Kary, Elizabeth (47 page)

"If
you'd treated them a damn sight better or left well enough alone, we might not
have come to this!" she muttered back in the same scathing undertone.

Hayes
scowled and reached for his cup of coffee, but with a lightning-swift movement
that seemed almost accidental, Leigh upset it, spilling the contents on the
ground. Hayes had opened his mouth to comment on her unaccustomed clumsiness,
when he saw a flash of warning in her eyes. Travis seemed to have caught the furtive
glance that passed between them too and nodded almost imperceptibly in return.
Leigh waited until the two men had finished their dinner, then took a look at
the lump on Hayes's head.

"Does
that hurt?" she murmured sympathetically, touching the place with a cool,
wet cloth.

"Yes,
damn it, it does!" he snapped loudly for the sentry's benefit, then
whispered desperate and low. "Leigh, don't go to Quantrill. Travis and I
will find a way out of this somehow. I don't want you to—"

The
guard's gruff voice interrupted. "You 'bout finished there, ma'am? I'm
more than ready for that second cup of coffee."

There
was no time to discuss the things Leigh had promised to do to save their lives.
"I have no choice now, Hayes," she whispered as she rose to go.
"It's far too late to change my mind."

Without
another word she gathered up the dishes and took them back to the campfire.

While
Delia helped Brandon back to his bed in the wagon, Leigh prepared herself for
her night with Quantrill. Her hands were steady as she washed the sweat and
dirt from her body and coiled her hair high on her head. A strange kind of
anticipation flowed through her veins as she donned a pretty yellow gown. She
felt exhilarated and tense, ready for imminent action. She alone bore
responsibility for all of their fates, and the course she had chosen was set.

When
Leigh was finally ready, she poured a fresh cup of coffee and carried it across
the compound toward Quantrill and his men. As she passed the spot where the
prisoners lay, she felt Hayes's blazing gaze upon her. She sensed his
agitation, the frustration of knowing where she was going. And though he would
eventually understand why she had agreed to the guerrilla's demands, she could
do nothing to reassure him now.

"I
was just about to send someone to see what was keeping you." Quantrill
greeted her with a leering grin, coming to his feet.

Leigh
stood her ground before him, her gaze intent upon his face. "I wanted to
tidy up a bit before I came."

It
was obvious that he had taken time to see to his appearance as well.

Encouraged,
she offered him the cup she was carrying. "Your men seemed to so enjoy the
coffee, I thought you might like a second cup yourself, Captain
Quantrill."

"That's
kind of you," he acknowledged, taking a long draught of the brew. "We
don't get real coffee often enough, not with the war cutting off the river
trade from New Orleans."

With
difficulty Leigh stifled the urge to twist away when Quantrill took her arm.
"I've had my men prepare a tent for us, over there beyond the trees,"
he told her. "You haven't changed your mind about our bargain, have you,
Leigh?"

"I
wouldn't be here, Captain Quantrill," she replied precisely, "except
to spare my husband's life."

A
frown came and went at her answer, but he acknowledged her words at last.
"That is what we agreed."

As
he spoke, his hand came to rest on Leigh's waist, and he pulled her close
against his side. When his mouth sought the gentle curve of her throat, Leigh
fought down a wave of revulsion. Her reason for being here was clear, she told
her cringing senses. Without what she had agreed to do, both Hayes and Nathan
might be dead. Quantrill's lips were hot, and his hold was far from gentle as
his hands moved restlessly over her. He stopped on the sloping path that led to
the stream and nuzzled along her throat, tasting the flesh bared above the
neckline of her gown, then moving ever lower.

"Lord,
but you're soft, woman," he groaned, "as soft and as sweet as a field
of clover."

Then
Quantrill abruptly raised his head and dragged her down the path behind him.
His men had indeed prepared a place for them: a good-sized canvas tent with a
fire blazing brightly before it. He led her to the interior but did not lower
the flap.

