to change the subject, she asked, “Wha—what about Bet? Will she be set free too?”
“No. She belongs to Running Cloud.”
Her heart went out to her poor friend. Hadn’t she suffered enough in this world? As soon as Anna was set free, she would tell the marshal about Beth, and hopefully he would have her rescued.
“I don’t want to go wit you, but I can’t fight you anymore.” She had no choice, nor the physical stamina. She jerked her wrists out of his grasp and started toward her carpetbag but turned and pointed a trembling finger at him. “You had better be a man of your word,” and not touch me, “and take me to Denver City when this is finished.”
Chapter Six
That night, rather than return to camp, they traveled long and hard. The deeper they went into the mountains, the deeper Anna’s heart sank. Her eyes grew heavy, and she felt sleep taking over, but she opened her eyes in haste. She wouldn’t dare fall asleep this time.
Black shadows of the forest came alive. The thought of wild animals lurking in the darkness made her move instinctively closer to her captor. Branches stretched out, reaching for her as if they knew she’d try to escape, and those same wicked pines shadowed the moon and stars, the only part of the forest offering her comfort.
White Eagle hummed, his chest reverberating against her side. It made her feel less alone, and she hated the fact that it stilled her nerves. Sleep tugged on her lids, and the baritone melody lulled her against him like a soft wind swaying a leaf. She forced her eyes open. “Stop it,” she whispered, her voice muffled by the darkness, but he continued to hum.
“Bonne nuit, ma chérie.” White Eagle’s breath tickled her ear.
Her lids grew heavy. What’d he say? Gentle shadows faded in and out, until finally she gave in to the stillness, to the low rumbling of his chest, to the murmuring of his voice.
When she opened her eyes, the early morning light and birds singing in the trees greeted her. She was still on White Eagle’s horse, and they must have traveled the entire night.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked.
She pushed away from his body. Its warmth, though still inviting, clung to her. At least now, he wore a shirt with fringes along the arms and seam. Still, she would rather suffer from a chill than be so close to the man.
“You never told me your name.”
She straightened her skirt and turned her face away. He may have been able to keep her from getting home, but he couldn’t force her to say her name, not even if he threatened her with snakes. Her taste of freedom had been short lived, and she was tired of being everyone’s prisoner.
“You’re not from New York. I could hear it last night. You had an accent. Where are you really from?”
“None of your business.” Ashamed that proper pronunciation had failed her the night before, she was determined to speak better today, no matter how nervous she became.
“Let’s rest here.” He helped her dismount near a river and then pointed to a clump of bushes. “You can go there. And don’t try to escape. If you take too long, I’ll come after you.”
Her face heated at the thought of his finding her in such a state. She hurried to take care of business as he led the painted beast to drink.
When Anna returned, all she saw were trees. Across the river was a solid rocky cliff, and just beyond that, another snow-capped mountain. How would she ever get home? Would this man keep his word, or was she headed for disaster?
The lightning streak along the horse’s flank and white handprints dotting his body rippled over the horse’s muscles as he drank. The detail intrigued her.
White Eagle appeared from the trees.
“Why do you paint your horse?” The words tumbled from her mouth without thought. Curiosity had gotten the best of her.
“My people believe lightning gives the horse speed. And each handprint represents one less enemy I have to deal with.” His eyes flashed beneath his mask of paint as he trudged toward her.
So he was a murderer. If only she’d escaped last night when she had the chance. At least then the lights of Denver were near. How had she gotten herself into such a mess?
Julesburg.
Funny how she had mistrusted that gentleman who had spoken to her on the train. All he had done was look at her, and she’d run away. Now here she was held captive by a savage.
She plopped down on the ground. The bustle in her dress was losing its spring, as was she. She opened her carpetbag and carefully took out the pictures of her parents. Would they be disappointed in her? Maybe she should have stayed in New York.
No. She never should have had to endure Uncle Horace’s abuse. She had found a way out and worked hard to take it. Besides, she had been Uncle Horace’s captive long enough. But didn’t she find herself in much the same circumstance?
She sensed White Eagle standing behind her.
“Who are they?”
“None of your business,” she said.
He knelt down. The warmth of his nearness made her shiver. “Your parents?”
She didn’t answer.
Walking around, he sat next to her and held out some dried meat. “It’s elk.”
Her stomach hurt after refusing to eat the night before. She didn’t care what it was, as long as it wasn’t turtle, so she took it from him.
“Thank you,” she whispered. She really didn’t want to show any form of thankfulness, but the habit of good behavior betrayed her feelings. She bit into the dried meat. Its rich flavor made her mouth water for more.
He moved onto his side, propping himself on his elbow, and took a bite of his jerky.
“May I see?” he said, gesturing toward the photographs.
Chin up, she held them out just far enough for him to see but refused to let go of the frames.
“Your mother?”
Anna nodded.
“She was beautiful. You look like her.”
Her cheeks grew warm, but she dismissed the compliment. In hopes that she wouldn’t try to escape again, he might be trying to win her over with his smooth words, just like Uncle Horace did with his woman-of-the-week. He’d con them with his pretty talk, and once he got what he wanted, he dismissed them.
Gently, she wrapped the frames back up and put them away in her carpetbag. She took out her mirror and brush, and nearly fainted when she caught a glimpse of her face. The lower half was red and chapped, while the top half was white. She’d never looked so awful. Freckles would definitely come out. She moaned.
“It’s not so bad.” He cleared his throat in a way that sounded like he stifled a chuckle. “Smear mud on your face. That’ll protect your skin from the sun.”
“I’d look awful.”
“No worse than now.”
She turned to give him a piece of her mind then noticed a hint of amusement playing in his eyes. Managing a “humph,” she turned back to the mirror. Her hair was full of pine needles and burs. She picked out what burs she could and pulled the brush through its tangles. It was far too long. What a pain it was brushing through the snarls.
“Want me to help?”
“No.” She jerked the brush through a knot. “Don’t touch me.”
He took a deep breath. “Fine.” He continued to lie there, watching.
Turning her back to him, she pulled her hair over her shoulder and brushed through the strands.