The Maverick's Bride (13 page)

She held her tongue when a young man stepped into the room bearing a tray of tea and a loaf of bread. He poured out two cups, and bowed low as he left. Emma gratefully lifted the sweet liquid to her lips.

“Miss Pickering…Emmaline,” Nicholas said. “You have not asked me about your father.”

“Mr. King told me everything.” Her hand suddenly trembling, she set the cup on the saucer. “Is his grave nearby?”

“Behind the station—with the other workers who…”

“The lions’ victims,” she said. “Yes, I know.”

She closed her eyes, searching for words to explain emotions she could hardly decipher. Her father was dead. Such relief she felt…and such sorrow.

She thought how others would respond to the news of his death. Those who had lost their lives to the lions would remain anonymous, but her father’s death would be widely reported in England. The London papers would call him a martyr for the empire.

Emma stopped her thoughts. She must reconcile herself to her loss, to her father’s passing, to the part she had played in it.

“I shall visit his grave before I go,” she told Nicholas. “You must understand, sir. Had he lived, my father would have insisted on searching for his younger daughter. Now it is my responsibility to find her.”

“I see you will not be dissuaded.” He set his cup on the tray. “I sent search parties to look for you and your sister. The men returned not long before you did. To the best of our knowledge, Miss Priscilla is nowhere in the vicinity of the railhead. But I must caution you that the railway cannot afford to spare the men for long. A week at the most.”

“A week is not enough.” Emma ran her fingers over the brim of the hat in her lap. “I mean to search for Cissy until I find her. I shall transfer a portion of my funds to a bank in Mombasa, which will allow me to outfit an expedition. Mr. King has agreed to lead the mission.”

“Mr. King?”

“We shall travel to the border first,” Emma continued. “I hope to interview the German soldier who courted my sister. Better yet, I may learn that he is missing and doubtless in her company. From there, I shall search the country until Cissy is found. Mr. King is a capable guide.”

“I daresay he is not.” Nicholas stood. “Emmaline, have you any real knowledge of that man? Do you know his history, his associations, his dealings in the protectorate?”

“I understand all I need to about Adam King. He is well-traveled. He knows the tribal people. He speaks their language and can engage their support. Most important, he has agreed to take on the job.”

“For a large fee, no doubt.”

“He will be compensated.”

“Have you such ready funds?”

“My inheritance.” She picked up her teacup and took a sip for fortification. “Mr. King and I have an understanding, you see. According to my father’s instructions, I must be married before I can receive my inheritance. I proposed such a partnership to the American, and he accepted. Having taken a
husband, I can now collect my inheritance and pay for everything I need to find my sister.”

Nicholas appeared fit to burst. “Are you joking, madam?” he sputtered. “You have actually agreed to marry Adam King?”

Emma shrank from his vehemence. “We are wed. A Maasai elder performed the ceremony last night. It is an odd contrivance, I admit, but I am assured the pact is legally binding.”

“A pact? A contrivance? Madam, have you any idea what sort of man you have attached yourself to?”

Emma stood and crossed to the window, wishing she could escape. “I care nothing for my own comfort and well-being, Mr. Bond. My sister’s life is my only concern.”

Nicholas’s voice was steely. “Adam King is a money-grubbing agitator—a mercenary. Miss Pickering, I must speak bluntly. The Crown has reason to believe that Adam King is collaborating with the Germans to foment unrest in the protectorate.”

“Surely this cannot be!”

“There is little doubt. Indeed, we seek only final proof before we expel him from the country.”

“But what evidence do you have?”

“King receives regular shipments to Mombasa harbor. Do you know the contents of those crates?”

“No.” The word choked from her throat.

“Guns. Ammunition.”

“But—”

“He claims the crates contain farming implements. He imports equipment for his ranch—or so he tells the port authority when he presents the bills of lading. But we are certain he is trading in arms. His true name, by the way, is not Adam King. He is Adam Koenig, and a German by descent. If you doubt me, Emmaline, ask the man yourself. Believe me, if
your sister was abducted by Germans, you can be certain your so-called protector knows about it.”

