Captive Heart (8 page)

Chapter 14

Emmalyne rotated her sore wrist as she hobbled back to the blanket. Sitting down, she brushed the dirt from her bare feet, then carefully tucked them beneath the hem of her dress. Going without shoes last night was bad enough, but traipsing around with her feet and ankles exposed in broad daylight was entirely improper. To that end, she forced herself speak to Mr. Kendrich once more.

“Might I have those new shoes you spoke of last night?”

“Nope.” His head was down, eyes focused on the chunk of wood he held in one hand, his knife in the other.

“Why ever not?” she demanded.

“Didn’t buy any shoes,” Thayne said, drawing his blade carefully down the length of the piece.

Emmalyne sat in stunned silence for several seconds. “How am I supposed to walk without them? How—”

“Moccasins.” He finally looked up, laying the partially carved figure aside. “We’ll get you a fine pair once we reach the Lakota camp. The lady’s boots at the store in Sidney were just as ridiculous as your old pair, so I saw no sense in buying any. And this way the skin on your feet will have a few days to breathe. Those blisters can heal, and then we’ll get you the most comfortable shoes you’ve ever worn.”

Emmalyne brought a hand to her mouth, completely stricken. “No shoes,” she repeated forlornly.

“
Different
shoes,” Thayne corrected, raising his arm to his forehead, using his sleeve to wipe away the sweat. “Don’t fret. There isn’t any society in the Hills to concern yourself with. Trust me; the moccasins will do fine.” He picked up the carving and went back to work.

Emmalyne let out a huff that said she didn’t agree. She turned away from him, picking up the bowl of cold oatmeal he’d set out for her earlier. Frowning, she pushed the spoon into the grayish mixture. She was hungry to be certain, but
this
hungry?

“Eat it,” Thayne admonished.

Peering over her shoulder, she was unnerved to find him watching—waiting for her to take a bite.

“Parritch is good for you,” he continued. “Sticks to your ribs, and your ribs could do with some sticking.”

“What did you call it?” she asked, looking down at the bowl in her lap.

“Parritch—that’s the Scottish name my mother used. Though it’s oatmeal hereabouts, I suppose.”

Emmalyne attempted to stir it as she tried to imagine Thayne as a little boy with his mother. She didn’t want to imagine him that way, didn’t want to think of him in any way other than a cruel, ruthless outlaw. She wanted no guilt when she finally escaped—and she
would
escape. Last night had proven the need for that more than ever.

Instantly, she wished away the thought, but it was too late. As it had already a dozen times today, the memory of his kiss returned. Her imagination easily conjured Thayne’s arms around her once more, his hands surprisingly gentle, the caress of his fingers at her neck tilting her head up as his lips sought hers.

And she had kissed him back.

Flooded with remorse, Emmalyne squeezed her eyes shut, confused and angry with herself that she could not stop thinking about that one moment. Wilford had kissed her good night on three different occasions, and she’d never even spent one
second
pondering those—not that his lips had performed anywhere in the same realm Mr. Kendrich’s had. Kissing Wilford had been like kissing a board. With Thayne, it had been frightening, comforting, and exhilarating all at the same time.

There. That was it. She’d finally admitted it to herself. She had not only allowed an outlaw to kiss her, but she had also
enjoyed
it. Overcome with disgrace, Emmalyne bowed her head, praying for her strength of character to return.
Forgive me, Lord. My defenses are down, and this man is making me crazy.

A minute later, Thayne cleared his throat. “How long’s it take to pray over one little bowl?”

Grateful for the distraction, Emmalyne sat up, eyes open once more. Reluctantly, she brought the spoon to her mouth and took a little bite. It was cold, lumpy, burnt. Her lips puckered in distaste. “This is horrid.”

“Missing your cream and sugar?” Thayne asked sarcastically.

“Let me guess,” she said in much the same tone. “You used ash from the fire as seasoning.”

“Didn’t think you’d mind much—after the way you enjoyed that prairie dog the other day.” He sounded offended.

“Prairie dog? What are you talking about?” She shifted on the blanket again so she was facing him.

