Whispering Hills of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 3) (29 page)

Then the brave stood. Dear God, he was much closer to her now, angled so he could see her side. Breath-robbing fear gripped her as he released an arrow in her direction. Reflexively, she whirled around to escape behind the tree, her eyes squeezed closed, her fingernails digging into the tree bark to hold her shaking body in place.

She heard William fire his rifle, but the shot, echoing through
the forest, didn’t sound like it hit anything.

When she opened her eyes, she glanced down, and realized the arrow pinned her skirt to the tree. Shaken, she reached down and with trembling hands broke the arrow’s shaft, tossed it aside, and pulled her skirt free. The sound of the fabric ripping seemed impossibly loud. She quickly tucked her torn skirt behind her.

Another arrow whipped through the air and sunk into the tree she stood behind, just inches from her face. The arrow and her heart both quivered violently.

She heard muted sounds nearby. Should she run? Fear wavered inside her as she tried to comprehend what she’d heard, what she should do. She did not want to die here. She could not let this Indian kill her. If she died, so would her baby. William didn’t even know yet.

She considered bolting out of hiding, running to William, away from this Indian closing in on her. Cringing against the tree trunk, she gasped for air, finding it hard to breathe. She placed a hand against her belly, conveying her love to her unborn child. Suddenly, she felt a fluttering feeling, like the wings of a butterfly brushing against the insides of her tummy. Remarkably, her fear vanished, and a mother’s protective instinct took over.

She took her rifle in both hands and keeping the sights in front of her eyes, and her finger poised on the trigger, quickly surveyed the area around her in every direction, but spotted nothing.

She glanced up and observed William creeping nearer to where he thought the Indian still was.

But the brave wasn’t there anymore. She could smell him now. He was somewhere close to her.

Gritting his teeth, William quickly reloaded the rifle again. He needed to reach the brave before the ruthless bastard could shoot Kelly. The Indian already shot two arrows at her, one close enough to pin her dress. Damn it, he would not let this son of a bitch release another arrow. This time he wouldn’t miss.

The girl’s father had wisely hunkered down, his flintlock pistol in his hand, with his daughter. William motioned to him to remain where he was. Merrill nodded in understanding.

William glanced back over toward Kelly. A crushing wave of apprehension swept through him. Oh, bloody hell!

Riley was running up behind Kelly, wagging his tail and wiggling his rear end with excitement at having found her. The dog must have slipped out of the collar he’d put around his neck.

To his dismay, he saw Kelly turn toward Riley, take a few steps, bend down, and reach for her pup.

His stomach churned with alarm and frustration. “Kelly, turn around!”

Before he got the last word out, the Indian reappeared, this time much closer to Kelly. Anger scorched the edges of his control, but he refused to let it take him entirely. He forced himself to remain deadly calm. William raised his rifle, lined up the sights down the long barrel, and took careful aim. Just as his finger started to draw back the trigger, the Indian darted out from his hiding place.

Eyes widened with the intent of butchery, the brave released a terrible screeching yelp and rushed toward her, his tomahawk upstretched above his feathered head.

The blow would be lethal.

At the sound of the native’s shriek, Kelly glanced up and
screamed with stark black terror. Then she dropped Riley and fired her rifle, but missed.

He would have but one chance to save his wife. His love. He took a steadying breath, trailed the running brave’s back with his sights, and gently squeezed the trigger, willing the lead ball to find its mark.

The ball whacked into the top of the Indian’s back with a loud thud. He jerked and then wobbled for a moment. But to William’s horror, the brave, still holding the tomahawk, took another long stride toward Kelly.

She fired her pistol.

As the second bullet struck him, the brave lurched, pitched forward, and collapsed to the ground, planting the tomahawk in the fallen leaves, mere inches from Kelly’s boots.

She jumped back, grabbed Riley up with one arm, and clutched him against her breast.

William ran to her, holding his breath. By the time he reached her, he thought his chest would burst. “He almost had you!” he cried harshly and gave her a little shake. Ferocious protective emotions took over. The thought of losing her bloodied his wits. Crushed his courage. Tore at his insides. Turned his soul raw.

He could no longer control the pent up fury within him. He tossed his rifle down and clenched his fists tightly, breathing hard. “Oh God…Kelly…you nearly died!” he shouted.

She looked up at him, eyes frightened, and shriveled a little.

Terrible guilt immediately assailed him. His anger was the last thing she needed now. With difficulty, taking a deep breath or two, he made himself regain self-control. He pursed his lips in exasperation and quickly chastised himself for acting like a brute.

She still clung to the puppy. He took Riley from her, sat him down on the ground, and then stood. “I’m sorry,” he said, but she didn’t respond. Worried, he appraised her with a penetrating look.

She seemed pale, the color drained from her face, and her eyes appeared unnaturally bright and glassy. Her lower lip trembled as she dropped her rifle to the ground and held both of her shaking hands against her tummy. After what just happened, it was no wonder her stomach hurt.

With an overwhelming surge of affection, he hauled her into his arms, wanting to weep with sheer relief. The fierceness of his emotions was something he never experienced before. His love for her at the moment, all consuming, overriding everything. He closed his eyes and concentrated on treasuring the feel of her in his arms. He felt her trembling, and it made his own heart shake within his chest.

“You’re all right, my love,” he said, kissing the top of her head repeatedly, and stroking her back. “We’re both just fine. You’re in my arms.”