Emma gripped Adam’s felt hat, its brim warm in her fingers as she stood beside the window. Could this be true? He had seemed so honest, so forthright. Yet what did she truly know about the American?

“Are you saying that Adam King may know where Cissy is?” she asked.

“You say your sister was befriended by a German soldier. She supposed that man called her name in the night and she fled with him. If a German has taken your sister, Adam King will have had a hand in it.”

“Taken my sister? No, you must be wrong. I met Dirk Bauer. I saw his eyes when he looked at Cissy. He truly loved her. Even if it were a ruse, why would the Germans capture a young Englishwoman? It makes no sense.”

“It makes perfect sense. They’ve had no end of trouble building their railway to the Uganda territory, and now they lag behind us in the race to complete the track. England’s relations with the kaiser are deteriorating. Should we charge the Germans with absconding with a British citizen—a woman, no less—the accusation will stir the pot further. Which is exactly what the kaiser wants.”

Emma leaned against the window frame for support. There was logic in Bond’s argument. His assessment of the political situation was accurate. Yet Dirk and Cissy had seemed truly in love. How could the courtship have been nothing more than a subterfuge?

“Why would Adam King import guns?” she challenged. “The Germans are well-armed.”

“Ten years ago they faced a native uprising. Arabs had armed the Africans with breech-loading rifles. Now the
Germans believe they can put guns into the hands of natives in the British Protectorate and create similar trouble for us. Adam King serves the kaiser. His assignment is to import weapons and arm the locals. As you have said yourself, he knows the tribes and speaks their languages.”

Her heart racing with dread, Emma shook her head. “But you said he was a slaver.”

“Emmaline, I fear this information may be too much for you.” Nicholas’s eyes were soft with sympathy. “You have suffered one shock upon another. Your alarm must be great, indeed.”

“It will be greater still if you fail to reveal even the smallest shred of intelligence about Mr. King.”

“Then let me make it simple. Adam King is a wicked man. Some years ago while in the Uganda territory buying slaves, he formed an alliance with the Germans. His human property is transported down the old slave trails to Bagamoyo and Dar es Salaam on the coast of the German territory. They turn their heads because they need his services against their enemies.”

“The British.”

Nicholas tipped his head. “It’s quite simple—the tale of a mercenary. The empire is laced with such miscreants. We do not fear Adam King. We simply observe his actions and thwart him when we can.”

As he finished speaking, Emma turned to the window again. Adam…a traitor, a mercenary, a slaver? Was it possible he knew Cissy’s fate even now?

A movement near the track caught her attention. Dressed in a clean white shirt and black hat, Adam was speaking earnestly to Soapy as they walked along the rail line. His black boots caught the sunlight, their silver spurs spinning. As she watched, he paused and looked to the window where she stood.

Disconcerted, she stepped backward—straight into Nicholas’s arms.

“Forget him, Emmaline,” he whispered. “Your agreement is easily broken. The word of a native will hold no weight in a British court. Your union with King is a sham, a folly.”

With one finger, he tilted her chin so that she was compelled to look into his brown eyes. “My feelings for you are unchanged. Please believe I shall do all in my power to help you find your sister. I want nothing more than to make you happy. Transfer your attachment from Adam King to me, Emmaline. I beg you to consider me as the most beloved partner for your future life.”

Nicholas’s awkward proposal added to the tumult of emotion that Emma felt. His indictment of Adam was shocking in its detail. Should she trust Nicholas? Her father approved of him. Even Cissy liked the man. But rather than despising Adam as reason demanded, Emma knew she could not reject him until she had learned the truth for herself.

“If indeed Mr. King knows where Cissy is, I have all the more reason to continue our association,” she said. “I shall study his movements and make every effort to intercept his communications. Perhaps I may learn enough about his treachery to help you put a stop to it.”

“Emmaline, you cannot mean this,” Nicholas exclaimed. “Do be reasonable.”

“I am perfectly rational.” She stepped toward the door. “Please wire ahead to Government House. Inform Lord Delamere I shall be arriving in Mombasa tomorrow.”

