To Tame A Rebel (15 page)

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Authors: Georgina Gentry

BOOK: To Tame A Rebel
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“Stop worrying about me,” he snapped. “I've eaten.”
She didn't believe him, but there was no point in arguing with him. “I've got room in my buggy to carry a few,” she said.
“You might give a lift to some of the wounded if they survived the night,” he said, and went off to investigate.
The mortally wounded would have to be left behind to rely on the mercy of the pursuing Confederate soldiers. How many would die before the Union Indians reached Kansas—if they managed to reach Kansas with November soon to be fading into December? She would save those she could, she decided. Maybe sooner or later, she would get the chance to negotiate with the Confederates. After all, what did a few helpless Indians more or less mean to the Southern cause?
It would soon be dawn. Twilight got her medical bag and began to walk the frosty ground, looking for those she might aid. Nearby, she spotted an old woman curled up in the snow like a small, frail bundle of rags. She would offer her a ride to save her life. “Old mother?” She shook the thin body, but there was no answer or movement. With growing alarm, Twilight shook her again.
Behind her, she heard footsteps on the frosty ground and turned to see Yellow Jacket. Twilight blinked back tears. “Help me; I think maybe . . .”
He strode over, bent to look, shook his head. “She's gone; maybe the cold, maybe just willed herself to die so she wouldn't be a burden to her people.”
Twilight stared down at the frail body through her tears. “She—she hadn't hurt anyone. It isn't fair.”
Yellow Jacket snorted. “Tell that to the noble rebels who are chasing us down like rabbits.” He reached and took the old woman's blanket. “Sorry, old mother,” he whispered.
“What are you doing? Aren't we even going to bury her?” Twilight was outraged as she faced him.
He glared back at her, and she thought she almost saw his jaw tremble. “Do you think me heartless? I knew this old woman well; in happier times I have supped by her fire. The Master of Breath will understand, as will the dead. We have no time for burials, as the old one has no need for a blanket. Now, get in the buggy.”
“This is cruel and outrageous,” she protested.
“Mrs. Dumont, will you get in your buggy, or do I have to put you there?”
She tore away a piece of her black long skirt and laid it across the old woman's face, only sorry she couldn't do more. Then, with stiff dignity, she lifted her ragged skirts and walked to her buggy, climbed up, picked up the reins.
“I've got some passengers for you over that next rise,” he shouted, then put spurs to his horse and galloped off, throwing up a spray of snow.
Twilight sighed, knowing he was right. In her sheltered life, she had experienced so little hardship compared to what these people were dealing with. She spoke to her horse and moved out through the frozen ground with difficulty, knowing that soon the well-armed and well-fed Confederate troops would be awakening and starting the pursuit again. A long, cold, and miserable day lay ahead, and she knew she was powerless to do anything except help a few individuals. She concentrated on the people waiting over the next rise and didn't look back at the old woman lying curled in the snow.
 
 
In the Confederate camp, Colonel Cooper came awake with a start, grabbing for his pistol.
“Colonel? Colonel Cooper, sir?”
He recognized the voice and relaxed, blinked in the coming daylight as he swung his feet over the side of his cot. “Come in, Rogers. What in the hell's wrong?”
Clem Rogers, the lanky, mixed-blood Cherokee scout came into the tent and saluted. “Something's happened, sir.”
“Obviously, or you wouldn't be here.” The colonel yawned and scratched, began to search the darkness for his boots.
“Sir, it's Colonel Drew's Cherokee Mounted Rifles, the Keetoowas.”
“Troublesome bunch,” Colonel Cooper muttered.
The young scout twisted his hat in his hands. “You know they've been grumblin' about this trip, don't like chasin' after the runaway Creeks; think we ought to let them go.”
“I know, I know. I don't like it much, either, but ours not to reason why. We just follow orders, that's all.”
“Not those traditional Cherokees, the Keetoowa clan,” Rogers said. “They've pulled out.”
“What?” Colonel Cooper paused in pulling on his boots and stood up. “What do you mean, ‘pulled out'?”
Clem Rogers sighed. “What I been tryin' to tell you, sir, is that almost all the First Cherokee Mounted Rifles deserted in the middle of the night. They're gone!”
