Wild Is My Heart (45 page)

Riddled with pain, every movement agony, Colt left San Antonio at dawn the next morning, his torso bound tight as a mummy and his head pounding.

“Dammit, Colt, you’re a ornery cuss,” Jim had spouted as he helped Colt mount his horse. “You should be in bed. Does your head hurt?”

“Hurts like hell,” Colt admitted grimly, “but it’ll take more than a busted head and cracked ribs to stop me. I gotta find Logan before he harms Sam and our baby. Christ! She could already be dead.” That terrifying thought provided the strength necessary to spur him on.

They rode to Twin Butte, where Colt carefully studied the tracks, confirming Jim’s earlier suspicions that Logan traveled in a northwestern direction. After a few minutes, Colt said, “They’re ridin’ double, we should overtake them easy enough. C’ mon.”

A few hours later they arrived at the place where Logan had made camp for the night. A thorough inspection yielded nothing new, so they continued on, eating in the saddle, stopping only briefly for necessities’ sake.

“We’re gainin’ on them,” Jim opined. “Logan doesn’t expect to be followed, so he’s travelin’ slow to accommodate his horse who’s carryin’ a double burden.” They rode on.

Suddenly Colt reined in sharply, frowning.

“What’s wrong, Colt?”

“Look around, Jim. You worked on the Circle H a spell. Do you recognize anythin?”

Jim took careful note of his surroundings. “We’re not far from Karlsburg,” he said, astounded.

“Look again.”

“Jesus, we’re on …”

“… Circle H property,” Colt finished.

“You don’t suppose Logan’s takin’ Sam to Karlsburg, do you?”

“Don’t reckon he’s that stupid. No, Logan has somethin’ devious in mind for Sam.”

“If he continues north he’ll reach Kiowa territory,” mused Jim thoughtfully.

Colt’s face paled. “Christ, you don’t think…” His words trailed off and the two men exchanged worried glances that spoke volumes.

“Colt, we could stop by the ranch and get Jake and the boys. We’re not so far that it would delay us overlong.”

Colt considered Jim’s words. It was a good suggestion, but Colt hated the thought of wasting one second. “I can’t risk it, Jim,” he said. “I gotta intercept Logan before he reaches Kiowa territory.”

“But, Colt…”

“You go, Jim,” Colt urged. “I’m goin’ on.”

Indecision worried Jim’s features. On one hand he didn’t want to leave Colt, but on the other he was smart enough to know that one or two men had little chance against the Kiowa. Coming to a swift decision, Jim nodded. “We’ll be right behind you, Colt. Be careful and don’t do anythin’ foolish till we catch up.”

Colt continued on alone, his head pounding, pain a living flame within him. It was inconceivable that Logan had brazenly ridden across Circle H property. Granted it was a remote area, mostly hills and woods that Colt had set aside for Black Bear and his people, but… Christ! Black Bear! He had nearly forgotten. Were they still camped nearby? Had they seen Logan and Sam? If they were still in the area they would be camped in a valley by the stream, Colt reckoned, turning slightly west.

Fighting for survival, Sam struggled against the arms holding her down. Consciousness returned slowly, exhaustion and hardship draining her strength. “No!” she cried, flailing wildly in an attempt to free herself. “My baby!”

The woman’s voice that answered was soft and comforting. “You are safe, Violet Eyes. Your child rests easily beneath your heart.” The Comanche words sounded strange to her ears, but Sam understood them perfectly and relaxed, fear leaving her. She was safe among Black Bear’s people.

Sam opened her eyes, smiling at Singing Wind who bent over her, clucking in concern. Black Bear’s wife was a kindly woman Sam had come to respect. She had treated Laura as her own daughter and was much loved by the People. Sam realized she was lying on a mat inside a tipi, probably Black Bear’s, with Singing Wind and Spirit Dancer kneeling over her, a gourd of dark liquid in the shaman’s hands.

“Drink,” Spirit Dancer said, holding the gourd to Sam’s lips. Sam did not hesitate, drinking deeply as Spirit Dancer nodded in obvious satisfaction. “You will sleep now.” He left, taking Singing Wind with him.