As she stepped outside the office, he caught her arm. “By my honor, I will not let you go so easily. I love you, Emmaline. I shall come after you, I swear it.”

She pulled free and turned away. “You must do as you see fit, Mr. Bond. I shall do the same.”

S
tanding near the train, Adam faced down a small Englishman with wide gray eyes and a tremor in his lip.

“Mr. King, I have my orders,” the man declared, his voice quaking. “My timetable is set.”

Adam frowned. “Queen Victoria herself wrote out your little schedule? Is that what you’re telling me?”

Catching sight of Emma striding toward them, he straightened. By the set of her jaw, he could see she was in no mood for nonsense.

“Is there a problem, Mr. King?” Emma asked.

“Seems the train isn’t scheduled to leave Tsavo station until tomorrow morning. Mr. Perkins here is the engineer and he says he can’t make a change without permission.”

“Permission from whom?”

“Mr. Bond makes out the schedule.” Perkins edged toward Emma. “We depart for the coast at eight in the morning.”

“But I cannot wait until morning,” she informed him. “In deference to my father, once commissioner of this railway, I beg you to set off at once. Every hour could mean the difference between my sister’s life or death.”

“Madam, with all due respect to your late father, we do not run the train at night.” The little man gave Adam an uneasy glance. “Elephants and rhinos and other such beasts roam about the track. In the dark, it is quite impossible to spot even such a huge creature in time to stop the train.”

“Who can think of elephants at a time like this?” Emma set Adam’s hat on her head. “I order you to start this train, sir. At once.”

“I beg your pardon, but I cannot.” The engineer faced Emma. “Not in good conscience.”

“Start the train, sir, or we shall be forced to start it ourselves.”

“I’d listen to the lady if I were you.” Adam took another step toward the engineer, prodding the man’s chest with his index finger. “You get that train started, hear?”

“As you wish, then.” With a reproachful glance at Emma, he hurried toward the locomotive.

“I’ll clear this up with Bond,” Adam told her. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

Reading the dread in Emma’s eyes, his grin faded. He saw at once what he had done—intimidating the engineer, physically forcing the man to relent. Emma would hate that in him.

“I shall speak with Mr. Bond myself,” she said. “We have an understanding.”

“Oh, you do?” He didn’t like the sound of that.

Emma looked up at the verandah of the station building. Her expression told Adam who stood there.

“No more fighting,” she said. “I’ve had a lifetime of conflict already. Please, sir. I just want to leave this place.”

Adam met her pleading eyes. “Emma, sometimes a man has no choice but to grab trouble by the horns.” He touched her arm. “Soapy’s waiting for you in the passenger car. I said I’d take you to the coast tonight and I will.”

He started toward the station building, then stopped and looked back. “It may take money.”

“I shall pay it,” she said. “Whatever the cost.”

Emma set her hand on the iron rail near the door and stepped up into the car. She recalled the way Nicholas had accused Adam of being a mercenary. A money-grubbing agitator. A traitor for hire. Was this the beginning, then? Would the American ask for money at every turn, trying to get as much from her as he could?

In the cool darkness of the railcar, Emma gazed at the berth where she had last sat with her father and Cissy. All the seats were empty now, save one. She saw a white hat up ahead and made her way down the aisle toward it.

“Mr. Potts?” she asked softly.

“Howdy, ma’am.” The cowboy leaped to his feet and whisked the hat from his head, leaving his yellow hair standing on end. “Call me Soapy. Been my name since I was two days old and rolled into the washtub and nearly drowned.”

His smile warmed her heart as she took the seat opposite him. “You’re the cook?” she asked, her focus on the shuttered window.

“I give it my best when we’re out on the range.” Soapy’s hand covered Emma’s as she moved to raise the shade. “Let the boss handle him, ma’am. He can draw faster than you can spit and holler howdy. ”

“Draw?”

“Adam King was raised with a gun in one hand and a milk bottle in the other. He can take care of himself, sure enough. That fancy pants Englander ain’t got a chance against the boss.”

