White Wolf (14 page)

To keep her mind active, she thought of her new friends. On their second night on the trail, both Eirica and Anne had joined her at the stream to wash dishes. Though she’d tried to remain aloof, Anne had leaned close to confess that they both knew her secret, and so did Rickard. He’d pestered her from day one to teach him how to use a whip. They all promised to keep her secret, but Jessie worried now that it would only be a matter of time—and not very much time at that—before Wolf discovered the truth. She grimaced, knowing that there was no way in a tight-knit group to keep up the pretense forever. She could only hope they made it a lot farther west before Wolf discovered it.

She groaned at the thought. Anne and her family, along with Eirica, thought her ploy amusing, but Jessie knew Wolf would not find any humor in her deceit. Pushing the foreboding feeling away, Jessie continued to watch the Macauley tent. The minutes ticked by. The sliver of moon rose higher, and Jessie’s eyelids grew heavy. Just when she feared she’d fall asleep, Eirica, a waiflike shadow in the silvery moonlit night, left her tent.

Jessie’s eyes snapped open and she crawled out from the wagon, staying low, blending in with the deep shadows of the trees and brush as she followed Eirica along the fog-shrouded banks of the river. In return for Eirica’s silence and friendship, Jessie had vowed to look out for the other woman. Eirica needed a friend.

She’d discovered Eirica’s nighttime wanderings by accident two nights ago when she’d been awakened by the sound of someone moving past her wagon. Peeking out from under her warm cocoon of quilts, she’d been surprised to see Eirica heading toward the river. Silently, she’d followed to make sure the other woman was all right. Jessie knew she’d be forever haunted by the sight of Eirica bathing in the river, desperately scrubbing herself raw.

Coming to a stop beneath the protective cover of the trees, Jessie watched Eirica walk down the sloping bank to dip a cloth into the water and press it to one side of her face. After repeating the action several times, she left the water’s edge and fell to her knees in the grass, her hands splayed protectively around her middle. The tears came, slowly, then flooding into deep, gut-wrenching sobs, empty-of-hope, full-of-despair sobs that tore deep into Jessie’s sensitive soul.

Eirica’s unhappiness brought a lump to her throat. It was difficult to witness her misery in hidden silence. Every instinct urged her to go to Eirica, but she forced herself to remain a motionless shadow, allowing the other woman to keep her pride intact. She wished she could leave the woman to deal with her demons in private, but it wasn’t safe for a woman to wander alone at night. Until Eirica brought up her husband’s ill treatment, Jessie would remain a silent but watchful guardian.

Tears stung her own eyes. She brushed them away, her fury against Birk growing. She pressed her lips together, and her hand gripped the rough bark of the tree. How she longed to give that bastard a taste of his own medicine. Eirica’s sobs continued much longer than normal. Jessie frowned. Tonight’s tears were different. They were the sound of a woman who’d lost all hope. Jessie shifted, feeling like an intruder. This was private, and she had no business witnessing such personal grief. Just as she turned away, a figure emerged from the shadows hugging the bank. Jessie straightened, alert and watchful, fearing that Birk had followed his wife.

“Well, whadda we have here? Who letcha out here all alone, darlin’?” The tall, thin stranger moved with the speed of a rat, grabbing Eirica by the shoulders and hauling her up
against him. His hand covered her mouth, muffling her scream. “My, you’s a looker,” he jeered, running his other hand down her front, “even if you has a bun warmin’ in the oven.”

Erica struggled to free herself, but her futile attempts only made her captor laugh. Jessie narrowed her eyes and tightened her lips as her fingers released her coiled whip from her belt. She moved forward, the leather lash uncoiling, snaking through the grass behind her.

Just after midnight, Bjorn Svensson relieved Wolf of guard duty. The last few hours had left Wolf tense and restless, filled with a cold anger that threatened to explode. He headed for the river. Not one to act hastily or rashly, he stripped off his clothing and lowered himself into the dark, swirling water. The cold rush slapped against him, calming his raging emotions. He’d had several hours to think, and while he didn’t believe he was wrong about Jessie, he hoped he was. Still, he had to be sure before he confronted him—her.

Sinking down, he leaned back to float, seeking the peace nighttime offered. Staring up into the heavens, he was no longer White Wolf, the Indian boy who’d been sent away from his people, nor was he the half-breed who belonged to neither world. He was just Wolf, a man with a battered soul who walked his path alone.

