed. "He was in Lords, a good man who had married a woman not worthy of him. Her reputation was quite dreadful, but he knew nothing of her many young lovers. I was but one in a string."

"The one unfortunate enough to be caught?"

He nodded. "He called me out. Bloody hell, Sky, the man was over three times my age and knew nothing of weapons. It would've been criminal to duel with him."

"So, you purchased a commission in the army instead and left England behind."

"And, mercifully, Cynthia." He made a grimace of distaste. "But the circumstances of my departure hurt my uncle. For that I'll always feel regret."

"You made him proud of you, Max. Never forget that. And he loved you. He understood you all too well, which explains why he made that codicil to his will. He knew it would straighten out your life."

He sighed. "I led a reckless, dangerous life and, after my experience with Cynthia, I fear women came all too easily to me. Many of them. But I never knew what it meant to love one until I met you."