Now more determined, Emma pushed Soapy’s hand aside and lifted the shade. As she feared, the two men faced off on
the verandah. Nicholas’s hat lay in the dust and his fists were knotted in anger. His brown hair glimmered a burnished copper in the afternoon sunlight slanting across the stone floor.

Adam had pushed back his hat and rolled up his shirtsleeves. Emma noted the gun in its holster at his side. His right hand was poised over it, fingers spread wide.

“Dear heaven, Mr. Potts,” Emma cried, rising to her feet. “Do they mean to kill one another?”

“Not hardly. Like I said, Bond don’t stand a chance.”

“But he has no weapon.” Emma held her breath as Adam took a step toward the Englishman and began speaking. Nicholas shook his head. Adam jabbed the other man’s chest with his finger, just as he had done to the ship’s purser and the rail engineer. As he prodded, Nicholas stepped backward until he stood against the verandah railing.

Just as Emma felt sure he must surrender, Nicholas ducked under Adam’s arm and spun around behind him. A revolver flashed in his hand and he leveled it at Adam’s heart.

“No!” Emma bolted from the window, stumbling past Soapy into the aisle. Grabbing up her skirts, she ran between the seats toward the open door.

“Hold on now, Miss Pickering!” Soapy called, his boots pounding the metal floor of the car as he followed her.

Emma’s mind filled with the image of Adam lying in a pool of blood. She would lose him, just as she had lost Cissy…her mother…her father…

“Emma?”

A cry broke from her as Adam’s huge dark form loomed in the doorway, and she barreled headlong into him. His scent engulfed her as he lifted her lightly up and away from the open door. His boot flew out and caught the door, slamming it shut as the train lurched forward.

“Oh, Adam.” The breath sighed out of Emma all at once. Then her body went rigid and she pushed away from him. “Mr. King, if you cannot refrain from provoking people to the point of using weapons, then I must disengage your services. Is that clear?”

Adam pushed his hat back with the tip of one finger. “You don’t want to see any more fighting.”

“See
it? I don’t want there to
be
any more fighting.” Emma gripped the seatback as the train picked up speed. She needed to rest…to close her eyes and escape the truth that Cissy was missing and their father was dead. Now Emma was alone in the middle of Africa with two Americans—one accused of slaving and mercenary activities against the empire. Worse, all she really wanted to do was curl into that very man’s arms, lay her head on his shoulder and fall asleep.

“Promise me, sir,” she said with all the emphasis she could muster. “Promise you’ll never use a weapon against Nicholas Bond again.”

“What makes you think he used his gun?” Soapy protested.

She turned to the smaller man. “I include you in the pact, Mr. Potts. No guns and no fists.”

“But you can’t take away a man’s right to defend himself, ma’am.”

“It’s okay, Soapy.” Adam laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I know better ways to handle Bond anyhow. No guns, Emma. Not while I’m working for you. Soapy neither. And now, you need to rest.”

She preceded the two men down the aisle. Soapy took his former place. As if Adam had read her mind, he drew Emma down beside him, placed one arm around her and eased her head onto his shoulder. He propped his boots on the opposite seat and raised the window shade.

“Sunset in Africa. My favorite time of day.” He spoke in a low voice and Emma could not resist the lull of it. “Unsaddle my horse and turn him out in the corral. Cattle rounded up for the night. My men gathered by the fire…”

Emma relaxed in Adam’s embrace and gazed out at a golden sky streaked with pink. Thorn trees silhouetted in black spread gnarled branches across the horizon. A pair of giraffes emerged in the dusk, their long necks swaying in rhythm with the train as it slipped along the track.

Adam stroked his finger down Emma’s cheek, and she shut her eyes. In a moment, she drifted off to sleep to the rattle of the train taking her back to Mombasa.

Adam looked down at the woman sleeping in his arms. Moonlight filtered through the window, silvering her skin. Dark lashes fanned her cheeks, pink from the heat of the sun. What was he to do with her? She snuggled close to him as if they belonged together. As if they really were married.

No.