"Undress
for me, pretty lady," he commanded and sank down on the pile of blankets,
his smoldering eyes devouring her.

For
a heartbeat, Leigh's courage threatened to desert her, but she reluctantly
obeyed, knowing she had no choice. Her fingers slipped from one button to the
next, and inexorably the opening between the panels of her bodice widened to
reveal the corset and chemise she wore beneath. Quantrill's gaze focused on the
growing display of Leigh's lush charms, and with a hoarse, muttered growl he
exhorted her to hurry. The bottom of the placket was reached, and Leigh was
forced to bare first one softly rounded shoulder and then the other as the
fabric slipped to her waist.

"Now
your skirt and petticoats," he said, breathing raggedly. "Lower them
one by one."

Leigh
silently complied, aware of the man's glazed expression and the terrible
necessity of doing exactly what he asked. The full skirts and petticoats
dropped in a pool about her feet, and at last she stood attired only in stays,
pantalets and chemise, waiting to learn his pleasure.

"Go
on! Go on!" he urged, lying back as he sipped his coffee. "Go on, my
lovely mistress. How I long to see you naked and spend myself between your
thighs!"

The
lust was plain in his pale eyes, and Leigh steeled herself to comply, slipping
the fasteners of her stays and dropping her pantalets.

Standing
by the fire in her chemise, Leigh's silhouette was plain to the man who lay
sprawled on the rumpled blankets. He saw the high, full breasts swaying gently
with her movements; the slender waist and flaring hips that seemed designed to
tease and please a man; the long, shapely legs with her sweetness tucked
between them. Her limbs were outlined by the firelight, the wavering, golden
aura from the flames reflected on her skin.

"Let
down your hair," he ordered hoarsely, his pale eyes glazed with lust.

Searing
hatred and wild frustration filled Leigh at what Quantrill was forcing her to
do, and she tried not to think beyond this moment to what must inevitably
follow. Slowly, she raised her hands to her hair and did as he asked: slipping
the pins from the knot on the top of her head, then shaking the rippling mass
free.

Quantrill
drew a ragged breath and came up on his knees to pull her close, slipping his
hands inside the chemise to trace her thighs and hips. Filling his palms with
her buttocks, clenching his fingers into her flesh, he pressed his face into
the curve of her belly before toppling her down beside him.

"Lovely,
lovely," he said with a groan and spread himself above her. Grinding Leigh
deep into the nest of blankets until she was branded with his need, Quantrill
claimed her as his possession, for this night at least. When her thin chemise
barred his way, it was quickly wrenched aside, and he feasted on her body like
a wolf upon its prey.

Up
until that moment Leigh had been in control of her reactions. She had steeled
herself to allow Quantrill to look and touch at will, telling herself that she
must do what he asked or forfeit her husband's life. But with the baring of her
flesh and the evidence of his burning need, Leigh knew she could stand no more
and fought wildly to be free. Twisting, she loosened one hand and swung it at
her tormentor's face, hitting just above his cheekbone with sudden, surprising
force.

The
guerrilla leader reared back, and Leigh tried to squirm away, but Quantrill
recovered quickly and forced her back against the blankets.

"Have
you forgotten our bargain, Mrs. Banister?" he asked, pinning her beneath
him. "Have you changed your mind about keeping it? Unless you want to be a
widow, you will do exactly as I say."

Still,
Leigh seethed beneath him, struggling with all her strength. But against his
wiry, whipcord body, she was weak, ineffective, and helpless. At last she lay
panting beneath him, staring up into his pale, cold eyes. But instead of the
deliverance she had hoped to find, there was nothing in them but his lust.

He
chuckled softly and bent his head, rasping his cheek against her chest,
callously abrading her sensitive skin as punishment for her resistance. She
tried her best to shrink away, but there was nowhere she could go. She was
trapped against the blankets as he lowered his mouth to her breasts.

