The Valiant Women (58 page)

She searched the area she could see with her uncovered eye, but there was nothing with which to attack him. Then his exhaustion was over. He raised on an elbow to caress her body, smiling as she set her teeth and managed not to flinch from his cold deft hands.

“You suit me well,” he said. His fingers touched her throat, gently, absentmindedly pressured. “Lucky for you to have kept virgin. Otherwise, I'd cut your throat. I claimed you for myself when you were a child. I'll be back for you.”

“Yes, come!” she spat at him. “Come so they can kill you!”

He laughed and took her again. This time her battling wasn't calculated. It was a despairing frantic attempt to be free of him. The end came quickly. Again his weight made it impossible to move with stealth.

“I wish I could keep you with me another day but you might not be able then to get back to safety—and I want you safe, Talitha, until I come after you.”

Hurt, battered, she opened her eyes and wished her hate could blast him dead. “I can get over this. It was something you did, not my fault. But I'll never live with you. I'd rather die.”

“I think I can change your mind when the time comes.” He handed her his canteen again. “Sorry I can't feed you but I'm short on rations. Follow this wash, my dear. It'll bring you to the Kitchen ranch and Doña Rosa will fuss and feed you while old Pete swears and gets up a crowd to chase me! Put on your clothes and start walking.”

“You're keeping my horse?”

“Just long enough to trade it for food and whatever loot I can get. Don't want you reaching Kitchen's too fast.”

She threw the canteen at him, ducked and reached for the gun. Her fingers almost closed on it before he kicked it away, numbing her hand where his boot grazed it. Scooping up the heavy revolver, he held it while he pulled on his trousers.

“No more tricks, my sweet, or I'll tie you up and you can just lie here hoping your friends find you before some bandit or Apache does!”

There was nothing she could do but put on her clothes. A little way down the wash, she turned to look at him. “I hope you do come back,” she said. “I want to kill you!”

“You won't do that, love. You'd hate for Shea to join Santiago.” His soft mocking laughter echoed in her ears as she made her aching despoiled body move along the dry watercourse.

He's hurt me
, she thought.
Forced himself inside me where only the man I love should have gone. But I can wash away the blood. The pain will go. It wasn't my fault, I didn't cause it. It was like being struck by lightning or dropped on by a wildcat. It is a wound like any other. I won't let it fester and turn me sick. No. What matters is that Santiago is dead. I must hurry so the men can go after Frost!

Kilting up her skirts, she ran. When she was gasping, she walked, and when she had her breath, she ran again.

Grain and other crops greened the rich bottom land overlooked by Kitchen's fortified house on a hill, with a small graveyard beneath it. As Talitha approached, the watchman on the parapet shouted and in what seemed a twinkling, Indians materialized from fields and the direction of the buildings, enclosing her as Kitchen himself came out, squinting till he recognized her.

“Miss Scott! The Apaches get you?”

Shaking her head, she gasped out what had happened except for what Frost had done to her. Doña Rosa hurried to her, made her come inside and gave her strong coffee.

“I'll send a couple of my Opatas to tell Mr. O'Shea you're safe,” said Kitchen. “But I'll get after that scoundrel with my best trackers. He won't have more than a six-hour start. A couple of my men know that Devil's Road pretty well. We should take him.”

“Shouldn't you send to Fort Buchanan?” Talitha asked.

“Can't hurt though by the time they get in action, Frost will be caught or gone for good. Might as well alert our constable, too.” Kitchen eyed her keenly. “Want a drink of mescal, girl? You look all done in.”

“If I could just rest a little … And would you have your men watch out for my horse? She's sort of a creamy gray.”

“Don't you worry, you won't have to walk home!” he assured her, giving her hand a rough pat.

He strode off to see to the expedition. At once, a wooden tub appeared and half a dozen girls of all ages trooped to it with buckets and gourds of water, hot and cold, while others went on with their carding, sewing and spinning.

“My nieces,” smiled Doña Rosa. “They make our home happy and help me with the work.” She sprinkled a handful of mint in the water, put out a bar of soap, and arranged a screen so Talitha could bathe in privacy. “We'll wash your clothes,” she said, draping a clean cotton skirt and blouse over the screen. “Wear these till your things dry.”