He couldn’t think that way. He couldn’t want the woman anywhere near him. Emma Pickering was trouble. Strong-willed. Stubborn. She didn’t know a thing about the real world. Her life had been little but tea, ostrich plume hats and fancy dancing. She could barely even ride a horse, although she had done pretty well with Red.

Her hand lay on his arm, and he could see the brass ring on her finger. She had said the marriage was all business, and it was. She wanted to be a nurse. That suited him just fine. He needed a nurse.

But he wanted more. He wanted Emma. Shutting his eyes, he willed away disturbing thoughts. He couldn’t feel like this. Clarissa and his future should be all he thought
about. She would be coming sometime. Those pale blue eyes would look up at him. He would kiss her lips…and think of Emma.

The Englishwoman in his arms was anything but frail. She was soft, though. Her skin velvety and her hair a tumble of silky waves. Reaching up, he trailed his fingers through the golden strands. She stirred, let out a sigh and eased closer against him.

Adam groaned. He was starting to want things a man like him should never consider. The years in Africa had been an attempt to change his life, and he would not step off the straight road laid out before him. God had let him live, given him another chance. He couldn’t cast that to the wind.

But there was something in Emma’s heart that beckoned him. Her spirit matched his in fiery stubbornness and the determination to follow a dream. He liked being with her, talking to her, dancing with her, making plans. He was amused at the way she tossed her head and shot looks of insolence at him. He even admired her order not to use his guns. It took guts to tell a cowboy he couldn’t use his gun. Emma had spunk. And she was beautiful. And he was in trouble…deep trouble.

He clenched his jaw and looked out the window. It was going to be a long night.

The sudden cessation of rhythmic rocking brought Emma out of the depths of sleep—a sleep so heavy she was unable to move or even think. Her focus fell first on a pair of worn black boots, crossed one over the other and resting on the train seat in front of her. She studied them for a moment, knowing whose they were, yet unable to make sense of what she saw. She had dreamed of those boots and the man who wore them. He had walked in them through her dreams.

“Emma?” His voice was deep, lulling, hypnotic. “Emma, are you awake?”

As reality intruded, a jolt ran through her and she sat up straight. Adam King’s blue eyes shone like sapphires in the morning light.

“We’re at the station,” he told her. “Mombasa.”

Still drowsy, she turned to the window. The early sun had bathed the whitewashed station buildings and the porters’ uniforms in a pink hue. Only a few men stood on the platform, all wearing curious stares.

Humidity pressed in on Emma as the heavy weight of her mission reawakened. “I must go into town at once,” she whispered, starting to rise.

“Wait, Emma.” Adam caught her hand and pulled her back to his side. “Don’t run off just yet. I’ve been thinking about things.”

“Don’t think. Just—”

“Mornin’, ma’am.” Soapy shuffled down the aisle as Emma stood.

“Good morning, Mr. Potts.”

“Lord have mercy. You look as limp as a neck-wrung rooster.” Yawning, he held out the hat Adam had given her to wear. “Let’s rustle up some grub. You, too, boss.”

“We’ll head over to the bungalow, eat some breakfast and wash up.”

“What?” Emma said, turning to Adam. “I cannot delay another moment. Mr. Bond telegraphed ahead. We’re expected at the bank.”

Leaving the men, she hurried down the aisle. The heat hit Emma like a lead weight when she stepped out. She ran a hand around the back of her damp neck. Adam was right. A bath and a change of clothing would help. A solid meal would be
even better. But such luxuries must wait until she had set her plans in motion.

Mombasa town was coming to life as she stepped away from the station in search of a trolley. But Adam’s hand on her shoulder stopped Emma.

“Now I want you to listen to me,” he said. He took her hand and set it on his arm. “Soapy’s right. We’ll do better at the bank after some food and a change of clothes.”

A glance down at her tattered skirt told Emma the truth. “But I cannot be long.”

He walked her toward the row of waiting trolleys. “Emma, a few minutes more or less won’t make a difference. Bond was right on one account. No one alone and unprotected can survive for long in the bush. Hold the hope that the Germans or the Maasai found your sister. But if not…”