Trailing wisps of clouds floated across the crescent-shaped moon. Wolf turned and pitted his strength against that of the current until he felt himself tire. But even that exertion wasn’t enough to keep his smoldering anger at bay. When the cold became too much, he headed for the bank. Crouched, half in the water, half out, he sensed movement beyond the grass-lined bank. Silently, he crawled out of the water, grabbed his knife and parted the tall grass.

Eirica walked by, unaware of him. Why was she so far from camp at this time of night? It wasn’t safe for her to be out alone. He grabbed his clothes, then froze when another figure approached in a low crouch, staying much closer to the tall grass and brushing along the riverbank. Eirica was being followed. Sinking back into the deep shadows and swirling water, he hid as the unknown stalker passed by. He peeked out again between the dense foliage, his frown deepening when he recognized the silent figure of Jessie Jones. He dressed, then followed, his moccasin-clad feet making no sound.

When Jessie stopped behind a thick trunk, Wolf crouched in the grass several feet behind her. From his vantage point, he saw Eirica sitting on the ground, sobbing. His jaw tightened. He knew what went on between husband and wife. He’d seen Macauley backhand her more than once when she didn’t move fast enough to suit him, but there was nothing he could do. His gaze switched from the crying woman to the other figure hidden in the shadows. What was Jessie up to now?

Suddenly Eirica cried out. He jerked his attention from Jessie to Eirica. His grip tightened on his knife when he saw a stranger holding Eirica against her will. He surged forward, a cry of rage building deep in his throat, but before the sound could escape, a loud pop sounded overhead. He threw himself to the ground.

Glancing around the tree trunk, he looked for the source of the gunfire. His jaw dropped when he spotted the actual source of the popping noise, but before he could call out or even get to his feet, Jessie lifted her hand and sent the rawhide whip singing through the air again. It split the quiet with a sharp snap, followed by a cry of surprise from the drunken man.

“Let her go,” Jessie ordered. The hand holding the whip lifted once again.

Wolf moved to another tree, closer to the scene unfolding at the river’s edge. Eirica had fallen to the ground and was sobbing softly; the intruder stood in front of her, holding his shoulder where the whip had torn a path through the faded material of his shirt.

“Who the hell are you?” The man peered at Jessie when she stepped out of the shadows. He laughed and spat on the ground. “Go ’way, boy,” he said with a sneer, “else I’ll have ta hurt ya. This don’t concern ya.”

“Leave the woman alone,” Jessie repeated, drawing the whip back.

The angry man snorted and reached for the knife stuck in the waistband of his soiled breeches. In a flash, Wolf had his knife ready to throw, but Jessie stepped between him and the drunk. Once again, the whip zinged through the air.

Another roar of pain followed. This time the drunk man dropped his knife and put his hand to the side of his face. When he pulled his fingers away, he wore a look of utter disbelief as he stared at the blood on his palm. A long gash split his cheek. Blood poured down his chin. His pain-glazed eyes never left Jessie as he backed off slowly.

Jessie moved in front of Eirica. “Get your worthless hide out of here before I strip more flesh off your no-good bones.” Her voice shook, but she held the whip in front of her, making it clear that she wouldn’t hesitate to use it again.

The man spat. “Ya ain’t heard the last of me, boy. We’ll meet again, and I’ll give you what-for,” he threatened, his voice filled with hatred.

Wolf narrowed his gaze and watched the man stagger away, muttering vile threats. When he looked back at Eirica, Jessie was on the ground, holding her in her arms, rocking her, comforting her, smoothing the hair from her face. If he’d had any doubts about Jessie’s true sex, they were gone. What he witnessed could only be one woman comforting another.

He backed away. It was obvious that Eirica knew what Jessie was, and it served to remind him that he’d been deceived. Fury engulfed him. His fist clenched into a tight ball, and he had an irresistible urge to strike out at something, anything. He turned, searching for a target. Then he remembered the drunken man’s threat to harm Jessie. He took off in that direction.

When Wolf came upon the staggering drunk, he sneaked up from behind and whirled him around, grabbing him by the shirtfront. A beam of light from above fell across the surprised man’s face, revealing eyes wide with fear and illuminating the bleeding wound on his face. Wolf felt a measure of satisfaction. The scum would carry that scar for the rest of his life. To his surprise and resentment, he also felt a twinge of pride that Jessie had handled the situation with the same fearlessness either of his sisters would have shown.