Colonel Cooper began to curse. “Damn them anyhow. Where'd they go?”
The lanky boy shrugged. “Not sure. Some may have joined up with old Opothleyahola's warriors; some may have headed to join the Yankee troops; some of them may just be sick of the whole war and gone home.”
The colonel rolled his eyes. “Wish I had that option. The other Injuns still with us?”
“Yes, sir. Them McIntosh half-breed Creeks is mortal enemies of Opothleyahola 'cause he assassinated the head of the McIntosh family years ago for signing over their land to Southern whites. It's a Creek law: a death sentence to anyone who sells tribal land. Anyways, the half-breed McIntoshes are itchin' to spill Union Creek blood.”
“They'll still get their chance, I reckon.” Cooper didn't wait for an answer as he sat on his cot and finished putting on his boots. “Rogers, go alert all my officers that we'll be meeting in a few minutes, and tell the cook to get a pot of coffee going—strong coffee.”
“Yes, sir.” The Cherokee scout turned to leave.
“Oh, didn't Mrs. Dumont's brother end up coming along?”
“Ridin' far to the rear, sir.” Clem Rogers couldn't keep the scorn from his voice.
“Well, you'd better go tell him and Captain Wellsley that we can't go on until we pick up some reinforcements.”
“Harvey Leland ain't gonna like that none.”
“Can't be helped. I'm not about to move forward with a whole regiment missing. The nearest reinforcements are probably old Stand Watie's Second Cherokee Mounted Rifles; they're loyal to the cause.”
“Sir, it'll take a couple of days for them to get here; gives them Yankee Injuns more time to get away.”
The colonel swore again. “You think I don't know that? Take one of our best horses and ride for Stand Watie. I've got to have some help here!”
“Yes, sir.” Clem Rogers saluted and ran out the door.
“Damn,” grumbled the colonel as he reached for his hat. “Damn those Union braves for not being sensible and surrendering.” Somewhere inside, he had the slightest bit of admiration for their gritty stubbornness, even though they added to his problems. With a sigh, he grabbed his coat and went out to meet the new dawn's events.
 
 
The cold day seemed endless to Twilight. The wind picked up and it began to snow. Yellow Jacket had loaded her buggy with a wounded warrior, a woman, and two young girls. Sometimes her buggy bogged down in the mud, and Yellow Jacket came back to help break trail. The wounded warrior seemed weaker, and when they stopped to rest the horses, he said something to Yellow Jacket, who nodded gravely, dismounted, and helped him from the buggy. He handed the young warrior a rifle. Half supporting, half carrying the man, Yellow Jacket helped him over behind a pile of rocks, then came back alone.
Twilight looked at him. “Isn't he going to ride with me farther?”
The big warrior shook his head. “Twilight,” he said softly, “the man is dying, and he knows it. He asks that we leave him behind.”
“But he'll die . . .”
“He's already dying. He intends to try to slow the rebel advance, buy our people more time. He said to give his place in the buggy to someone who stands a chance of living.”
Twilight's vision blurred. She looked around at the other silent Indians who rode with her. The young woman blinked back tears but said nothing.
Twilight stared at Yellow Jacket, a question in her eyes.
“He's her brother,” he said softly.
“Oh, God!” Twilight choked back sobs, “This is all so terrible.”
“Tell that to the rebel army pursuing us.”
She was tired and cold and miserable. “Why don't you leave me behind?” she said. “Someone could have my space in the buggy.”
“We need your medical skill,” he said. “I'll find someone else who can walk no farther to ride with you.”
Before she could say anything, he rode away. She looked over at the Indian girl next to her. If this girl could leave a dying brother, Twilight was ashamed to be so weak and complaining. She urged her horse forward, and the buggy lurched on again through the frozen mud. All around her, Indians rode tired, stumbling horses or walked stubbornly forward, bent against the driving north wind.
In minutes, Yellow Jacket rode next to her. “Old Opothleyahola is getting weak, and his horse just died. He's too weak to ride anyway, and we cannot lose him.”
