Maverick Heart (31 page)

Because of the way they were bundled up, he couldn’t tell who they were. Maybe it wasn’t Tom and Freddy, after all. Maybe it was three completely different people.

He started to shout and wave his hands to attract their attention. He didn’t know what stopped him, but suddenly he knew it was the wrong thing to do. Maybe those were Sioux.

Better to find out who they were before he identified himself. He had to get closer. But there was no way to hide himself in the snow. He would simply have to hope they didn’t look in his direction.

Finally, he was close enough to make out faces.
His heart skipped a beat. He felt a surge of triumph. It was Freddy and Tom. His gut tightened as he identified the third person. Hawk.

Rand could see Tom was holding a gun on the Sioux, who stood about five feet away from him. The snow around the Indian was stained a vivid red. It appeared Tom had shot Hawk. But Rand couldn’t see enough of the Indian’s body beneath his shaggy buffalo robe to know how bad the wound was. The Indian held his hands away from his body, and it was plain he had no weapon.

Rand watched Tom raise his gun and aim it at the Indian’s belly and realized all at once that he was going to murder the man in cold blood.

Rand struggled to his feet, rifle in hand, and yelled as loud as he could, “Tom! Tom!”

The crisp, cold air carried his cry to the threesome. Tom turned to look, and the Indian made a run for it. He didn’t get far before Tom turned his revolver back on him again. Tom was going to shoot Hawk in the back!

Everything seemed to happen in the flicker of an eye.

When Rand heard Tom fire, he felt as though he had been shot himself. It was cold-blooded murder!

Then he realized Tom’s shot hadn’t killed the Sioux. Hawk had grabbed his side and was still running—staggering, actually—away.

To his horror, Rand saw Freddy grab Tom’s wrist and struggle to wrest the gun from him. In his mind’s eye he saw the revolver accidentally discharging,
killing Freddy. He had to save Freddy. He had to kill Tom.

At Birdie Arthur’s hunting lodge in York Rand had snuffed twenty candles at twenty paces after drinking an entire bottle of brandy. He ought to be able to hit a target as large as Tom when he was stone-cold sober. But he had never pointed a gun at another human being, and he found it difficult to hold the rifle steady. His hands were shaking too much.

A blast of wind sent snow swirling into his eyes. He swiped at his eyelashes to brush away the flakes that had caught there, blinding him. When he looked again, Tom was raising his gun to hit Freddy with it.

Rand held his breath and squeezed the trigger slowly, easily. He heard the deafening report in his ear … and watched Tom fall.

He ran then, as fast as his frozen feet could carry him through the heavy snow, toward the brutal tableau before him. When he arrived at the scene, Freddy was kneeling beside Tom.

“Hold it right there!” she called to him. She rose and faced him, Tom’s revolver in her hand—aimed at him! She was wrapped up in a blanket so that all he could see were eyebrows white with frost and a nose as red as a berry. She couldn’t keep the revolver level in front of her, even with both hands.

“Freddy, it’s me.” He yanked his woolen scarf away from his nose and mouth, where he had wrapped it to keep the wind from biting at him.

“Rand?” She dropped the gun and lunged
toward him through the snow. “Rand! Oh, God, Rand!”

He opened his arms, and she fell into them sobbing. He closed his arms around her. The days and nights without food or sleep, the hours spent fighting the bitter cold, all seemed worthwhile. He was holding her, and she was blessedly, beautifully alive.

Abruptly he caught her shoulders and pushed her away so he could look at her face, into her eyes. He pulled the blanket askew so he could see her better. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” she said. But she wouldn’t meet his gaze. She kept her chin tucked close to her chest.

“Did Tom—”

“He’s dead,” she said. “Tom is dead.” She looked up at him at last. Her skin was bleached of color. Her lips had thinned to a narrow line. Her eyes possessed a melancholy that made him want to howl with agony.

Tom had hurt her. He had hurt her
.

That was as close as Rand could come to making himself accept what must have happened. Maybe it hadn’t. Maybe the worst hadn’t happened.

“Did he—Did Tom—” He couldn’t get the words out.

Her face crumpled, like dead leaves thrown on a fire. “Oh, Rand,” she sobbed. “Oh, Rand.”

