Holding on to Heaven (28 page)

She didn't dare look at LaRoux right now, but she'd had hours to study him. His fierce, hard face would haunt her for years—if she lived through this horror—particularly his hawk-like nose. His dark, mottled complexion, no doubt the result of Indian ancestry, had been marred and beaten by the elements. Average in height, hard muscles ringed his biceps and forearms and a slight hunch to his spine alluded to hours beneath a surplus of heavy pelts. By no stretch of the imagination was the man handsome, yet he possessed an aura of ruggedness. Some desperate woman might find that look intriguing.

The dankest strain of malevolence resided in his soul and evil ran through his blood, oozed from his pores like poison. Lauren wondered what had caused the man to hold such hatred in his heart for the human race.

Throughout all the physical manhandling, not once had the man shown the slightest inkling of lust for her. Pierre and Henri had, but not LaRoux. Inwardly, an ironic laugh choked her. In a sick sense, LaRoux had become her captor and her savior.

She couldn't fathom what motivated him to part with nine gold coins to claim her. The question plagued her night and day, and the answer remained elusive. Why would a man offer hard-earned money for a woman he didn't covet?

Terror struck her heart, so potent she almost lost her breakfast over the side of the canoe. There could only be one answer. He planned to sell her! Oh, Sweet Mother of Jesus, that was her answer!

She'd taken a smattering of French while enrolled at the
Beaufort Academy for Young Women.
At the time, she thought it an imprudent choice on her father's part. Young women from the South had little use for foreign languages. They rarely set foot beyond the city proper, and travel to Europe was a rare occurrence. Despite her protestations, her father had insisted she acquire a well-rounded academic background, and thank goodness, he had.

She'd picked up enough of LaRoux's conversation to understand he thought her virginal. Her Indian captor had insisted no man had been present to defend her when they'd attacked the ranch. Lauren had been too numb with shock for its importance to register. Now, it seemed clear as glass. LaRoux intended to leave her in the undefiled state, hoping he could fetch ten times what he paid for her. Grateful for the reprieve, she breathed hard through her nose, and moments later, realized the grace period was temporary. Perhaps the Frenchmen would not assault her, but an entire tribe of savages would have no qualms in doing so.

Acute misery wrenched her heart. She forced herself to focus on the pattern of the swirling current and dispel the visions of bronze bodies groping and pawing her. The color and depth of the water had changed. They had left the Minnesota River and now scudded across the mighty depths of the Mississippi.

The midday sun bore down on her, and hours later, an unforgiving setting sun offered little respite to any human caught in its path. Lauren glanced down at her arms and cringed. Puss oozed from raised blisters shoulder to wrist and her skin matched the apples on the tree outside her bedroom window.

When at last they pulled into the muddy bank, a lightheaded faint overtook her when she tried to rise from the seat. LaRoux jerked her from the canoe and pushed her toward a clearing. Collapsing onto the ground, she watched her tormentor head for a thick stand of trees. Perhaps a bear or another wild beast would set upon him while he emptied his bladder.

She cast a wary eye on Henri when he advanced and knelt before her. In the next moment, blessed relief found her when the man pulled a jar of pungent salve from his pouch and applied it to her arms. Her stomach retched when a rank smell from Henri's body spiraled up her nose. Good God, was there no escape from this hell?

Compassionate blue eyes locked with hers. "For the burn and the bites."

She turned from him, in part to dodge the foul odor invading her nostrils, but also to avoid direct eye contact. When finished with her arms, he tugged on her chin, forcing her to look at him. Then he rubbed the dark paste on her cheeks.

LaRoux's lumbering form shook the ground. "Get your filthy paws off her!"

She had little time to move before the full force of a heavy boot landed on her shoulder and sent her tumbling through the dirt. Blue with rage, LaRoux turned on Henri, his knife gleaming under the bright glare of the sun. Henri sprang to his feet and withdrew the six-inch knife from his waistband. Head-to-head they circled, their bulging arms straining against their plaid shirts, their feet swirling up a cloud of dust.

"I warned you not to touch her! Now, I kill you!" LaRoux's tone struck terror in Lauren's heart.

