Delilah's Flame (41 page)

Presently she heard the sound of another horse. Tabor? Surely he would have come after her. She hurried toward the road to flag him down, but stopped short before reaching it. Suppose it was someone else, someone unfriendly. Lilah turned back and looked about for a place to conceal herself.

“Yo there!” Glee threaded into Chapman’s voice as he spotted Lilah’s horse off the road. Damned if Lady Luck hadn’t winked at him tonight. The horse was lame and Lilah hadn’t had time to get more than a few yards on foot. He reined his mount to a stop.

From behind the one boulder large enough to hide her, Lilah crouched in the dust. The sound of that voice frosted her blood and turned her limbs to water. Chapman! Suddenly her quarrel with Tabor seemed minuscule, no more worrisome than the buzz of a bothersome mosquito. Dear Lord, help her. For almost nothing she had thrown herself into the gravest danger. She was alone and unarmed. What hope did she have that that fiend would go away without finding her?

“You hidin’ from me?” Chapman taunted, slipping from his saddle. “Ain’t no point in it. I been waitin’ days for you to be alone again so I could make my move.” He laughed. “Been thinkin’ about strippin’ you naked and doin’ whatever strikes my fancy. That sound good to you, Lilah?”

Shaking like a wind-whipped leaf, Lilah clapped both hands over her mouth so she wouldn’t cry out in fear and give herself away. That was what he wanted, to frighten her into making a sound that would indicate her location. Praying silently, pleading that by some miracle Chapman would leave or Tabor would come, Lilah shut her eyes, too terrified to face even the darkness.

The scrape of his boots on the ground, the loud jangle of his spurs, sent her heart into a wild thumping. And then there was silence, silence that stretched into minutes. Chapman was too quiet. Lilah held her hand over her heart, certain the beat of it echoed from the rocks. She ought to hear Chapman’s spurs or the sound of his horse if he rode away. Weighted with fear, her eyelids refused to rise even for assurance that her peril had ended. After a few more seconds she brought them up by force of will and found the night blacker and more ominous than before. Aching with fear, Lilah peeped around the boulder for a look. Her horse stood where she had left him. She saw neither Chapman nor his mount.

An easier breath flowed into her lungs, but she didn’t forget caution. Chapman might have walked off to look elsewhere. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t be back. Now she bit her tongue to keep from crying aloud. If only he had left his horse in view, she might have a chance of getting to the animal and riding off before he saw her.

With great care she settled back behind the boulder to think over what she should do. Did she dare make a run for Chapman’s horse? Yes. Yes, if she could spot the animal before leaving her place of hiding. Inching her way around, Lilah turned on her heel, planning to peer out from the other side of the boulder and see if she could spot Chapman’s mount.

In the midst of her slow turn she met a sight that skewered her heart. Gasping, Lilah stared at a pair of feet in dusty socks and knew in that terrible instant that Chapman had foxed her by slipping out of his boots and easing around the boulder to get behind her. His guttural laugh tightened the knot in her stomach. By degrees she looked up into the cold eyes and the barrel of the gun held in Chapman’s left hand.

“We’re gonna have us a good time, Lilah.” He smiled diabolically and motioned for her to stand.

“Tabor’s coming for me,” Lilah countered, holding her fear briefly in check.

Chapman nudged her toward his horse with his gun. “If he does, he won’t catch me by surprise this time.” He howled with laughter. “But maybe he won’t follow you at all. Appeared to me you two had a nasty spat.”

“You were at the dance?”

“Well, no,” he drawled. “I ain’t that stupid. But I was close by and saw that unfriendly partin’. You seemed right anxious to get away from Stanton.” The awful laughter erupted again. “Reckon you been pinin’ after me all this time.”

“Certainly not,” Lilah spat out in disgust.

“Don’t make no difference no way,” Chapman went on, unperturbed. “The more you fight, the more I’m gonna like it. Don’t reckon you can do more damage to me than my blade can do to you.” He laughed louder.

Lilah shuddered. “You won’t get what you want from my father if you hurt me.”

“Don’t reckon I’ll tell him what shape you’re in until I do.” He looked her over as if she were a head of livestock. “How much is a gal like you worth to an old man? Thousands, I’ll wager. Looks like you’re gonna make me rich and real happy too.”