Twilight nodded, and in moments, the frail old Indian was led to her buggy. He was bent with age and coughing as Yellow Jacket helped him up. The buggy lurched forward again, slowly.
Yellow Jacket said, “If we don't ease that load, that horse won't make it through the day.”
The Indian girl said something in her native language, but Yellow Jacket shook his head. Twilight gave him a questioning look.
“She's offering to walk,” he explained.
“Nonsense!” Twilight said. “I'll walk. I'm better able than she is.”
“Here,” he said, and held out his hand. “We can ride double and let the old one drive the buggy.”
Twilight hesitated. She certainly didn't want to ride with Yellow Jacket, but her horse was giving out, and the load in the buggy had to be lessened. With a sigh, she handed over the reins and took Yellow Jacket's hand, letting him swing her up behind him on the saddle. Then they started forward again, following the hundreds of people ahead of them.
Immediately, she was warmer because his big body was blocking the cold north wind. She huddled against him, seeking his warmth and locking her arms around his waist. He reached down and touched her hand, almost gently; then he nodded to the old Muskogee and spurred his horse forward, riding north into the icy blast.
She laid her cold face against the warm back of his buckskin shirt, closed her eyes, and listened to his great heart beat as they rode. She felt more than warm; she felt safe and protected. Then she reminded herself that he was her captor and that if she were lucky, her brother and the captain might catch up to the Creeks in time to rescue her. The thought was not as appealing as it had been yesterday. Like it or not, she was beginning to admire and respect the brave warrior she rode behind.
Chapter 10
Twilight thought the day would never end. She hung onto Yellow Jacket's broad back as they rode into the cold north wind. Around her, people stumbled and fell, got up, and kept walking. Many of the people were without shoes, and now and then she saw bloody footprints in sharp contrast to the white, white snow. Once they passed a dead horse and saw hungry people gathered around, cutting it up for meat.
Finally, it was almost dark, and the people stopped to camp, sharing whatever food they had. Yellow Jacket gathered buffalo and cow chips to start a fire. People crept close to it and warmed their numb hands. Twilight went about with her medicine bag, bandaging minor wounds, handing out what little medicine she had. No longer did she look on these people as savages. They were only people after all attempting to escape the ravages of war.
The big mixed-blood, Smoke, rode up, grinning. “Some good news, finally. Stragglers tell us Colonel Drew's Cherokee Mounted Rifles have deserted. Some of them have joined us, some have ridden over to join the Union forces, and some of them are just tired of the war and have gone home.”
“That is good news.” Yellow Jacket nodded. “Maybe that'll delay the rebels while they wait for reinforcements. Now we can take some time to rest.” He returned to Twilight and the small group who had ridden in her buggy.
She watched him talking to the frail old leader in their native language. The old man bent double with coughing as the pair talked, but he smiled. Twilight caught Yellow Jacket's arm as he turned to go. “What's happened?”
“Some of the rebel Cherokees have deserted, the Keetoowas, the ones we call the ‘pins.' That leaves their commanders shorthanded. It's the first good news we've gotten in weeks.”
It wasn't good news for her, Twilight realized. If the Confederate troops were delayed, the chances of her escaping were getting smaller. And yet, if she got the chance to escape, how could she go, knowing there was no one to look after the wounded and the sick among these pitiful people? She reminded herself that she was a hostage and these Indians weren't her problem . . . unless she wanted to make them so.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she lied. “Can you possibly find any food for some of the sicker, weaker ones?”
“I'll try hunting,” he answered, “but we're short of cartridges.”
“We seem to be short of everything except the sick and hungry.” Twilight sighed.
The wind blew the tiny fire almost out, and Twilight knelt and began to blow on the embers, fanning the fire to a blaze again while others ran about to gather up twigs and cow chips to fuel it.
Yellow Jacket watched her, nodding with approval. “I'm almost out of matches. When we use them up, we'll be trying to use a flint and steel. That's hard to do with the wind blowing.”
She rubbed her numb hands and held them out to the flames. “I wish we had some coffee. If we'd stayed with the Confederates, we'd have some.”
