Loving Katherine (12 page)

“Don’t hear nothin’ from ‘em. Bet Cass settled her hash in a hurry,” a lanky, younger man said with a leer.

Roan watched from the shadows beneath the tree. He’d been fed a meal of sorts and given water to drink again. Apparently they weren’t planning to starve him to death. It’d more than likely be a shot in the head, he thought with a sense of doom.

If only he knew what was going on with Katherine. There hadn’t been a sound from her since the one shrill scream. Either he’d knocked her out or gagged her again, Roan thought. He hoped she didn’t know what happened when he…The thought of her defilement was almost more than he could bear, and he dropped his chin to rest on his chest once more. Fighting the rope was a losing battle, he’d decided. He’d do better to save his strength in case this gang decided to move on and take him along. Then there might be a chance to break free and do some damage.

The men had rolled up in their blankets around the lowburning fire, leaving one of the group to stand guard. Leaning against a rock at the far side of the clearing, the guard had tilted his hat forward and appeared to be dozing as Roan looked about. Roan had roused minutes earlier, shifting against the hard ground, wiggling his fingers to circulate the blood within them.

“Don’t move and don’t make a sound.” It was a whisper, a soft voice from behind him.

Roan froze in place, recognizing the husky tones of the leader, who’d not reappeared all night. He turned his head a scant few inches, slowly, his narrowed eyes searching the darkness over his shoulder. The rope binding him to the tree released and he fought to stay upright, his arms numb from confinement.

“Don’t move, damn you,” the voice ordered again, the husky whisper barely carrying to Roan’s ear.

Roan felt the touch of a hand against his, recognized the vibration of a knife sawing at his bonds and in moments realized his hands were free. He sat immobile as other hands massaged his, other fingers squeezed life back into his wrists and arms, scraping against the raw places he’d formed with his silent struggle.

“Monk looks like he’s sleepin’ over there,” the voice said after a few minutes. “I’m gonna give you the knife and I want you to lean over and cut the ropes around your feet. Then sit back up and don’t let on you’re free. Hear me?”

Roan nodded and received the knife with relief, shifting it in his hand until it fit his palm. Leaning forward slowly, he slipped his hand down the length of his thigh, then sawed quickly at the rope between his ankles, thankful for the leather of his boots as the blade slipped. He completed the task and leaned back, his hands still prickly from the restored blood flow, reluctantly returning the knife to the man behind him.

“Who the hell are you?” Roan rasped in a rough whisper.

“I’ll introduce myself in the morning, if we live through this,” Lawson said with dark amusement.

“If you’ve hurt my wife, you won’t live past morning.” Roan gritted the words between his teeth.

“You talk pretty brave for a man without a gun.”

“Where’s Katherine?” The words were harsh but quiet, only carrying the few inches to where his rescuer crouched in the darkness.

“Listen to me. I’m only gonna say this once,” Lawson said quietly. “I’m givin’ you your gun. It’s right behind you on the ground. When I give the signal, get behind this tree and look out for yourself. I’ll be ridin’ past with your wife, leadin’ your horse. It’s up to you to get into the saddle on your own. If we can make it out of here without any shootin’, that’ll be fine. If not…hell, who knows what’ll happen. It’s about the only chance you’ve got, Devereaux.”

“I’ll take it. With thanks,” Roan answered, his fingers feeling for the promised revolver. It fit neatly into his right hand, and he swallowed against the relief threatening to overwhelm him. Whoever “Cass” was didn’t matter. Whatever he’d done to be called leader of this gang of outlaws was of no account to Roan. For some reason, he’d relented and agreed to help them escape. And he’d bet his last dollar that Katherine was at the bottom of it.

The man was slick, he’d give him that, Roan thought with rueful admiration. One by one, three horses disappeared from the tethered mounts strung out beneath the trees. Like a shadow in the darkness, Cass singled out his choices, leading them into the depths of the dense growth of trees. Silently, he lifted the saddles from the ground and carried them from sight, only to return moments later. This time, he snaked a rifle from beneath a tree and slid noiselessly behind the trunk, unnoticed by the sleeping men about the fire.

Roan let his breath out on a sigh of relief, still pondering the situation. It wasn’t his place to ask questions at this point, but he was sure storing up a passel of them for Katherine to answer, once he got her shed of this mess.