Shock held her immobile for a few more minutes. She was so muddled and battered by her emotions, she couldn’t speak. Finally, she glanced down at the hatchet and shuddered, then gazed up at him and whispered, “Too close.”

William had to agree with her. His own distress at the near attack on her almost overcoming his self-control.

He glanced behind him. The last of the child’s abductors lay dead, red blood pooling on his bare back and seeping into the ground beneath him.

Kelly was safe. The child was safe. He let out a deep breath and
hugged his wife even tighter.

It was over.

CHAPTER 29

L
ittle by little, wrapped securely in William’s strong arms, Kelly recovered from the shock of her near death. With each gentle kiss he placed on her head, she felt her fear dissolve, like an oppressive grey fog yielding to the warmth of a bright sun.

Finally able to think and breathe normally, she wanted to go to Hannah to see if the little girl was all right. They weren’t far off and she walked with William toward Merrill and his daughter. She would offer the distraught child whatever solace she could.

When they neared the two, they heard the father’s reassuring voice as he attempted to comfort his traumatized child. Hannah sat in his lap, still sobbing. He whispered soothing words of endearment and stroked her small blonde head repeatedly.

The child’s eyes were so red it hurt Kelly to look at her.

“She won’t stop crying,” Merrill said, his voice full of concern, as he wiped his daughter’s runny nose with his handkerchief.

Hannah buried her freckled face in her father’s jacket and, still bawling, clung to him with her little hands.

Kelly bent down to the little girl. “Hannah, you have such a pretty name. And you’re quite a lovely girl too. You have hair the same color as mine. See, I’m blonde too,” Kelly said, holding out some of her long locks.

Hannah turned her head slightly in Kelly’s direction.

“But I can’t see what color your eyes are. Can you show me?” Kelly coaxed.

Hannah turned around completely.

“Your eyes are a beautiful green.”

“You know, I got stolen away once too, by an awfully bad man. But, you know what?”

“What?” Hannah asked. It was her first word.

“I got rescued too. Just like you,” Kelly said. In a soothing voice, she probed further. “Isn’t it wonderful your father came and got you? He saved you and now you’re safe. Do you understand that you’re safe?”

“I am?” Her small voice was fragile and tremulous.

“Yes, you are,” William assured her, kneeling down next to her father. “I’m Sheriff Wyllie from Boonesborough and you are safe with us. Do you know what a sheriff is?”

Hannah shook her head no.

“It’s the man in a town who helps other people when they are in trouble,” William explained, keeping his tone gentle. “So I came with your Pa to help him rescue you. And this is my beautiful and brave wife Kelly.”

“Do you like puppies?” Kelly asked.

“Mm-hmm,” Hannah murmured.

Kelly smiled broadly. “Me too. I adore puppies. Do you want to meet my puppy? He’s almost a dog now and he’s far braver than he should be for his age.”

When Hannah nodded she would, Kelly called for Riley who frolicked a short distance away energetically exploring the forest floor with his nose.

Riley immediately ran up and put both of his paws on the girl’s little lap and began licking her tear-streaked face.

“He likes me,” Hannah said, with a little giggle.

Hannah’s father looked at Kelly with gratitude in his eyes.

“I’m not surprised Riley likes you. I like you too,” Kelly said.

“His hair is the same color as ours,” Hannah said, sniffling, but not crying now.

Good, she was thinking about something other than her horrific experience.

“Would you like to go home?” her father asked. “Your Mama is worried about you.”

Kelly couldn’t even imagine the worry that must be tormenting Hannah’s mother. And waiting to learn of her daughter’s fate would be agonizing. They needed to hurry back.

“Yes, Papa, please,” Hannah said, her voice calmer and stronger now.

“I’ll go pack up what’s left of our hams,” William said.

“Find my blue shawl too. I had to trade it to them for Riley,” Kelly said.

William eyed her incredulously.

“I’ll explain later,” she said.

William started to wrap the shawl around Kelly’s shoulders, but she pulled it into her hands. She turned and handed it to Merrill. “Wrap your daughter in this,” she said, “she’ll need it, it’s growing colder by the minute.”

After Merrill wrapped Hannah up, he gave his daughter some water. The girl drank greedily. William wondered how long it had been since she had any food and water. The poor child had suffered enough. “Merrill, why don’t you take the Indians’ horses back with you? You can sell them and use the money to buy Hannah whatever she needs.”

“Sheriff that would be a true kindness. There’s so much I’d dearly love to purchase for her—books, new clothing, boots, a warm coat, and a maybe a doll.”

“A doll Papa!”

“Yes child, and some candy too!” he answered with joy in his voice. “And maybe a dog like Riley to watch over you!”

William smiled. “I’ll speak to my friend Lucky. He found Riley for us.”

“Thank you, Sheriff Wyllie,” Hannah said, looking up at him, her smile missing a couple of teeth and her face filled with childlike hope.

“It would be my pleasure Hannah,” William said. “For now, we need to find a stream to water all these horses.”

“I think I can put Hannah in front of me and still manage to lead two horses. Could you pull the other two behind you?” Merrill asked William.

“Indeed, it would be my pleasure, Sir. We need to hasten if
we’re going to make it back before sunset,” William said. He looked around for Riley and spotted him gulping a few chunks of the ham thrown down by the Indians. “That ham is salty. You’d best give him a little water too,” he told Kelly. Then he picked up the hams he’d wrapped in an Indian blanket.