Reckless Heart (21 page)

Shadow’s face remained inscrutable, but I knew he was seething inside and that, had his hands been free and unfettered, he would have killed Hopkins then and there. His eyes followed the corporal as Hopkins swaggered over to the remuda, and I was chilled by the implacable hatred I saw glittering in Shadow’s black eyes as Hopkins quickly roped and saddled another mount.

It was a long, arduous ride to Fort Apache. Joshua rode beside me, ever concerned for my welfare. I knew that, but for me, they would have reached the fort much sooner, but Josh called a halt to the day’s travel whenever he thought I looked too weary to go on. I was grateful for his concern, for I was always tired, and riding was harder than I had thought it would be. Josh made sure that I was warm enough at night, insisting that my bedroll be spread close to the fire. He took great pains to see that I had plenty of good hot food, even though I had no appetite.

Christmas came, and that night a few of the troopers got together and sang Christmas carols. I wept softly as I thought of Mary giving birth to her Son in a lowly stable, and I wept for my own son, buried in an unmarked grave in a hostile land.

My arms ached to hold the child I had never held nor seen. Sometimes I wondered if I had really had a child. Perhaps I had imagined it all. Perhaps it was just a bad dream. Perhaps I was dreaming even now. But it was not a dream, for my breasts were heavy, and the bodice of my doeskin dress was stained with milk.

Often, when Joshua spoke to me, I did not hear him. My baby was dead, and the man I loved more than my own life had no future but a rope. My whole world was falling apart, and all Joshua could talk about were his plans for the future and for us. I wondered how he could be so insensitive. How could he even think I would consider marrying him when Shadow was still very much alive?

Shadow. How my heart ached for him. His hands had been tightly bound behind his back for a week. Hopkins released Shadow twice a day so he could relieve himself. Other than that, he was tied up and under guard. I was sure his arms were sore from being restrained so long. His wrists were raw from the constant chafing of the rope. But his expression remained inscrutable. Head held high and proud, he rode between Hopkins and an unsavory looking trooper known as Shorty Barnes.

To make doubly sure Shadow did not try to make a run for it, Hopkins took to dropping a noose around Shadow’s neck. The loose end was secured to the pommel of Hopkins’ saddle. The corporal taunted Shadow continually.

“Best get used to the feel of that there rope, redskin,” he’d call, tugging on the rope that cut off Shadow’s wind, “cause you’re gonna swing high and dry when we reach the fort! Yes sir, I seen lots of Injuns dancin’ at the end of a rope. Ain’t a purty sight, no sir. Sometimes a man’s neck don’t break just right, and he strangles kinda slow like, eyes bulgin’ and feet kickin’.” Hopkins grinned wolfishly as he added, “That’s how you’ll go, Injun, if I get to tie the knot!”

I shuddered at the grotesque images the corporal’s word painted across my mind. Sometimes at night, I dreamed of Shadow’s execution. I saw him slowly climb the stairs to the gallows, his head high, his eyes blazing defiance. I saw the noose dropped over his head and pulled snug around his neck, with the heavy knot secured below his ear. I would wake, crying, just as the trapdoor yawned beneath him.

Cruel as Hopkins’ taunts were, they had no visible effect on Shadow. Indeed, he did not seem to hear them at all. It was as if he had withdrawn into a world all his own, some inner haven of refuge where nothing Hopkins said or did could touch him.

When we reached Fort Apache, Shadow was pulled off his horse and hustled toward the stockade. He did not go peacefully. Though his hands were bound behind his back, his feet were free, and he struck out viciously, catching one of the soldiers full in the groin. The man went down with a hoarse cry, clutching his battered manhood.

Twisting and turning, Shadow managed to elude the soldiers as he made a mad dash for the gates.

“Stop him!” Joshua hollered, a half-dozen troopers raced after Shadow.

One of them threw himself at Shadow in a flying tackle, his arms closing around Shadow’s ankles. Both men crashed to the ground. Kicking violently, Shadow made it to his feet, but by then he was surrounded by five soldiers. I cringed as they beat him into submission and then dragged him into the stockade.