She reached the horse Chapman had left near the road. Chapman ordered her to untie the animal and lead him out in the clear, all the while keeping the gun trained on her. Lilah remembered what he had said about tears and gulped hard to keep any from sliding down her face. She cried within. Oh, Tabor! Tabor! Please, you must have followed me. But what if Chapman was right? What if he hadn’t followed? What if he had counted on her cooling down and turning back on her own? If so, he would still be waiting for her in Sandy Flats. She needed a way to stall Chapman, to give Tabor a chance to find them—if he was on the way.

“My horse is lame,” she said quietly. “I...I’ll have to walk along beside you.”

“Naw!” Chapman eyed her lecherously. “That wouldn’t be gentlemanly. You’ll have the pleasure of ridin’ double with me. But first I’m gonna send that hoss of yours off to make a false trail—just in case Stanton is close behind.”

Still holding Lilah in his gun sights, he freed her horse and looped the reins to the saddle horn, then with a heavy limb struck the horse across the flank. Limping badly, the animal bolted across the road and ran off into the night. Lilah’s heart disappeared with him. If Tabor followed that trail first, he might be a long time getting to her.

Chapman ordered her to mount the horse first. As he climbed up, Lilah noted the difficulty he had using his right hand. Any pressure on the wound was met with a grimace of pain. She was glad of that. He would need his left hand to guide the horse, and that meant he couldn’t use the other one to maul her.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked weakly, the last of her courage shriveling.

“Gittin’ anxious for my lovin’, ain’t you?” He sneered. “You won’t have to wait long, darlin’. I found a deserted cabin about two miles off. Got a lamp and some oil and an old cot. All we’re gonna need till morning.”

Lilah shivered as if she had just been handed a sentence of death. Maybe she had. Chapman needed to keep her alive only until he claimed a ransom from her father. She didn’t doubt her father would pay, but the thought of what such a request would do to him frightened her more than Chapman’s threats. Poor Papa. He would be worried sick. And his heart. Oh, Lord! His heart. Knowing she had been kidnapped by the likes of Chapman would kill him.

For the first time ever she regretted her scheme of revenge. There might have been other ways to bring those six men to justice. But she had wanted a personal hand in evening the score. Look what it had brought about. She was on the threshold of being responsible for hurting, maybe killing, the very person she had wanted to avenge.

“I want to write a letter to my father,” she said, unexpectedly. “I don’t want him to know I’m in any danger from you. His health isn’t good. A shock could be fatal.”

“Won’t make no never-mind to me if he drops dead,” Chapman reported.

“Well, it should!” Lilah said defiantly. “If he dies there will be no one to pay a ransom. You won’t get a penny.”

Chapman saw the logic of what she said and agreed she should write a letter to her father. The old man would be quicker to respond to her plea anyway. And a letter was best. Sending such a message in a telegram might stir up suspicion too quickly. A letter was slower, but then he was in no hurry to turn over the girl or make a run with his claim, whatever the outcome might be.

Lilah wished the ride would take forever, but they were at the cabin in an amazingly short time. The ramshackle place had been vacant a long time. Weeds grew in abandon right through the broken boards of the steps. The hide windowpanes were ragged and torn and had long opened the interior to the elements. The door, however, was still stout, and Chapman bolted it behind them, licking his lips as he thought of the treat in store for him.

Chapman ordered Lilah to sit on the hewn log which served as a bench. He was anxious to get mundane things out of the way so that he might satisfy his lust. While Lilah waited, he produced writing materials from his saddle pouch.

With some thought, Lilah penned a letter which explained her plight without letting her father know how despicable Chapman really was. Better he should think she was well-treated than worry himself into a mortal illness. She took her time with the writing, attempting to squeeze every possible moment of delay from the task. After a time Chapman demanded she end the epistle, and when she had signed her name, snatched the paper from her hand. He found her words amusing and took pains to point out how thoroughly she had misled her father.

“You make me sound like a man of the cloth.” He laughed raucously. “Reckon you’d be surprised that I took up the Good Book and preachin’ once. Never could keep my eyes and hands off them sweet, tender things in the congregation, though. Had to leave my last charge in the dead of night. But it was worthwhile for the time I had with little Polly Jansen.”