Yellow Jacket snorted in derision. “My people aren't likely to trade a chance at freedom for coffee. I'll melt some snow over the fire. I think I have a little parched corn left; we can make a thin soup.”
She was too weary to do anything but nod. “If you could shoot a rabbit, maybe I could make a nourishing soup for some of these people.” Around her, she could see others stumbling to a halt, trying to build fires. It was starting to snow again as darkness came on. Many of these people would not survive the night, she thought, but she would do what she could. Twilight busied herself getting her soup boiling, and after an hour, Yellow Jacket returned with one thin old jackrabbit, which he skinned, cut up, and added to her soup.
She looked around at the dozens of hungry faces and called out, “Bring your cup or an old hollow gourd and we'll share what we've got.”
Immediately, small children came running, but the old hung back. Tears came to Twilight's eyes as she realized why. “There's plenty,” she lied, urging the old ones to come forward. “There's enough for everyone.”
Within minutes the kettle was empty. “Did you get any?” she asked Yellow Jacket.
“I—I wasn't hungry. Did you eat?”
“Sure,” she lied, knowing he would be upset that she had given her share to a frail woman. She couldn't have eaten anyway with all those hungry eyes watching her.
He put his hand on her shoulder. “You have a good heart, Twilight.”
She didn't answer and looked away.
“You should have eaten,” he scolded gently. “If you're returned in poor shape, Harvey will say we mistreated you.”
His words stung her. How could she almost have forgotten that she meant nothing to him except for her medical skills and being a valuable hostage?
Darkness came on, cold and sharp, the wind howling like a wild animal as it blew through their campsite. The fire had dwindled down to glowing coals. The people had scattered, seeking shelter in gullies out of the wind.
Yellow Jacket cut and spread fragrant juniper boughs, then laid his buffalo robe on top of those. “Let's see if we can make it through the night without freezing to death. Bring your blanket.” He sat down on the robe and gestured for her to join him.
Twilight reasoned that the whites need never know she had shared blankets with this big savage male. Surviving the night was all that mattered. After a moment's hesitation, she brought her blanket and lay down on the juniper boughs next to the big man. The scent of the fragrant branches reminded her of Christmas. She wondered then how many days had passed and how close to Christmas it was. Did it matter anymore? All that mattered was staying alive and out of the range of the rebel guns until she was rescued.
Yellow Jacket pulled her close to him. She stiffened in protest for a moment; then she lay down on his muscular arm and pulled the blanket over them. They turned toward the fire, spoon-fashion, and he curled protectively around her. The heat and the power of him enveloped her, and she was warm and secure. “How far is it to Kansas?”
His warm breath stirred her hair. “I don't know. We'll just keep moving until we run across Yankee troops.”
“Suppose the Confederates catch up to us again?”
“Then we'll fight them again,” he answered sleepily. “Now, go to sleep; we'll be on the trail again before dawn, and you'll need all your strength.”
“I am so tired of being hungry and cold,” she whispered, “and watching people die when there is so little I can do to help them.”
“Me, too,” he murmured, “but there is no quitting unless we want to be killed or captured by the rebels, so we'll just keep moving north until we either reach safety or the rebels kill us.”
She was finally getting warm. She lay on his muscular arm, listening to the crackle of the fire. She didn't want to think about the hardships and the hunger of tomorrow. Tonight it was enough to be warm and safe, to be able to sleep. She began to drift off.
He pulled her closer, and she pretended to be asleep as he stroked her hair. She felt him kiss the side of her face, and then his big hand pulled the blanket closer around her small shoulders. “I'm sorry I got you into this,” he whispered, and then he laid his face against hers, his big arm encircling her protectively. In minutes she heard his steady breathing as he dropped off to sleep.
There was no telling what lay ahead of them on the windswept prairie tomorrow—death, or at least pain, hunger, and heartbreak—and a relentless army was coming behind them. She would not think of that. She would think only that she was warm and in the arms of a man who held her as if she were a precious object.
What was she thinking? Of course she was precious to him; she was a hostage and might come in very handy if the Indians needed a bargaining chip with the Confederate army. She must remember that and stop thinking of this big savage as a virile and protective man. She put her cold face against his chest and dropped off to sleep.