Joshua carried me to the infirmary and left me in the care of the Army Sawbones. Dr. Mitchell was tall and lanky. Despite his advanced years, he was a lively gentleman, his face smooth and virtually unlined. He had the merriest blue eyes I had ever seen, and as I glanced around the hospital, I wondered how he managed to maintain his sunny disposition. There were a dozen beds in the hospital, and they were all filled.

“Damned Apaches,” the doctor muttered. “Attacked one of our patrols day before yesterday. No matter how many times we beat them and run them back to the reservation, a few always manage to sneak off and cause trouble.” He smiled and gave me a fatherly pat on the shoulder. “Enough of that. Let’s take a look at you.”

So saying, he took me into a small room adjoining the main building, and after I undressed, he gave me an embarrassingly thorough examination. Then he tucked me into bed and declared I would be fit as a fiddle after three weeks’ bed rest and some decent food that didn’t come out of a can and hadn’t been charred black over a campfire.

“Three weeks!” I complained. “Why so long?”

“You’ve been through a rough time, Miss Kincaid,” he explained patiently. “You’re considerably undernourished and underweight. Not only that, but you suffered a minor concussion when you went tumbling down that hill. Not to mention the fact that you seem to have had a difficult delivery, a long, bumpy ride to the fort, and no time to rest.” He gave me another fatherly pat. “Trust me, my dear,” he said kindly. “I know what I’m doing.”

Three weeks, I fretted. Three weeks! I thought the days would never pass. There were bright spots, of course, the brightest of which was hot water. The first time I was allowed to take a tub bath, I thought I’d died and gone to Heaven. And there was the near-forgotten taste of fresh milk, the satisfying aroma of coffee, the fragrance of a real soap, and the comfort of a real bed with a real pillow. Yet I would gladly have traded all the wondrous comforts of civilization to be living wild and free with Shadow.

If only I could see him. If only the days did not pass so slowly. I was accustomed to riding from dawn to dark, to cooking and sewing, to being constantly on the move, and the enforced inactivity was frustrating, to say the least. I did not feel sick, only lost and alone.

Josh came to visit me morning and evening, sometimes bringing me candy or a ribbon for my hair, as well as the Eastern newspapers which were usually several weeks old by the time they arrived at the fort.

I sincerely appreciated Joshua’s thoughtful concern, but it was not Joshua I ached to see, and I begged him daily to let Shadow visit me. And daily he told me such a thing was impossible.

Shadow was behaving badly, Josh said. Had tried three times in as many days to escape from the guardhouse. Had broken Hopkins’ nose in a scuffle. Had nearly killed Sergeant Warren with his bare hands. And when he wasn’t attacking the guards, he could be seen pacing his cell like a wild animal, or standing at the window for hours on end, just staring at nothing. Sometimes the guards heard him beating on the walls with his fists. He was incorrigible, Josh said disdainfully, but then, what could you expect from a heathen savage?

Nettled, I wanted to cry out that Shadow was not a savage, that he was a fine decent man, proud and brave and honest—but I held my tongue. As long as there was a chance Josh could help Shadow—any chance at all—I could not afford to antagonize him by defending Shadow.

When I was finally released from the hospital, I went straight to Regimental Headquarters and demanded to see the Colonel.

Colonel Grant Crawford was a tall, austere man with close-cropped black hair and frigid green eyes. He was very cold and very polite. In short, clipped sentences he told me that he had received orders from Washington stating that the Cheyenne war chief known as Two Hawks Flying was to be executed February 1st. It was felt by certain parties in Washington that the Indian situation would be vastly improved if Two Hawks Flying was disposed of, permanently, before spring.

And then, as if he had just solved all my problems, Colonel Crawford smiled and said I was welcome to remain at the fort as long as I wished.

Taking a deep breath, I thanked the Colonel for his hospitality and then asked if I might see Shadow, prepared to argue my case all day, if necessary. But the Colonel only shrugged and said I could see the prisoner immediately if I so desired.