A muffled sound to his left caught his ear and he tilted his head to look past his shoulder. Three horses, led by the bearded gunman, stood at the edge of the trees, one of them
carrying Katherine, who clutched a rifle across the pommel of her saddle.

Roan slowly turned his head back to the fire and muffled a curse. The man on watch, stretching and yawning widely, had risen from his post to relieve himself. Busily undoing the front of his pants, he turned from the fire to walk several yards away, and Roan smiled at the turn of events.

The cooing of a quail, soft and sweet in the early morning air, sounded from behind him. He rose, coming to his feet as the horses made their way to where he waited.

Katherine was an accomplished lady, and obviously birdcalls were only one of her many talents. Her grin told him she’d sent the signal, and he met her eyes with a hooded glare.
Damn woman’s all full of piss and vinegar, while I’ve been sitting here worrying about her all night.
He strode silently past the tree, gun in hand, and caught up the reins of his horse.

But Cass was looking beyond him. “Ah, sh—” he growled. “Watch your head, Devereaux.” The warning came almost too late as a shot was fired from one of the gang.

“Damn, they got the boss!” Monk shouted from the far side of the clearing.

The men rolled from their blankets, guns ready to fire, taking aim as they crouched in the dim light. But the rising sun shining through the treetops with glittering shards of brilliance forced them to squint against its rays.

“Get out, Katherine!” Roan said tightly, unwilling to take flight with long guns and revolvers aiming at their backs.

“Not on your life,” she muttered, raising her rifle to her shoulder and taking aim. The bullet was true and one of the men rolled about, clutching at his shoulder, even as she took aim once more

Roan’s own gun was empty in no time, each shot reaching its mark. Beside him, Cass fired twice, then slumped to the ground. Roan scooped up Cass’s gun and opened fire
again. Three members of the gang lay inert on the ground and another ran for his horse. Two more had emptied their guns and dropped to their bellies, snatching up the weapons of their fallen companions.

Katherine’s rifle sounded again. One of the gang dropped in his tracks, a hole in the center of his forehead. Even as the report faded, Roan heard her whisper of despair.

“Oh God,” she moaned beneath her breath, the words a whispered prayer as the man fell on his face. “I killed him, Roan!”

Roan glanced back at her, caught by her cry of anguish, heedless of the final gunman facing them across the campfire.

“Look out!” The muttered words were a warning from the fallen man beside him. Roan ducked reflexively, evading the bullet meant for him. Beyond him, it skimmed the side of Katherine’s head, flying past to bury itself in a tree. Her weapon slid from her hands to hit the ground and Roan spun around, a roar of outrage bursting from his throat. It filled the air, blending with the sound of gunfire from his weapon. The last of the outlaws sprawled on the ground, blood gushing from the wound in his neck.

Catching the reins of Katherine’s mare, lest she bolt and run, Roan soothed her with his hands, speaking in a rough growl as he settled her down. She calmed readily, her wild eyes closing, only the flaring nostrils and tossing head offering protest as she responded to his touch.

Katherine! His gaze shifted quickly to where she slumped over the saddle horn, the reins pulling tight beneath her body. Roan lifted her inert form with his right arm. Then, easing the leather from her fingers, he looped the reins over a tree branch.

Katherine clutched his hand, lifting her head, a groan welling within her. Her legs gave way as she slid from the saddle, and only Roan’s arm supporting her kept her on her feet.

“Katherine…” It was a muffled groan from the man sprawled nearby, and Katherine pushed away from Roan’s support, looking about with a sharp cry of distress.

“Lawson,” she whispered, staggering, then scrambling awkwardly across the ground to where he sprawled. “Lawson!” she repeated, her hands reaching for him. She knelt next to his head and bent to lift it to rest against her thigh, holding him in place with one hand, attempting to shift his deadweight.

Her eyes lifted beseechingly to Roan, dark and huge against her pale flesh. “Please…” she cried. “Help me, Roan!” Blood ran down her temple and she brushed at it distractedly, smearing it into her hair.

Roan’s gaze wavered as he scanned her wan face, settling on the blood flowing from her scalp. His lips tightened, but he turned to the fallen man, turning him over a bit, careful to support his neck as Katherine slid her legs to one side, providing a place for him to rest. She cradled the dark head tenderly, leaning to brush the dirt from his face.