If she noticed there were no bleeding cuts on Talitha while there was blood on her clothing, she was too wise and kind a woman to force confidences.

The hot herb bath took away all of Frost's smell and much of Talitha's soreness. Dressed in her borrowed clothes, she wasn't hungry when she first sat down to the meal Doña Rosa urged on her, but the tantalizing smell of bacon lured her to begin and she was soon relishing it along with fried potatoes, a delicacy she'd never tasted except at Poston's last Christmas party, since Shea flatly refused to have potatoes grown at Socorro.

“I'll have their taste in my mouth when I die,” he'd said when John Irwin mentioned they did well in the region. “Treacherous they are, too. I still smell them rotting in the ground while my mother starved to death.”

There was peach conserve, crusty bread and a spicy, refreshing herb tea. When Talitha could eat no more, one of the nieces took her to a room with several beds. Talitha lay down on one and slept so quickly and so soundly that she later was sure that Doña Rosa had given her a sleeping draught.

She didn't wake till twilight. For a moment, she didn't know where she was, or even who she was, but her senses were reclaimed abruptly by herself when she knew Shea's voice, recognized it before she could have given her own name.

He shouldn't be riding yet! Sitting up, she tensed against the bruised ache between her legs, put on her sandals and hurried through the hall to the
sala
.

Shea started to rise at sight of her, but she pushed him back. Beneath his shirt, his shoulder was bandaged and his arm hung in a sling. Scanning her, he saw a clean, rested young woman and visibly relaxed.

“I hoped Frost would leave you here, lass, but how glad I was to know you were safe!”

“You ought to be home in bed!” she scolded. “Is your arm hurt, too?”

“No, the sling's just to keep it from flapping around and aggravating the shoulder. John Irwin says I'm lucky the shot missed the socket.” In spite of his grin, he was pallid. “Belen's with me. Can't track in the dark but we'll leave at first light tomorrow.”

“Shea, Mr. Kitchen and six of his men have gone after Frost. They left about noon. If they don't find him, you can't! And you shouldn't be jostling that wound!”

“There'll be dragoons after him, too, but that doesn't mean he's not my job.” Shea's eyes smoldered with blue fire. “Frost killed my friend after making him a slave. All that might never have happened if I hadn't thought Frost was such a fine fellow. No, Tally, I'm going after Frost. I intend to kill him.”

No use arguing. Talitha only hoped Kitchen's men had already caught up with Frost and that by the time Shea reached them, there'd be nothing left for him to do.

An Opata had brought in Talitha's horse. Escorted by two of Kitchen's most trusted men, Talitha left for home next morning shortly after Shea and Belen rode west.

Santiago was already buried, up on the hill beside Socorro. Trudging up there with Caterina and the twins, Talitha planted wild flowers on the grave and hoped that Socorro had met his spirit and taken him into that unknown world.

Two of the four who had started Rancho del Socorro lay under its earth and Tjúni was gone to her own portion. It must make Shea feel lonely. Talitha knelt, arms encircling Cat and the boys, and seemed to feel, in the sun and gentle breeze, the feel of Socorro's hand, the loving in her smile.

Be with Santiago. Please be with us
.

Though no one had said so, Talitha had believed for some time that Socorro had been raped by those
Areneños
who killed her father. It hadn't blighted her, though. Rising, Talitha felt comforted by her foster mother.

I'll do my best for your children
, she promised.
Just as you did for James and me. And please understand about Shea. I would never have loved him like this if you hadn't had to go away. You were his miracle, his only one
.

John Irwin was vastly relieved to find Talitha at home when he rode over from Fort Buchanan that night. “I wanted the worst way to go with Shea or the search party,” he said, holding her hands as if afraid she'd vanish. “But I had several people who were close to dying and I couldn't leave them.”

He swore when he learned that Shea had gone in pursuit of Frost, then tried belatedly to hide his concern. “He's a tough Irishman, Talitha. May take his shoulder longer to heal than if he'd been sensible, but he'll be all right.” Still holding one of her hands, he let out a gusty breath. “When I heard that blackguard had carried you off, I thought I'd go crazy! Hope Kitchen's already caught up with him and hung him!”