"Yield
to me," he murmured against her, "yield to me, Leigh, yield to me
now, and your husband will still go free. Come to me tonight, see to my
pleasure, and he will live to see the light of day."

Defeat
and resignation brought lethargy to her limbs, and with a soft, sobbing breath
of surrender Leigh acknowledged her defeat.

Quantrill
sighed deeply and rested his head in the crook of her shoulder. "Better, better,"
he whispered. "So much better now. Let me take you, pretty lady. I've
never wanted any woman more."

Leigh
tensed and lay waiting for his penetration, resigned to giving this villain all
she had hoped to withhold. And with a sense of welling despair, she knew her
plans to escape Quantrill had failed.

His
hand fumbled with his trousers, and he muttered a slurred curse against her
skin. Then without warning, he sagged heavily against her.

It
took a moment for Leigh to realize that the escape she had hoped for was at
hand. The drugs she had put in the coffee had finally taken effect. Now she was
pinned to the ground by Quantrill's inert body when before she had been held by
his strength, flattened beneath his weight but not a victim of his desire.

Relief
seeped through her though she lay crushed and fighting for breath, praying that
the rest of the encampment had succumbed to the drugs in the coffee as well.
Pushing with legs, arms, and shoulders, she struggled to free herself from the
man who lay as limp and inert as a ton of wet sand above her. He was heavier
than she had guessed, and her muscles trembled with the effort to move him.

Then
there was the sound of footsteps coming down the path, and she froze where she
lay. Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart pounded in her ears as she
waited, desperate to know if this newcomer was deliverance or disaster.

"Leigh!
Leigh?" a voice finally called out softly. "Leigh, is Quantrill
asleep?"

"Nathan,"
she whispered in relief. "Nathan, yes, but I'm trapped underneath him. Can
you set me free?"

A
moment later Quantrill's weight was rolled away, and Leigh scrambled to find
her clothes. Nathan Travis gallantly turned his back to her as she pulled the
gown over her nakedness and gathered the front together.

"Is
Hayes all right?" she asked as she fumbled with the fasteners, her fingers
clumsy in their haste. "Why—why didn't he come to get me instead of
sending you?"

"Oh,
Leigh!" She heard the rush of Nathan's laughter as he bent to gather up
her things. "He was more than willing to rescue you, but I wouldn't let
him come. He surely would have killed Quantrill, and that would have been even
more foolhardy and dangerous than what you've done already."

***

September 22, 1862—Near Jefferson City,
Missouri

In
the cool, gray dawn, Leigh awoke to find Hayes pressed against her, as if he
had been seeking her warmth and softness in the dark. A sleepy smile curved her
lips as she nestled closer; then with a jolt of alarm she remembered the danger
they were in and the need for constant vigilance. Raising her head, Leigh
quickly surveyed the campsite. All seemed as it should be, and after lying
alert for several minutes, she willed herself to relax. Perhaps Quantrill and
his men had given up the chase, and they were safe after all.

Sighing,
Leigh settled back against her pillow. With the threat of the guerrillas'
retaliation dogging them, they had traveled all the day before and most of the
previous night, stopping only to rest the horses. But at sunset Hayes and
Travis had deemed it necessary to make camp and picked a readily defensible
spot in a copse of trees near the outlet of a woodland spring. Because of the
persistent danger, the two men had agreed to stand guard, and while the rest
went to bed, Hayes and Nathan took turns watching over them.

But
now Hayes lay beside her beneath the wagon, deeply asleep. Slowly she turned
her head to watch him, seeing the leashed power in the line of his body and
enjoying the protective way one arm lay across her waist. She had always felt
secure when Hayes was close at hand, and this morning was no exception. But in
the last thirty-six hours she had found that there was far more to Hayes
Banister than comfort and security. As Leigh lay awake in the early-morning
twilight, she contemplated the stranger she had discovered in the guise of her
husband. The dangers they had faced and the difficulties they had overcome in
escaping from Quantrill had showed her a new side to Hayes, one that both
confused and intrigued her.