For long moments, Wolf stared at the man through slitted eyelids. He tightened his hold, his nostrils flaring at the stench of unwashed flesh. “I don’t take kindly to others messing with the women in my wagon train,” he said in a growl. “Nor do I like scum who threaten them.” In the dim light, Wolf looked every bit the fierce warrior. He ignored the no-good varmint’s pleas and excuses as he continued to level his glare of rage at the blubbering man. For good measure, he decided to make sure the bastard knew that Wolf protected those for whom he was responsible.

With a lightning-quick movement, he slammed his fist into the other man’s nose with enough force to bloody his nose. Though he was tempted to do more, he leashed the savage fury that raged within him. “That’s for manhandling the woman,” he said, eyes gleaming with vengeance. Wolf reached down, picked up the cowering man once more and struck him again, this time in his soft, fleshy belly.

When the man made no move to rise or flee, Wolf drew his own wicked-looking bowie knife and placed the sharp tip at the middle of the man’s chest. The drunken man broke out in a sweat and closed his eyes, his lips moving silently. “If I ever see you near any of my wagons or people again, I’ll cut more than your other cheek. Got it?”

Eyes wide with fright, the man nodded. Wolf pulled his knife away and stalked off.

Wolf’s fury lasted all night and into the next morning. He shouted out orders to roll out an hour earlier than normal. No one said a word, which made him feel even worse. It wasn’t their fault he was in a foul mood. As the wagons pulled away, he felt disgusted with himself for allowing anger to rule his actions.

The discovery that the Jones brothers had a young sister gnawed at him like a bear at a sore paw. He couldn’t let it go. One part of him understood the close family bond that had been behind the deceit. He and his siblings were also close and would do anything for each other. But despite that understanding, he didn’t know if he could forget or forgive the Joneses for lying to him. Honesty and honor were traits he valued, and if a man had no honor, he wasn’t a man. Then there was the question of what he was going to do about it. He drew in a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. He needed the Jones boys to drive the cattle, and had to admit they were hardworking and honest—except for passing off their sister as their brother. His lips twisted into a sneer. “Honest, hah!” he muttered.

“What’s with ya, Wolf? You’s been techy as a teased snake all mornin’.”

Wolf frowned at Rook. His wagon was first in line today and had already headed out.

“Who’s in charge of your wagon?”

“I put the lad in charge for a bit. Now, what’s with ya?”

Wolf lifted his face into the wind, his hair flowing out behind him, his chin jutting out as he gave a humorless bark of laughter. “Lad? Don’t you mean lass?” He watched Rook remove his empty pipe. His expression never wavered.

“You knew, old man. Dammit, you knew all along, didn’t you?” Wolf balled his hands into tightly clenched fists.

Rook measured the extent of his anger and then nodded, fingering his bushy white beard. “Reckon I did.”

Though he hadn’t expected his friend to deny it, the admission stung. Wolf smacked his right fist into his left palm and glared at his trusted friend. “Why?”

Rook stared out into the clear, sparkling water of the river. “Guess I didn’t want to see her parted from her family.” His gaze grew watery. “Once I looked into those green eyes—”

Wolf closed his eyes in defeat as his fury drained. He was probably the only man alive who knew what his friend had gone through after they’d returned to Rook’s cabin from a week in the mountains. There they’d found the dead bodies of Rook’s wife and young daughter. He couldn’t hate the man for his deceit. But that didn’t excuse what he’d done, what they’d all done. Wolf was furious with the lot of them. He whipped around, his eyes narrowed to glittering slits. “You had no right to interfere, old man.”

Rook, far from being intimidated, lifted a brow, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Seems if I remember rightly, ya assumed Jessie was a lad. As I recall, her brother tried ta tell ya, but ya kept cuttin’ him off, so full of righteous anger no one could get a word in edgewise. Seems ta me it’s yer own fault.”

Wolf clenched his jaw, forced to admit Rook was right. Late into the night, he’d replayed that night and each passing day, seeing all the signs that he’d forced the situation. He shook his head. Even in his dreams, her elfin face haunted him: the generous smattering of freckles that trailed across her nose and cheekbones, those green eyes and that mischievous grin.