 
 
In the middle of the night, she awakened to find him propped up on one elbow, looking down into her face.
She blinked. “Is it—is it time to move on?”
“Not yet,” he whispered, with a slight shake of his head. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. I just like looking at you, that's all.” His big hand traced the line of her jaw.
His gentleness touched her. Without thinking, she reached up and caught his hand. “What are you thinking?”
“How much I've wanted to do this.” Before she realized what he intended, he bent his head and kissed her gently.
She froze in surprise and then realized she'd been waiting for this moment since the first time she had seen him, since he had claimed her with his eyes so arrogantly and boldly. She let his tongue open her lips, and then she reached up and put her arms around his neck, returning his kiss with an ardor that surprised her. She had not known she was capable of such feeling.
After a moment, he pulled away. “I'm sorry, I should not have done that.”
Her heart was hammering. “I'm a captive; I couldn't have stopped you.”
“I wouldn't want you that way.” He got up and poked up the fire. “I'm going hunting. Maybe I'll get lucky and get something big like a deer. That would save a lot of people from dying today.”
She went from the magic of his forbidden embrace to the harsh reality of the coming day. With a sigh, she got up and pulled the blanket around her shoulders. How many miles would they walk today, and how many people would they lose to the cold and hunger?
Yellow Jacket did bring in a deer, and Twilight gathered snow and soon had a big pot of broth going to share around. By dawn, the caravan was winding through the hills, headed north again. However, as she sat behind Yellow Jacket on the big paint horse with her arms around his waist and her face pressed against the leather on his muscular back, she remembered that kiss time and time again and smiled ever so slowly.
 
 
They traveled in peace that day, the rebels behind them evidently waiting for reinforcements. Despite the cold and the lack of food, they kept moving until old Opothleyahola, still riding in her confiscated buggy, called a halt.
Twilight did not want to think about tonight and what might happen. She did what she could to relieve suffering and ate some of the deer meat left from early this morning.
Finally, the pair bedded down near the fire. She did not protest when he pulled her shivering body close to him. Instead, she reveled in the warmth and closed her eyes. Civilization was very far away, and she might not make it through the dangers of tomorrow, but tonight she was finding comfort curled up against this man. She closed her eyes and began to drift off to sleep.
Then she felt him stroke her hair and pull her close. Twilight's heart began to hammer. She wasn't certain if she should protest, or, worse yet, whether she wanted to. Not that it mattered, because she was a captive and he could do with her what he wanted. He stroked her hair. “Twilight?”
She pretended that she was asleep because she was uncertain how she should or wanted to react.
She felt his lips brush her cheek in the gentlest of kisses. She turned her body slowly so that she lay facing him, her breasts against his powerful chest. In the darkness she felt his hard manhood against her body. She had never felt this way toward any other man before, and tomorrow they might freeze to death or be killed. Her pulse began to beat hard as something deep within her stirred with an emotion that she had never felt. He rose up on one elbow. She could see the hard, rugged planes of his face in the flickering firelight.
“Twilight?” He was asking, and her heart said yes.
Without saying a word, she reached up, put her arms around his neck, and pulled him down to her. He gasped and breathed harder as his mouth covered hers. Never had she been kissed this way before. He claimed her mouth as a prize that he had won, and yet his lips were gentle as a butterfly's wings as they brushed hers. Then his insistent tongue pushed against hers, and she threw back her head and opened her lips in surrender so that his tongue went deep, caressing and tasting hers. His big hands went under her to pull her up against him, and then one of his hands went inside her bodice to stroke there. She, who had never known the ecstasy of a mutual hunger, clung to him now, trembling like a hesitant virgin while he kissed her as if he would never get enough of her. His rugged face was cold as it brushed against hers, and suddenly she wanted to warm him in the most intimate way. She reached to jerk open her bodice and put his face against her breasts. He moaned once, and then his eager lips sought her nipples. Now she was the one who moaned as his hand went to push up her skirt.
His hand stroked her thighs until she trembled with anticipation. Even if she died or were rescued tomorrow, she would have the ecstasy of this night to see what it was that she had missed in the cold, ritual matings with her husband.

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