Sam’s eyes grew heavy, her body seemed to be floating in space. When she would have succumbed gratefully to sleep’s healing balm, Brave Eagle slipped inside the tipi and knelt beside her. A scowl furrowed his noble brow though his black eyes regarded her with tenderness.

“Who is the man who mistreated you, Violet Eyes? Why did Lion Heart allow this? If you were my woman I would keep you safe.” His voice was harsh and accusing.

“It’s not Lion Heart’s fault, Brave Eagle,” Sam explained. “This man, Vern Logan, carried me away while Lion Heart was involved in business. He … he lost much wealth and blames me and Lion Heart for his loss, though he has no one to blame but himself. He’s greedy, selfish, and cowardly. He shot Lion Heart and left him for dead, but I know he’s alive and will come for me.”

Brave Eagle nodded, his noble features grim with determination. “The White Eyes will soon know the meaning of Comanche justice. Sleep, Violet Eyes, for when you awaken you will be avenged.” His superbly agile body moved gracefully as he rose and slipped through the tent flap as silently as he entered.

“Brave Eagle, wait! What are you going to do?”

But it was too late. Vern Logan’s fate was already sealed. Then Sam succumbed to the healing drug administered to her by Spirit Dancer and knew no more.

Chapter Twenty-One

S
omething terrible was taking place—some unnamed horror that dragged Sam unwillingly from her drugged slumber and finally penetrated her befuddled brain. The animalistic scream that awakened her was a long wail of despair and agony. As she noted the narrow strips of light filtering around the edges of the tent flap, Sam’s first thought was that she couldn’t have slept long for it was still daylight.

The next drawn-out scream sounded less than human, and Sam clapped her hands over her ears. An odd, indefinable smell assailed her nostrils, like roasting meat, yet different. Then the screams came in quick succession, one after another until there seemed to be no end to one and the beginning of another. Then silence. Absolute, profound silence. The tent flap opened and Brave Eagle entered, his body vividly painted with yellow, white, and black stripes. He spoke only three words but their meaning did not escape Sam.

“He died badly.” Never had Sam seen anyone as fierce-looking as Brave Eagle at that moment.

Having no desire to confront what lay outside, not yet anyway, Sam remained inside the safe haven of the tipi. It was cowardly of her, she knew, but Comanches were known for their brutality. She was not yet up to facing what remained of Vern Logan. She lay back, forcing her mind to more pleasant thoughts, wondering how long it would take for Colt to come for her. She loved him so desperately she refused to countenance the notion that Colt might be dead. He would come. Somehow, some way, Colt would find her.

Dazed by what her mind refused to accept about Vern Logan’s death and still affected by the drug administered by Spirit Dancer, Sam drifted once again into an uneasy sleep.

Colt’s search for Black Bear’s camp was rewarded when he came upon a group of tipis clustered beside the stream that cut through his land.

His body tense, mind alert and watchful, Colt rode into the camp. And then he saw it. The charred lump that once was flesh and blood tied to a stake in the center of the camp. Vomit roiled in Colt’s stomach and threatened to spew forth but for his stringent control.

“Your woman is safe.” Brave Eagle’s words dripped with contempt. “If Violet Eyes were mine I would protect her better than you have done.”

An angry flush crept up Colt’s neck. “Has my wife been harmed?”

Brave Eagle’s words cut deeply into Colt’s heart. Lord knows he already blamed himself for not protecting Sam. He should have rushed out immediately to warn her the moment he learned Vern Logan was loose in San Antonio. His failure to do so had provided Logan with the opportunity to hurt Sam.

“Violet Eyes sleeps. Spirit Dancer gave her a healing draught. She is bruised and exhausted but otherwise unharmed. Violet Eyes is a brave woman, Lion Heart. She would have made me a fine mate. She will bear strong sons and beautiful daughters.”

“They will be
my
sons and daughters,” Colt gritted from between clenched teeth.

The truth of Colt’s words seemed to deflate Brave Eagle, yet he could not resist a final taunt. “Be warned, Lion Heart, I will take Violet Eyes from you if you fail to protect her.”

“She carries my son.”

“He will become my son.”

“Violet Eyes loves me.”