“At the soddie. Before the Martins came.” Thayne arched his eyebrows, waiting for her to remember.

She did, rewarding him with a hand to her mouth and widened eyes. “
That’s
what you fed me?”

He nodded.

“Oh.” Her voice was quiet, much of the color fading from her face.

“Go ahead and eat,” Thayne urged, his voice gentler. “A strong wind would blow you away about now. It’s important you regain your strength. Back on that train, you were a force to be reckoned with.”

Instead of responding, Emmalyne began to eat, obediently placing one bite after the other into her mouth and swallowing quickly. He didn’t have to tell her she needed to be strong. The events of the past week spoke for themselves.

At last, she felt his gaze leave her. Seeing his attention once more on carving, she turned her face and took the opportunity to study him. His clothes appeared clean, if not altogether new—save for his battered hat—and he leaned up against the tree, using his hand and arm almost as if his shoulder had never been injured. The way he’d driven the wagon last night had astounded her as well, considering a few days earlier she’d believed she had left him for dead.

“How is your shoulder?” she asked before she could stop herself. It was another thing that should not matter to her. She
shouldn’t
care.

“It’s on the mend,” he said, flashing her a half grin, half grimace, “but it hurts like—”

“Mr. Kendrich,” Emmalyne cut in, knowing what would have come next. She lifted her chin and folded her arms across her chest. “May I remind you that you are in the presence of a lady, and as that lady, I must insist you take care with your language.” She paused, then added another thought. “I doubt your parritch-eating mother would approve, either.”

“My apologies,” Thayne mumbled, not sounding the least bit contrite. “My mother is long in her grave, and I haven’t been in the company of a lady for quite some time.” He sheathed his knife and set the carving aside. Scooting away from the tree trunk, he lay back on the grass, pulling his hat low over his face.

“Are you actually going to sleep right now?” Emmalyne asked, irked that he’d ended their conversation so abruptly.

“If you’ll be quiet long enough.”

“Aren’t you worried I’ll run away?”

“In bare feet?”

She detected amusement in his voice. “Yes. I would. I
will.
The moment I know you’re asleep, I’ll leave.”

“No, you won’t,” Thayne assured her. “You gave me your word you’d stay put, and you will. Might want to run off,” he added. “But it goes against your grain to break a promise.”

“Well, what of your promise to me?” she asked, indignant. “You said you’d tell me where we are going.”

“I’ve done just that near a dozen times,” Thayne said, exasperation in his voice. He rolled onto his side, away from her.

“But you haven’t told me
why
I must go with you.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked.

Seconds passed before she replied. She’d already come to several conclusions—all of them too disturbing to say out loud. “No,” she said at last, her voice small again.

“You’re a teacher. I need a teacher,” Thayne said. “I thought you realized that from the get-go. I did ask you on the train.”

Emmalyne tried to recall the scene of her abduction. Everything had happened so fast, and she’d been so terrified. Now that she thought about it, though, it did seem as if he had asked if she were a teacher.
But why not arrange for one in the traditional manner?
Thayne’s answer didn’t make sense, and instead of calming her, it troubled her more. There was something he wasn’t telling her.
Something he doesn’t want me to know?

“Who am I going to be teaching?” she asked. “Is there a schoolhouse in the Hills? And
how
will I teach? My trunk with all of my books and materials is gone. I have nothing with which to work. Even you must realize it is impossible to teach pupils to read without books.”

“You don’t need to teach reading.” Thayne rolled onto his back again, then leaned up on his elbows, looking at her. “I need you to teach language—speech, really. It will be a good long time—if ever—before he’s ready for reading.”

He?
Emmalyne imagined an older boy, the big, burly sort she’d been worried about encountering in Sterling. “And who is this
he
you’re referring to?” she asked, trying to keep the fear from her voice. “Am I to have only one student?”

“That’s right,” Thayne said, plainly ignoring her first question.

Emmalyne pursed her lips as her brow drew together. “At least tell me if I am correct in assuming this individual is at the Lakota camp.”

“Yep.”

