LeClerc 01 - Autumn Ecstasy (11 page)

Linsey woke abruptly, an intense heat burning into her cheek. With a start, she realized she had fallen asleep and that Bear was once more burning with fever. His disjointed mumbling confirmed that he was again delirious.

She opened her eyes and found herself staring at a jaw, dark with several days’ growth of beard. Her nose twitched at the coolness of the surrounding air, and she tried to turn her head, knowing before she looked that the fire was dead.

Finding it impossible to move her head without pulling her hair, Linsey reached up and encountered Bear’s fingers firmly tangled in the snarled locks. Long minutes passed as she tediously unwrapped her hair from his hand. When she was free, she slid from the bed, careful to keep him covered.

Shivering, she forced her stiff legs to carry her across the frigid room. Cold ashes seemed to taunt her. At least this time she had a vague idea of how to start the fire, she thought dejectedly. After smoothing the ashes, she piled several pieces of kindling in the center and began striking flint against steel.

Several times a weak spark started a tiny flame that was destined to die before it took firm hold. Linsey shivered, grateful for the warmth of the buckskin dress. She knew she should stop long enough to wrap a blanket around her, but with each spark, she was sure this would be the one that would become a roaring flame.

Bear’s mumbling became louder until she could distinguish several words. She clenched her teeth together; there was no one else to light the fire. If she didn’t do it, they would freeze. Her stomach protested noisily, and she moaned at the thought of trying to cook again. She was so hungry — but not hungry enough to want to eat her own cooking!

Her hands shook, and her knees resting on the hard dirt floor began to ache. Each spark promised warmth only to leave a sense of despair. A feeling of impending doom spread through her. She decided she was destined to die in this forbidding wilderness, either from starvation or from the cold. She wondered why she even bothered to try to delay the inevitable. Only the instinct for survival kept her trying repeatedly to start the lire when her teeth chattered, her hands shook uncontrollably and the knowledge of warmth, even if it was false warmth, beckoned from across the room.

“Dear God,” she prayed softly, desperation ringing with each word, “help me to — “

Without warning the door crashed open and slammed violently against the wall. The frozen leather hinges creaked protestingly, one tearing free to leave the door hanging crookedly.

Linsey swung around to face the new threat, her long hair settling around her in a shimmering veil of red. Her morbid thoughts of death fled as she stared at reality.

Framed in the sparkling daylight was the sinister jackal of her nightmares, in search of her soul, the final test of her diminished strength and failing courage.

Her scream splintered the quiet, unheard by the one person who might have been able to save her.

CHAPTER FIVE

“Nee lah nee kah ndh!”

The Indian’s hand raised threateningly, and a feathered tomahawk sliced through the air in front of him, effectively silencing Linsey. Tightly clenched in his other hand was a wicked-looking knife, the blade shining razor sharp. He stood as if poised to spring into action, his piercing black eyes surveying the room, intently scrutinizing the shadowed interior. His wide, heavily muscled shoulders stiffened at the sound of a moan from the bed, and his alert gaze moved to that comer of the room.

“N’tha thah!”

His harsh, guttural words grated on Linsey’s ears, making her tremble.

With a threatening stare in her direction, he moved gracefully to the bed. Still poised like a mountain eat expecting danger, he swiftly threw back the furs.

As Linsey watched, she desperately searched for a plan to protect the defenseless man. Bear’s hunting knife lay on the table, and without conscious thought, she crept slowly toward it. The Indian continued his survey of Bear, his back toward her.

Her hand closed around the knife, and without sound, Linsey rose to her feet, her body seeming to act on its own accord. She had fought too hard to save Bear’s life from the fever to sit back and watch him be killed by a savage.

Linsey took two hesitant steps toward the vulnerable copper back, the knife raised above her head. She knew she had made no sound; she had never moved quieter in her life. But instinct must have alerted the Indian to danger.

He turned abruptly, a wicked sneer crossing over his face.

“I’ll not let you kill him,” Linsey whispered.

As if he understood her, his sneer deepened to a grin, his eyes seeming to dance with enjoyment. Slowly he hooked the tomahawk through his breechcloth and sheathed his knife. As graceful as a panther, he began to stalk her.

With each step the Indian took forward, Linsey took one backward until she felt the mantel from the fireplace pushing into her head. She could go no farther, and still the Indian silently approached.

“Damn you! Only a savage would torture a sick man.”

Linsey held the knife at waist level, both trembling hands wrapped around it. “I’ve never killed anything before, but as God is my witness, if you touch him, I’ll put this knife so deep in you it will come out the other side!”

The Indian stood relaxed, the smile never leaving his face. His black eyes sparkled as they stared into hers. He spoke in his fiendish language, his hand outstretched, palm up.

“You want my knife, do you?” Linsey snarled. “Well have it you shall,” she raised the knife slightly, “but it will be in your belly, not your hand.”

From the bed Bear moaned loudly, and for a fraction of time the Indian turned his head. Linsey sprung, realizing this was the opportunity for which she had waited. The Indian returned his attention to her just as she moved. Grabbing her hands effortlessly, he removed the knife. With a flick of his wrist, he threw it into the wall across the room, where it hit and quivered before becoming still.

Face to face they stood, the proud fierce warrior holding her easily. Her chin raised even as shear terror dilated her eyes.

“Pel ah wee o skees a kwee.”
His voice was soft, the smile gone.

“You will never know of my fear.” Linsey tried to make her voice firm, but a quiver sounded in spite of her effort. I’ll never give you the satisfaction of seeing me afraid.”

Again he spoke quietly while almost reverently wrapping a strand of her long hair around his finger. As if breaking out of a trance, his big body shook, and he freed her hair and gently set her aside.