He didn't stay long after that, saying he had to look in on some patients but would come over a week from Sunday if he could. She had to send for him earlier, for ten days after her abduction, Marc Revier and Belen brought Shea home, delirious and fevered.

Areneños
had killed Frost, borrowing a trick from the Apaches to roast him head first over a small fire so that his face was charred past recognition. But the man wore Frost's clothes and the remains of his gray horse, evidently feasted on, lay close by. Kitchen found and buried the ruined body and pushed on to the Tecolote mine for water and food. They were on their way back to the Santa Cruz when they met Shea and Belen.

Shea was already running a fever and in pain from his shoulder. Kitchen guarded him the short way to the Tecolote and urged Marc to keep him quiet till his wound healed, but as soon as the fever went down, Shea had insisted on starting out.

“He was upset over not avenging Santiago himself,” Marc explained. “And he seemed worried about you though he said Frost hadn't hurt you.”

She couldn't meet Marc's deep blue eyes, busied herself with sponging Shea's hot face and chest. Chuey had already been sent for John Irwin.

“Thanks for bringing him home,” she said, trying not to cry as she watched Shea's gaze fix on something beyond her. “He—he will get better, won't he?”

“Of course! I think the wound was healing when jolting along tore it open again. Now he's content to rest, he'll be good as new in no time.”

But Shea wasn't resting. His hands worried the sheet, he tossed constantly, and when Talitha got him to drink some willow tea, he thought she was Socorro. Desperate, she gave him a brew of one of Nōnó's sedative herbs and that sent him into heavy slumber.

Anita had cooked supper and Marc made Talitha eat while Cat curled up on her father's bed and assured Talitha that
she'd
take care of him.

When Irwin came, he took off the old bandage, cleaned away pus and dead flesh while Talitha held the basin, and doused the wound with mescal which brought Shea up cursing him for some sergeant of over a dozen years ago.

Caterina refused to go but held her father's head, whispering to him soothingly through her tears.

“Keep him as quiet as you can,” the young doctor said. “Make him drink a lot and feed him only broth till the fever's down.” He frowned at Talitha. “Can you dress the shoulder? It'll be draining for a few days.”

She nodded. Though the ugly wound sickened her, it had been worse, much worse, to watch Socorro bleed to death, or Shea branded. Over her shoulder, Irwin looked at Marc Revier.

“You can stay awhile?”

“I've got a good assistant.”

“Marc,” protested Talitha, “you mustn't—”

“Of course I must. Besides, now that you and the O'Sheas hold the main interest in the mine, we need to talk about that when Shea's able.”

“I'll come Sunday unless everyone at the fort comes down sick,” the doctor promised. “Send for me earlier if the wound looks tainted.”

After coffee and a stout drink of mescal, he rode back to the post. The twins had gone sleepily to their little house, and Caterina, pale after Shea's ordeal, had collected an armload of kittens and gone off to bed.

Marc brought Talitha a glass of water and mescal. “Drink it,” he ordered when she made a face at the sting of it. “Your nerves need settling.”

“It'll make me sleepy. I've got to sit up with Shea.”

“No. I'll sleep in his room and I'm so used to keeping an ear cocked for bandits or
Areneños
that he won't stir much without rousing me.”

“But you must be tired!”

“I'll catch up tomorrow. Makes no sense for both of us to be sleepy.”

That was sensible and he was solid and sure and kind; his eyes were so deeply blue they hurt her, and she'd missed him terribly. Tears welled up in her eyes. “It's so awful, Marc. If Santiago could only have been home with us awhile, if we could have made him happy again—”

“Ifs are no use, darling.” Kneeling by her so that she had to meet his gaze, this one of the men she loved said grimly, “Frost took you, didn't he? Is that your wound, Talitha, why you won't look at me?”

She wanted to tell someone. It had been a secret poison the healing air and light couldn't reach. Yet she was ashamed for him to know, and for Shea it could only be a grief, something to add to the guilt he felt for accepting Frost.