A roiling sensation began in the pit of her stomach.
One student, who happens to be with the Indians. A relative of Thayne’s—a younger brother, perhaps? But why would Thayne leave him there when they could have traveled together?
A new thought, more alarming than the first, struck Emmalyne.

What if he’s worse than an older, unruly boy? Might he
be . . . an
Indian
?
“Why doesn’t this individual simply attend school like everyone else?”

“He can’t. There isn’t a school for his kind,” Thayne said, offering no further explanation. “And you’re out of questions. I need to get some sleep before tonight. I suggest you do the same.”

No school for his
kind.
I was right. He’s expecting me to teach an Indian our language.
Wrapping her arms around herself, Emmalyne looked down at the ash remaining from the morning’s fire. For reasons she could not fathom, Thayne must somehow be involved with their tribe, and in order to have his
something valuable
returned, he had to bring them a teacher.

The panic she’d initially felt returned full force. She was going to be left to live with—and expected to teach—wild Indians, the very tribe who’d massacred Custer and his men not two years before. What would happen if she did not perform her duties well?

Emmalyne clutched her middle, fighting off both panic and nausea, the oatmeal she’d just eaten threatening to come up. She began to gag.

“Are you all right?” Thayne asked, sitting up.

“No,” Emmalyne gasped. She rose to her knees, leaned forward over the fire pit, and began to retch. He was by her side in a second, holding her hair back, his other hand steadying her arm.

Another minute passed, and all of her belated breakfast was gone, her stomach settled—momentarily at least. She sank back onto the blanket, head down as she wiped her mouth. Thayne walked across camp to retrieve the canteen. A minute later he returned, handing her his handkerchief, wet and cool.

“Thank you.” She took it from him, pressing it to her face.

“You worry me, Brownie,” he said, squatting beside her.

She looked up, her brown eyes meeting his blue ones. “Then let me go.
Please.
”

Regret reflected in his eyes. “I can’t,” he said quietly. He reached behind her, pulling the bonnet up over her hair to shade her face. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

* * *

Dusk settled over the prairie as Thayne announced it was time to start out again. Emmalyne felt numb as she took his hand and climbed up onto the wagon seat. She’d slept away most of the day and still wanted to do nothing but the same. Sleep seemed her only escape from the nightmare she was living.

Thayne handed her the blanket, and she wrapped it around herself—prevention against the chill she knew would come.

“Here.” He held out a pair of thick wool socks that she gratefully took.

She turned away from him, slipping the socks over her feet as inconspicuously as possible. When she was through, she faced forward in the seat again, hand gripping the side in anticipation of another wild ride.

He looked at her speculatively. “I wish there was room enough in back for you to sleep. As it is though, I barely fit everything we need into the wagon. But it’s better to bring it all now. Once we’re in the Hills, no sense in heading out again for supplies.”

Emmalyne followed his gaze to the wagon bed, taking in all that was stored there. She hadn’t noticed last night, nor had she paid much attention to it today, but now she looked with interest at the sacks, barrels, crates, and—
trunk
wedged tightly in the space. Her eyes widened, and she twisted in the seat, looking closer.

“Is that mine?”

“It is,” Thayne affirmed as he lit the lantern he’d rigged to hang out the front of the wagon.

“How—where did you—”

“Granny,” he said with a wink. “Seems your claim stub was in the valise she borrowed, so she went ahead and helped herself to your trunk too.”

“Of course,” Emmalyne said, the briefest smile crossing her face at the prospect of being in possession of all her belongings once more. “Did you go through my trunk too?” she asked, remembering his earlier trespass through her valise.

“Only glanced to make certain it was full to the top,” Thayne reassured her. “I’ve no interest in perusing your intimate articles, Miss Madsen. Not that you’ll have much use for such frivolity in the Hills.”

“No,” Emmalyne said quietly, her moment of delight spoiled by the reminder of where they were headed. As Thayne drove the team slowly toward the road, she found comfort in the sight of the bleak and endless prairie. So long as the land remained desolate, there was always a chance she could escape and find her way back to Sidney. She wondered how many days it would be before they reached the Hills and turning back would become an impossibility.