He gathered her in his embrace and held her close, felt her quivering, shaking, and knew it wasn’t from the cold. He wanted to shake Tom
Grimes like a terrier shakes a rat. He wanted the man alive again so he could strangle him with his bare hands. He wanted to castrate him and watch his lifeblood ebb away. There was no punishment terrible enough for a man who had stolen a young woman’s innocence and replaced it with ugliness.

Freddy has been brutalized
.

As horrible as that sounded, it was yet another euphemism. Rand made himself think it.

Freddy has been raped
.

His body shuddered with the force of what he was feeling. He did what primitive man must have done a million years ago when he felt battered by merciless fates. He raised his face to the leaden sky, opened his mouth, and let forth a ululating wail of anguish, a cry of helpless rage.

The wind swept it up and carried it away and left them cold and alone in the quiet that followed.

A sudden gust of frigid wind snatched at Rand’s hat, reminding him where he was. Night was falling. The end of day had snuck up on them, and Rand was faced with the awesome knowledge that he had found Freddy but was in no position to rescue her. He had no idea where they were, they had no shelter, and with the coming of night, the temperatures were likely to drop far below zero. They would probably freeze to death during the long hours of darkness.

But he refused to concede defeat.

“Freddy,” he said. “We have to get on the horses and get moving.”

“What about Hawk?” she asked, glancing toward where the Indian had finally fallen in the snow. “Is he dead?”

“I don’t know.”

Rand was learning fast in this brutal land. He had killed a man for the first time. He had seen the haunted eyes of the woman he loved and known a rage he had never imagined himself capable of feeling. And he had realized he couldn’t leave a man—even an Indian who had caused them endless trouble in their lives—to die in the cold.

“I’ll see if he’s still alive,” he said. “You wait here.”

“Rand, I—”

“Freddy, don’t argue with me,” he snapped. “I’m not sure how dangerous he is, and I don’t want you getting hurt.”

She stood, head down, hands clasped in front of her and said, “Yes, Rand.”

It was then he realized what Tom had really stolen when he had taken her virginity. Her confidence. Her spirit. He had mangled the complex and delicate nature that made her the person she was. Rand wanted the old Freddy back. He wanted her to fight him. He wanted her to demand her own way.

He stood watching her for a moment, but she made no move to contradict him again. He left her and walked to where the Sioux had fallen in the snow.

Rand had Tom’s revolver in his hand when he
slowly turned Hawk over. The Indian’s eyes were open and wary.

“How bad are you hit?” Rand asked.

“Bad enough,” Hawk answered.

“I’d help you if I could,” Rand said as he knelt beside the Indian. “But I don’t know a thing about doctoring, and I haven’t the vaguest idea which way to go to find someone who does.” He helped Hawk sit up, but it was plain the Indian was sorely wounded.

“Perhaps we may help each other,” Hawk said.

“How’s that?”

“If you will bring me my horse, I will lead you to my village.”

Rand’s eyes narrowed. “I won’t be made your prisoner again.”

“I owe my life to you,” Hawk said. “That is a debt I would not dishonor.”

“Meaning what?”

“You will be my guest so long as you wish it.”

“What about the woman?” Rand asked, unwilling to trust the Indian.

“The woman is mine.”

Rand pressed the revolver to Hawk’s chest and cocked it. “Not if I kill you first.”

Hawk’s dark eyes remained steady on his. “Then you will both die in this storm.”

Rand knew he was right, but even that fate might be preferable to what Hawk intended for Freddy. “The woman is mine,” he said. “I want that understood before any of us moves an inch from here.” He would rather kill Freddy himself, or die
with her in the cold, than give her to another man to be brutalized.

Hawk stared at him for another moment before he said, “Perhaps we should let the woman choose between us.”

Of course Freddy would choose him. But if Hawk needed to hear the words to end this farce, he was willing to let Freddy speak them. “Freddy. Will you come over here?”

Rand uncocked the revolver but kept it in his hand.

Freddy had spent the past few minutes alone wondering whether Rand had done her a favor by saving her life. Tom had promised to kill her long before they reached civilization. It would have been a blessing, she decided. She felt used. Dirty. Guilty. Even though she was the victim. She could never become anyone’s wife now. She was no longer worthy of the honor.