He walked toward the fireplace, and for the first time Linsey noticed that he limped. How could he appear to move so gracefully that she only now saw his limp?

Having expected to be instantly tortured, Linsey’s terror-fogged mind jumped from one scattered thought to another. Why was he taking time to make a fire? Dressed only in pants and a breechcloth, his bronzed chest bare, she wondered if he was cold. Perhaps he liked to be comfortable when he tortured captives, she thought, fighting to swallow a nearly hysterical impulse to giggle.

Without realizing she was doing so, Linsey watched the Indian light the fire. When a spark caught, he blew gently, adding larger pieces of kindling as the flame grew.

“He didn’t tell me to blow on it,” she moaned in a whisper, seeing her error in trying to start the fire.

A hungry golden blaze quickly began to devour the logs. The Indian broke the ice covering the top of one of the buckets and poured the water into an empty kettle. He removed the kettle of broth from the hook and set it near the fire, placed the kettle of water on the hook and swung it directly over the blaze.

When everything was to his satisfaction, he stood and limped to the open door. He walked into the snow, disappearing around the side of the cabin, returning quickly with a heavy fur slung over his shoulders. In one hand he carried some frozen raw meat; the other held a wrapped bundle.

Without looking at Linsey, he set the package on the table and began cutting chunks of meat off the bones, adding them to the pot of water. He opened a pouch at his waist and removed several small bags.

The Indian set another pot of water in the now glowing coals and added what looked like dried leaves from some of the bags to it.

Linsey took advantage of his turned back and moved quietly over to the wall. She reached for the knife above her head and tried pulling, twisting and turning it, but it was sunk so deeply into the log that she could not budge it. She leaned her head against the rough wood, her hand clutching the knife hilt, despair running rampant through her slender body. Turning, she slowly slid down the wall, sitting with her arms wrapped around her legs. She knew that the true test of her strength would begin soon.

At least she would be warm when she died, she thought apathetically. Maybe he’d even feed her first. Her stomach did not seem aware of the danger facing the rest of her as it growled in protest of the delicious smells beginning to float through the cabin.

The Indian glanced in her direction, and seeing that she presented no danger, he walked once more to the bed where Bear lay delirious, innocent of the danger surrounding him. The Indian removed his knife, and Linsey stifled a scream as she watched it descend.

A tearing sound filled the hushed silence, and Linsey’s eyes widened when she saw the Indian’s hand come back up — holding what remained of Bear’s pants. He quickly dropped them onto the floor and kicked them out of his way.

Growing more mystified by the minute, Linsey watched as he walked to the fire and returned to the bed, carrying the small pot of steaming water with him. He set it near the bed, shifting Bear until the steam drifted into his face. Pouring some of the liquid into a cup, he lifted Bear’s head, forcing him to drink. She realized that they were speaking when she heard the rumble of Bear’s deep voice.

When he decided Bear had drunk enough, the Indian slowly lowered him back to the bed. She watched as he ran his hands searchingly over Bear’s body. Satisfied that there was no hidden damage, he covered the shivering man with all of the blankets and furs on the bed. When Bear attempted to throw off the coverings, the Indian raised his voice and spoke harshly.

From her corner, Linsey realized that the cabin was growing increasingly warmer. Dressed in pants and breechcloth, the Indian’s copper skin glistened with a light covering of perspiration. Linsey wiped her hand across her forehead and found that it, too, was wet.

Bear no longer seemed in life-threatening danger; in fact, the Indian seemed to be trying to help him. Lowering her head to her knees, Linsey waited with resignation for whatever was to come. When moccasin covered feet entered her line of vision, she lifted her head, startled to find a bowl being held out to her. With a grunt, the Indian pushed it toward her.

Feeling light-headed from fear and hunger, Linsey accepted the bowl. Not waiting for the steaming food to cool, she burnt her fingers in her haste to eat. It was simply meat and broth, but she swore she had never tasted anything so good. Only as she was drinking the last of the broth did she stop to wonder if one of the ingredients he had added was poison.

With a shrug, Linsey decided it was too late to be concerned. She had all but licked the bowl clean.

Across the room Bear moaned, tossing and turning while sweat ran down his face. The Indian frequently forced him to drink from the prepared water, maintaining a constant watch that the furs stayed in place over the thrashing man.

As the day grew on, Linsey’s thoughts of imminent torture faded. She began to wonder if he were not known to Bear. No man, Indian or white, would give a stranger the kind of care the Indian was giving Bear.

“Do you speak English?” Maybe, if he was a friend, Bear had taught him a few basic words.

When there was no reply, she tried again. “Who are you? You must have a name.”

Except to occasionally check on her whereabouts — which was simple for him to do since she hadn’t moved in hours — the Indian ignored her and concentrated on nursing Bear.

“Divil take ye, mon, be ye not going to torture me?” Her agitation showed in the brogue she unknowingly used.

The Indian turned slowly, his eyes glittering brightly. “Do you wish for me to do so?” he asked in perfect English. “You will have to forgive me that in my concern for my brother I neglected to begin your torture. What did you have in mind, Summer Eyes?” He crossed his arms over his chest, an amused smile showing straight white teeth.

“Why, you … you… Linsey’s rage made it impossible for her to speak or to form a clear thought.

“If I may make a few suggestions as to the type and method of your torture?” he offered. “My forefathers spent years refining their techniques.”

Linsey slowly stood, her building anger noting and magnifying his enjoyment. “Ye bloody whoreson savage,” she yelled, her brogue so thick that he could understand only a few words. “Ya dinna intend torture! I hae spent the day long waiting for something that wasna to happen!”

It was fortunate that the Indian could not understand her as she paced toward him, speaking in a brogue so thick it would have pleased any Highlander while she cursed his ancestors, his future generations and even the ground he stood on.