“He’s my brother, Roan,” she sobbed, the tears rolling down her cheeks as she blurted out the words, paying no attention to the muffled curse greeting her announcement.

“Katherine,” the wounded man whispered again. His eyes fluttered open and he focused on the face above him.

“Pa forgave me, didn’t he?” he asked piteously. The words were uttered on a gasping breath and the dying man groped blindly for his sister’s hand. He coughed abruptly, and blood flowed from the corner of his mouth. His forehead wrinkling with the effort of his attempt to breathe past the gushing flow, he raised frantic eyes to her face.

“Roan, help him!” she cried, her own vision blurring as her tears flowed unhindered.

“I can’t, Katherine,” he told her quietly. “He took a bullet in the chest. You need to tell him goodbye, honey.”

“Noooo…” The wail came from deep within, a piercing cry of despair.

“Sorry…Take care of…” Lawson’s words were indistinct, but Roan read their meaning and leaned closer, intent on offering a last word of comfort.

“I’ll take care of your sister, Cassidy.” His big hand squeezed the bloody fingers, lifting their lifeless weight from Katherine’s palm.

“Oh, God! He’s dying,” she sobbed, bending down to brush frantic kisses across the lined forehead. “He can’t die…he can’t,” she whispered, her mouth warm against the flesh cooling beneath her lips, her heart squeezing in pain within her chest.

“He’s gone, Kate,” Roan said quietly.

“There’s so much blood.” She looked up at him, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“He’s dead,” Roan repeated. “You have to let him go, Kate.” He clenched his hands at the sight before him, helpless to bring her comfort.

“Please, Roan. Put something under his head. I don’t want him to lie in the dirt,” she said stubbornly, holding him against her legs.

“All right,” he agreed readily, taking off his shirt, ripping it in his haste. He folded it over twice, providing a thin pad for the dark head to rest on. Katherine gave way, allowing him to shift Lawson’s weight from her.

The sun rose in unerring splendor, casting its brilliance across the bloody scene. The fire burned, the horses bent to search out blades of grass. A mockingbird flew overhead, offering a serenade to the new day.

And Katherine looked about her, only now fully aware of the throbbing pain in her head. Her vision touched upon the bloodless lips of her brother, his eyes closed in the finality of death. A sob vibrated within her as she raised her eyes. “It’s not fair,” she whispered plaintively.

“Come on, Kate, let me look at your wound.” Deliberately, Roan lifted her in his arms, easing her head against his shoulder, uncaring of the blood staining his body. Seeping
from her head, it oozed over her forehead and neck to soak into the collar of her shirt. He lowered her to the ground, kneeling beside her. His fingers separated the dark strands of her hair, seeking the source of the flow, and his lips compressed as he watched blood welling from the shallow crease against her skull.

“You’re all right, Katherine,” he told her gruffly, untying the kerchief hanging around his neck as he spoke. “It’s just a scratch, but you’re still bleedin’.” With awkward movements, he folded the red bandanna, wrapping it tightly about her head, frowning as it refused to stay in place. He looked down at her, wincing at the sight of her bloodless lips and ashen countenance.

But his voice was strong and commanding as he grasped her hand in his and placed it at the site of her wound. “Here, Katherine, hold this for me,” he ordered, and her eyes opened. Her fingers spread to hold firm the makeshift bandage. Roan opened her shirt, reaching to rip at the white chemise she wore beneath it. It tore, the fabric giving way to his strong fingers with ease.

“What…?” The word was mumbled as she responded to his touch, her eyes straining to focus on his face.

“I gotta have something to pad your head, honey,” he told her, still tearing the front of her chemise until it bared her breasts, leaving only shredded material to cover her ribs. She looked down at her naked flesh and groaned.

“Cover me,” she whispered, one hand tugging at her shirt.

“In just a minute, honey,” he told her, intent on folding the material he’d scavenged from her underclothing. It would have to do, he decided, until he could get her to a better place and clean the shallow groove.

With careful touches, he moved her fingers from their position and snatched the bandanna from its place. The blood welled more slowly now, having soaked into his kerchief.
He pressed the pad firmly against the wound and tied the kerchief in place.