Besides, no man would want her. She had seen the revulsion in Rand’s eyes when he looked at her. And the pity. Nor could she face her parents again. Or anyone she knew. She wanted to hide somewhere. Even better, she wanted time to go backward so she could obey her parents. She had been wrong to fight against them. She had wanted adventure. She had never dreamed it would all turn out like this.

“Freddy?” Rand called for the second time.

She crossed obediently to Rand and stood beside him.

“Is this your man?” Hawk asked Freddy.

Oh, she had wanted him to be. She loved him so much—had only just realized how much. But she could never marry him now. Her body had been despoiled. And she could never bear to have another man do that horrible thing to her. Not even Rand. She could not be any man’s wife.

When she didn’t speak, Rand answered for her.

“Yes,” he said irritably, “she’s mine.”

“No,” Freddy countered in a hushed, unFreddylike voice. “I don’t belong to anyone.”

It was something she had said many times before, but Rand had never heard it said like this—woefully, sadly, not the least bit defiantly. He felt like crying.

“Do you wish to be this man’s woman?” Hawk asked.

Freddy glanced quickly at Rand and lowered her eyes again. “No.”

“She has spoken,” Hawk said.

“What the hell is going on here, Freddy?”

Freddy could see Rand was furious. She should have been frightened. But how could mere anger frighten her when she had lived through much worse? “I’m sorry, Rand.”

For not fighting harder when he tore my clothes off. For fighting to live when he threatened to strangle me. I should have let him kill me. But I didn’t want to die. I was so afraid to die! So I clawed his face and made him mad, and instead of killing me he kept me alive and did awful, terrible things to me
.

“Since she does not claim you, I will take her,” Hawk said.

Freddy only belatedly realized the situation she had created. “Rand?” She looked at him with terrified eyes.

“I don’t give a damn what she said,” Rand snarled. “She’s mine. You can’t have her.” He cocked the gun and pressed the icy barrel against Hawk’s temple.

“Rand, don’t!” Freddy cried.

Hawk didn’t move a muscle.

“I’ll kill you before I’ll let you have her,” Rand said.

“Then we will all die.”

Rand swore low and viciously. But he didn’t remove the gun.

“Very well,” Hawk conceded. “You will be free to go whenever you wish.”

Rand pondered that for a moment. He didn’t trust Hawk not to try and claim Freddy once they were in the village and surrounded by Sioux, but there were more options that could be pursued if they were alive, than if they were dead. “She stays with me in the village,” Rand said.

Hawk nodded.

“And you’ll guarantee our safety from the other Indians?”

“You will be safe as my guest,” Hawk promised.

Rand had no other choice but to accept Hawk at his word. He uncocked the gun. “All right,” he said. “Let’s go. Can you get up by yourself?” he asked Hawk. “Or do you need help?”

Hawk tried to get up, but hadn’t the strength. Rand didn’t ask again, simply reached down and
helped the Indian to his feet. The Sioux tried to take a step by himself, stumbled, and would have fallen except Rand caught him. He put Hawk’s arm around his shoulder to support him. “Bring Hawk’s horse, Freddy,” he ordered.

“I don’t want to go, Rand.” She would rather he left her there to die. She suspected it wouldn’t take long to freeze to death. If she turned chicken-hearted, if the fear of death rose to make her struggle once more to survive, it would be too late once Rand and Hawk were gone to do anything to save herself.

“Damn it, Freddy,” Rand bellowed. “This is no time to act like a spoiled brat. Get the bloody horses, now!”

Freddy headed for the horses, but she walked. She was in no hurry. Living wasn’t the great prize Rand apparently thought it was. She wouldn’t thank him for making her go on when she wanted life to stop here.

She led Hawk’s horse to where Rand stood supporting the Sioux. Rand helped Hawk onto his pony, then helped Freddy mount and took Tom’s horse for himself.

“We’ll follow you,” Rand said.

Hawk grunted and headed his horse into the wind.

They were riding north again.

Verity had never been so enraged in her life. It had taken them half a day to reach the Muleshoe. She hadn’t realized until they dismounted from
their horses at the ranch and she looked around for Rand that he wasn’t with them. It was only then Miles admitted that Rand had decided to continue searching for Freddy.

She paced, prowling the too-small cabin like a she-wolf in a cage. “How could you! You knew I wouldn’t have come back if Rand wasn’t coming, too! How could you leave my son behind to die!”