“Are you certain? She has suffered much because of you.”

“Did she tell you that?”

Brave Eagle’s silence provided Colt with the answer he hoped for. The Comanche wanted Sam but would do nothing dishonorable—unless Sam expressed a desire to dissolve their union. And she hadn’t. The longing and unrequited love visible in Brave Eagle’s dark eyes healed all Colt’s doubts.

“Where is my wife?”

“She rests in the tipi of Black Bear.”

Colt’s eyes searched the cluster of tipis until he located the brightly painted and distinctive abode of the chief. Grunting in obvious pain, Colt slid from his horse.

Brave Eagle’s eyes narrowed astutely. “You are hurt.”

“I’ll live.”

“Spirit Dancer will see to your wounds.”

“No! I’ve already seen a doctor. I want to see my wife.”

Reluctantly Brave Eagle stepped aside. But before Colt could move past the tall brave, Black Bear and Spirit Dancer appeared. The old chief greeted Colt more warmly than his son had done.

“Welcome, Lion Heart, we expected you.”

“Once again you have come to my aid, Black Bear, and I’m obliged,” Colt said solemnly. “Please feel free to camp on my land as long as you like. You will not be bothered here as long as you don’t raid my neighbors. Your beeves will arrive as soon as I return to the ranch.”

Black Bear nodded. “We will winter here. It is good land. Your beeves will provide the People with food so there will be no need to raid. Go to your woman now, she is anxious to see you.”

Moving stiffly, his body rigid with pain, Colt strode past the three Indians.

“You are wounded,” Spirit Dancer observed, his words more a statement than a question. His keen eyes easily found the bloody track in Colt’s head and his hands probed for further injuries hidden beneath Colt’s clothing.

“It’s nothin’,” Colt declared, hastening toward the tipi where Sam awaited. Before entering, he paused briefly, turned, and said, “Send word to my sister. Jim is on his way to the ranch to gather a posse.”

“It has already been done, Lion Heart,” Black Bear said. “Fawn will prevent your men from riding in needless pursuit of a man already dead.”

Noiselessly Colt entered the tipi, dropping to his knees beside Sam. With shaking hands he lifted the edge of the robe covering her slim form. She had been stripped and washed and lay nude beneath the cover. Someone had kept a fire going in the center of the tipi, and Colt’s eyes glistened when he saw the slight bulge of her stomach. It amazed him that throughout Sam’s ordeal she hadn’t lost their child. His soft expression turned to one of anger when he noted the bruises on her face and bloody grooves girding her wrists and ankles. When Colt first saw Vern Logan’s mutilated corpse he felt a smidgeon of pity, but now, seeing the results of his abuse, he wished he had arrived in time to watch.

With one finger Colt gently touched Sam’s face, worshiping her with his eyes and fingertips. She stirred beneath his tender caress, smiling in her sleep as he slowly ran the back of his hand over her cheek, past her chin to the slender column of her neck. It astounded Colt to realize how much he loved Sam. If he had lost her his life would have no meaning. Who would have thought a hard-nosed drifter like himself would experience a love so profound, so all-consuming and intense it would change the entire fabric of his life? Not even his violent hatred of Indians had destroyed that love, though at times it came close.

Sam stirred restlessly as she started to awaken. “Violet Eyes, I love you.”

Sam’s eyes flew open. “Colt?”

“I’m here, darlin’.”

“Oh, Colt, I knew you’d come!” Her arms circled his neck in exuberant welcome. He winced but gave no other indication of his discomfort. “I was so afraid you were hurt badly when Vern shot you. I nearly lost my mind when you tumbled over the ledge. And later I saw blood. Did Vern’s bullet miss you?”

“Relax, darlin’, the bullet just grazed my head. I’m alive because of you.”

“Me?” squeaked Sam.

“Your warnin’ caused a reflexive action in me that saved my life. My head jerked in answer to your cry, and the bullet merely scraped a path along my scalp.”

Instinctively Sam’s Angers flew to Colt’s head, where she traced the groove put there by the bullet. Her concerned gaze dropped to his face, frowning when she noted the bruises and scrapes.

“It’s a miracle you survived the fall down the hill.”