The devil lunged and clasped Henri about the torso. Bodies meshed and rolled on the ground in a life and death struggle. Lauren covered her mouth, stifling a mournful scream amid the sickening sound of metal on metal. Animal-like grunts and labored breathing followed, and then, almost as quickly as it began, it ended.

LaRoux pinned Henri to the ground, raised the knife, and plunged it into his heart. Lauren heard another scream and wondered if it came from her. In the throes of death, Henri gasped for breath. The knife handle jutted from his ribcage as his life's blood seeped into the ground and pooled around him. Pink froth oozed from his mouth, and moments later, a rush of air escaped his lungs.

LaRoux bounded to his feet, sent a weighty kick to the lifeless form and retrieved his knife. "Stupid Frenchman, I warned you. Let's hear those damn bird calls now."

Numb with disbelief, Lauren struggled to her knees while great sobs racked her body. LaRoux jerked her to her feet with such brute force she thought her head would separate from her neck. He placed his hands between her shoulder blades and shoved her toward the canoe. Before climbing aboard, she glanced at Pierre
and the squaw. The woman shot her a hateful glare. Lauren knew she blamed her for their comrade's demise.

"You can't just leave him like this!" Her knees slammed into the wooden seat after a hard shove from LaRoux. "He deserves a burial at least!"

"Shut your mouth, bitch, or you'll be lying next to him. I'll leave him for the coyote because that's what he deserves." He spewed a stream of spit into the water. "You give me any more trouble and you'll end up as fish fodder. You won't be dead when I toss you over."

Lauren pushed the bile down her throat, the fragility of life strangling her. An hour ago, Henri had been alive and paddling down the river. In the time it took to take a breath, he had died, slain by a maniacal cutthroat.

Hopelessness gripped her. No one would rescue her from this hell, and her faith that someone would, faded like a shooting star. Who would find her out here in the middle of a desolate country where they hadn't seen another human in days?

A brief glimpse of her prior life flashed before her, and she realized there was nothing left of the girl who left North Carolina so long ago. Every tragic event since arriving here led to the hardened road she now traveled—the war, Finn's death, the renegade attack, Mason and Estelle gone. A chill ran over her. She knew the world she had known was gone forever.

Little Finn's face appeared, and the despair weighing her down lightened. Courage crept forward, squelching the desolation in her heart. Somehow, she had to survive, had to escape. But how? The squaw watched her with the sight of a hawk.

Lauren turned her back on LaRoux and vowed somehow she'd get away before they reached Montreal. The monotonous, dull thud of the oar hitting the water placed her in a trance-like state. She closed her eyes and prayed for strength.

Daylight ebbed and LaRoux turned the canoe toward shore. "We'll camp here for the night."

Physically exhausted and mentally drained, Lauren stumbled from the craft.

Before her captor sent her to gather firewood, he hobbled her feet with the strap. "Remember what happened to Henri. If you even look in the wrong direction, I'll turn that squaw loose on you."

Lauren looked toward the woman. Cold, dull eyes met hers as the squaw patted the knife at her waistband. Soon after Lauren returned with the wood, Pierre started a fire and LaRoux skewered the rabbit he'd snared to roast above it. By the time they finished eating, darkness had snuck in with the stealth of a panther. Like prior nights, LaRoux tossed a pelt her way and slumped to the ground near her and the fire.

She thought of home and wondered if everyone she once loved lay in a cold, silent grave.

* * * *

Another brutal night riding hard in the saddle passed for Creed, Sage and the tracker. An hour after sunrise, they left a dense forest and watched a flock of buzzards circle overhead in the distance.

Wanapaya halted his mount, put an ear to the wind, and motioned them toward the river. Long narrow channels in the wet sand bolstered Creed's hopes.

"They were here last night." The tracker slid from his mount.

Blue Boy broke into a shrill yap, rousted the vultures from their morning meal and at the same time, drew Sage's attention. She urged Withers toward the hound with her heart pounding in her chest. The smell of death surrounded her. The dog circled the corpse, sniffed it and waited for his mistress to dismount. With a heavy sigh of relief, she realized the dead body belonged to a man. Before she had time to call out to her husband and Creed, they appeared beside her.