Five minutes later I was standing in a dark, dank cell located in the bowels of the guardhouse. The cell was little bigger than an outhouse and smelled about the same. It contained no furniture and had no windows and no light save that provided by the candle in my hand. A ragged blanket was spread on the dirt floor. A foul-smelling slop jar occupied one corner of the room. The odor of sweat and excrement was very strong, and I shuddered with horror and disgust.

Shadow stood in the middle of the floor, blinking against the light. He looked thin and discouraged. His long black hair was dirty and unkempt, his clout and moccasins were filthy. Always having taken such pride in his appearance, I knew he must be humiliated—not only by his surroundings but by his own unwashed condition.

“You should not have come here, Hannah,” he said flatly. “This is no place for a woman.”

“This…this dungeon is no place for anyone,” I said. “Why aren’t you in one of the cells upstairs?”

“I am being punished for trying to escape once too often,” he replied bitterly.

“How long have you been here?”

“I am not sure. Two weeks…three. I have lost track of the time.”

He began to pace the length of his prison, his naturally long stride shortened by the heavy leg irons that rattled and clanged with every step he took. Leg irons, I thought angrily. Wasn’t it bad enough to lock him up without shackling him, too? Oh, it was cruel. Shadow was accustomed to vast sunlit prairies and bold blue skies. He should not be locked up in this ugly little cell, away from all he loved.

He came to an abrupt halt and grabbed me by the shoulders. There was a look of quiet desperation in his eyes, and I could feel him shaking with pent-up rage and frustration as he said, “Hannah, tell them to hang me or shoot me or slit my throat, but for God’s sake tell them to do it now!”

“No! You’re all I have left in the world.”

“Joshua will take care of you.”

“I don’t want Joshua,” I wailed. “I want you.”

Shadow let out a long breath, and I felt the anger drain out of him as he pulled me close, murmuring my name. I melted into his arms, lifting my face for his kiss. His mouth was warm on mine, his hands gentle as they caressed my cheek and my hair. Our kisses grew more urgent as our bodies pressed together, and I needed him as never before. It had been five long weeks since the soldiers had found us, five weeks since I had felt his arms around me.

The dirt-packed floor was hard and cold, the blanket he used for a bed was smelly and damp and rough against my bare flesh, but I didn’t care. Shadow was hesitant, afraid of hurting me, but only he could fill the emptiness in my heart and help me get over the loss of our child. Whispering his name, I pulled him down beside me. How I gloried in the feel of his naked flesh rubbing against my own! We held each other tight, straining together, as if we could never be close enough. I thrilled to the touch of his hands on my breasts and belly, felt my insides tingle with excitement as his throbbing manhood probed my quivering flesh.

With eager hands, I stroked the hard muscles in his back and shoulders, reveling in their strength and power. My eyes looked at him and were pleased with what they saw. He was perfect in every way, from his broad shoulders and flat belly to his long legs and arms that rippled with muscle. His nose and mouth were proud and strong, his eyes blackly beautiful. And his hands… Ah, there was magic in his touch and as his mouth descended on mine, the horrid little cell was swept away in a magical transformation. Suddenly it was spring in the high country. The world around us was fresh and clean instead of dark and musty, the cold floor became sweet grass, and the darkness gave way to sunlight as warm as vibrant as our love.

Gently, Shadow caressed my willing flesh, his fingers probing the secret places only he knew until I burned with a fire only he could quench. I moaned with pleasure in his arms, my fingernails digging lightly into his back as I drew him closer, closer…

Later, we lay facing each other, our bodies still fused together. Shadow murmured my name, and I knew then that he needed me as never before. I was the only one who cared if he lived or died, the only one who could free him from his awful prison and from the sentence of death that hung over him like a dark cloud. Somehow, I would find a way, for I could not bear to think of him spending one more day in dreary darkness, living like some kind of wild beast, forced to suffer the indignity of captivity. He deserved better—much better—and I intended to see he got it.

I was allowed to spend thirty minutes a day with Shadow. Sometimes we made love, sometimes we talked, and sometimes we only sat side by side, holding hands, with no need for words.

Daily, I pleaded with Colonel Crawford to free Shadow from that dreadful cell, but the Colonel adamantly refused, insisting that Shadow was much too desperate a character to be treated like an ordinary prisoner.