Lilah knew he wanted her to ask what he’d done to little Polly, but she had no desire to know. Not for a minute since Chapman found her had she been able to free her mind from what he had threatened her with before. All her muscles were knit into tight knots in dread of what lay ahead. For once her ready tongue failed her and she could think of nothing else to lengthen the delay.

“Get up!” Chapman demanded.

Lilah stayed on the bench, but only until Chapman jabbed the pistol in her back. Though it must have been excruciating to do so, he held the gun in his right hand, the hammer back and ready. He ordered her to hold her hands out in front of her, and when she did, he slipped the loop of a rope over them and pulled it painfully tight. With surprising quickness he knotted the rope around her wrists, and before she could give him much of a fight, tossed the end over a beam and hauled her into the air so that her feet barely swept the floor. He stood back and laughed.

“Got me a candy apple hanging up here.” Chapman stepped near and lifted her flowing red hair with his gun barrel. He brushed a few strands caressingly against his face. His voice was droll, his eyes dancing with crazy lights. “Ain’t nothin’ sweeter to bite than a candy apple.”

“Cut me down! You’re insane!”

But Chapman only half-listened to Lilah as he rubbed his groin against her skirts and took the red bandanna from his neck. “I’d sure like to listen to you scream, Lilah, darlin’. But sound carries a long way ‘round here. Don’t want nobody comin’ to investigate. No sirree. We don’t want nobody interruptin’ our fun.”

“If you kill me you’ll get nothing!” Lilah screamed. She could see that her words weren’t penetrating his crazed mind, but kept shouting at him anyway. “There’s no ransom if I’m dead.”

Chapman silenced her by tying the bandanna over her mouth and around her head. It tasted foul and just the odor of it nearly gagged her.

Laughing evilly, Chapman laid his gun on the bench, where it was handy if he needed it in a hurry. His favorite weapon was his knife, a bone-handled Bowie, sharper than a barber’s razor. He drew it out of the sheath in his boot, testing the blade’s edge on his gloved hand, and with a touch, slicing through the layer of leather. This he performed for Lilah’s benefit, and it had a sudden and demoralizing effect as her mind registered the threat.

Chapman moved behind her and with several quick flicks of the blade sliced the buttons from her dress. He cut through the lacings at her waist as well, then gave the garment a tug that sent it into a pool of blue silk beneath her feet.

Lilah moaned and tried to stay still, having learned that any movement caused the rope to notch into her wrists. Chapman’s maniacal laugh lit stark fear in her wide eyes. She expected to be split from throat to belly at any moment. Was that the uncontrollable thing he had done to little Polly Jansen, some pitiable child who had believed him a good man? She said a silent prayer.

Chapman picked up her dress and rubbed it against his face, sniffed the lingering scent of her perfume in the silken folds. He held the garment there a moment, then tossed it in the air and caught it on the blade of his knife. Moments later the dress lay in tatters around him.

He saw Lilah’s troubled breathing and fear-filled eyes and suffered a moment of pity in her behalf. “I ain’t gonna kill you, Lilah, darlin’. Don’t fret over that. I ain’t even gonna hurt you much. If I had two sound hands I wouldn’t even have you trussed up.” He sighed raggedly. “It ain’t hardly sportin’ with you tied.”

As he spoke, Chapman walked very close, the gleaming blade held in front of him. In spite of his words, Lilah feared this minute was her last. But again Chapman wielded the knife against only her garments as he cut the drawstrings on her petticoats. They fell and were quickly trampled under Chapman’s feet. He eyed the long, slender legs extending from her pantalets and the sleek, bare arms extending from her camisole. Again he rubbed the gloved hand against his loins.

It was happening again. His prick was standing on end. Feeling weak, Chapman gasped for breath as the abnormally fast surge of blood in his loins demanded all his strength. Damn, how he had wanted this to happen, and time after time, woman after woman, it had failed to. Finally he had gotten tired of being laughed at by whores and sluts and had found a way to pleasure himself with a woman even if he couldn’t use his pecker. ‘Course, none of them ever wanted his money again, and he reckoned more than one woman still wore his teeth prints like a tattoo. But this time, this once, he was going to shove it in a woman like a man.

“You got something special about you, Lilah,” he groaned, and indicated the bulge in his pants. “Something real special.”