Beneath the man's torn shirt, a gaping hole bore evidence of a knife wound. Dark rusty stains soaked his yellow sash and tan trousers. Blood ran in a stream from the side of his lips, his mouth hung open, and his eyes stared at the sky overhead.

Wanapaya pointed to the churned up dirt. "A fierce fight. Two survive and go to the canoes."

"How do you know?" Creed asked.

He shrugged. "One man, one woman and he pulled her to the canoe."

When Creed first saw the body, his knees shook. "She is still alive." He corrected himself. "At least when they left this camp, she was."

"Yes, she lives." Wanapaya looked at Creed. "Two men fought, maybe over the woman." He walked toward a trio of pine trees. "One man runs from the woods." He hesitated as if piecing it together. "The same man who drags her to the canoe. Four entered the river, two women, two men. They are not far away now. When they camp for the night, we take her."

Warmed by a beacon of hope, Creed looked down at the dead man. "What do we do with him?"

"Tie rocks to his body and put him in the river. At least the animals will not feast upon him."

When they finished disposing of Henri, they mounted and took to the dense forest again, heading north.

* * * *

Creed watched through the long glass and sucked in a breath. Lauren came into his line of vision with a mean-looking squaw trailing her. "Christ," he said to himself and studied the stark lines of her once beautiful body.

He held his breath when Lauren disappeared behind a bush. After waiting so long to see her, he battled frustration, agony and guilt. Lauren emerged, her arms laden with heavy limbs and branches. Creed's angst turned to rage when the squaw sent her tumbling to the ground with a hard shove between her shoulder blades.

A man stormed the scene, his back blocking Creed's view, but not enough to hide the kick he delivered to Lauren's abdomen. Her eyes closed, she clutched her belly and struggled to rise. Blue Boy's hackles rose like porcupine quills and a string of low snarls littered the air. Beside Creed, Sage silenced the hound with a sign. The dog squeaked out a tiny whimper and slithered to the ground.

Creed bounded to his feet, his body already turned toward camp when a firm hand met his shoulder. "Bide your time, my friend."

Creed pushed Wanapaya's hand away and stormed off, hissing the words between clenched teeth. "I’ll kill him before this night is over."

He pulled the whiskey flask from his saddlebag, downed a long swig and met Sage's eyes. "I know it is difficult." She placed a hand on his sleeve. "Our one chance of saving her is to surprise them."

"She looks like a ghost, a hunted animal."

"But she lives, and that is all we asked for." She reached out for the long glass. "I’ll see her now."

He nodded.

"Come, we watch together while my husband comes up with a plan."

Hunkered down beyond earshot, Sage held the glass to her eye and reported her observations. "The large man seems to be the leader, the others callous of his abuse."

"LaRoux, that bastard."

"The squaw skewers a rabbit over the fire." Sage moved her head to the left and released a sigh. "Ah, it's like looking in a mirror to see her."

"I warned you," Creed said, his voice still raw with anger.

"She sits near the fire with her head in her hands, and her heart is very heavy. How odd."

"What? What's happening?"

"Nothing. It is strange to feel what she feels." She looked at Creed. "What will she think when she sees me?"

"I don't know." He shook his head. "I don't know what she'll think after what’s happened to her." His head went back with the short laugh. "I guess I never knew what she thought anyway."

Wanapaya called out like a crow and crooked his finger in their direction. Once he knew they were out of earshot, he spoke. "We wait until they sleep."

"All right. What's the next part of your plan?" Creed asked.

"Enter camp and say your horse went lame. You will be closest to LaRoux, so you must take him. Sage and I’ll take care of the others."

"Gladly." Creed spit the word out and took a steadying breath. "If anything goes wrong, make sure she gets back to Full Circle."

"You have my word," Wanapaya said.

Creed turned to walk away and then pivoted around. "One more thing. If he gets me, kill the bastard."

Wanapaya nodded.

Night settled in with an eerie convergence. Every sound and sight of the nocturnal creatures had vanished. Creed embraced Sage, shook hands with Wanapaya, and tossed the saddle over his shoulder.

Chapter Seventeen

Creed and Blue Boy walked into LaRoux's camp under a full moon. Looking down at the mongrel, he smirked. "It's up to us to slay the dragon and I can't think of anyone I'd rather have along."