Beyond The Horizon (9 page)

Weighing her words carefully, Shannon said, “I am honored by your offer, Mad Wolf, but I cannot accept.”

Mad Wolf stiffened, his eyes narrowing dangerously as they settled thoughtfully on Blade. “Swift Blade has spoken the truth. You have made your choice. But I do not accept it.”

Wheeling his mount, he signaled his companions and they all thundered off across the plains toward the surrounding hills, their blood-curdling war cries reverberating with chilling horror.

“Shannon, what was that all about?” Callie wanted to know. Breathless with awe, she eyed Shannon curiously. She wasn’t the only one who wanted to know as the emigrants crowded around Shannon demanding an explanation.

“Mad Wolf has taken a fancy to Shannon.” Blade’s terse explanation saved Shannon from forming a reply.

“Will he return?” one of the men asked.

“I don’t think so,” Blade lied, “but it won’t hurt to continue posting extra guards and remain alert.” He didn’t wish to alarm the emigrants but neither did he want them unprepared. He knew that if he wanted Shannon as badly as Mad Wolf obviously did, he’d let nothing keep him from her.

“Mad Wolf won’t attack,” Clive Bailey predicted calmly. “We outnumber those renegades four to one. They might try to steal our livestock but they’re not stupid. Go back to your wagons, everyone, let’s get rolling.”

The crowd dispersed reluctantly, but Blade remained behind to speak with Clive. “What makes you so damn certain the Sioux won’t attack?”

“I just know,” Clive said cryptically.

“Have you met Mad Wolf before?”

“Just do the job you are getting paid for and don’t question my judgment,” Clive retaliated. “Come along, Shannon, I’ll see you back to your wagon.”

Blade looked as if he wanted to object, but when he did not Shannon shrugged and walked away. Blade’s gaze followed the graceful sway of her hips, the proud tilt of her head, and the sudden, inexplicable urge swept over him to sweep Shannon up in his arms, carry her to a secluded spot and make love to her tenderly—endlessly. Something about Shannon Branigan moved him deeply despite the fact that she held him in contempt. She already knew he was a half-breed—what would she do if she discovered he’d fought with the Yankees? The haughty Southern belle had voiced her hatred more than once for Yankees.

Shannon flounced off with a toss of her chestnut curls, feeling quite pleased with herself for the way she had put that renegade Mad Wolf in his place. But for some reason Blade seemed remote and preoccupied. The scowl appeared permanently etched on his face, especially when Clive Bailey was nearby. Vaguely she wondered at Mad Wolf’s puzzling words. What did Blade tell the truth about? The glance Mad Wolf leveled at Blade before he rode off spoke eloquently of jealousy and hatred. What had Blade told Mad Wolf to make him jealous? Sighing wearily, Shannon climbed aboard the wagon with Callie as Clive tipped his hat and walked away. There were so many contradictions surrounding Blade that it would take the rest of her life to sort through them.

Horrified, Shannon realized where her thoughts were leading and blanched. The rest of her life? With a half-breed? Ridiculous!

Chapter Five

T
he wagon train continued along the Platte River.
Mad Wolf did not reappear, much to Shannon’s relief. Twice mail wagons escorted by eight or ten cavalrymen from Fort Laramie sped by with little more than a wave and a holler.

At this point the riverbed stretched one half mile wide and was scantily covered with water a foot and a half deep. Shannon was surprised by the furniture, relics, and treasures strewn along the trail by emigrants no longer in need of such fripperies. They passed a small trading fort made of logs, then crossed a rapid stream running into the Platte. Excitement was high when they reached Plumb Creek Station, the only stopping place between Fort Kearney and Julesburg, which had once been a connecting chain for stage lines and mail. They spent but one night, recalling that in 1864 the dozen or so inhabitants of the station were killed and scalped by renegade Sioux.

They continued on to Cottonwood Springs, a good camping place eighty miles west of Fort Kearney. Having gotten this far without mishap was cause for celebration, and after supper the fiddlers gathered at the center of the camp and soon dancers were stomping and whirling about with gay abandon. Even those who didn’t dance stomped their feet and clapped their hands to the music. Catching her breath between dances, Shannon glanced around and saw that Blade was suspiciously absent. Then she noted that Clive Bailey stood a short distance from his wagon, a sour look on his face. His driver, Olson, had been assigned to guard duty tonight and Clive seemed disinclined to stray far from his wagon, though he looked as if he’d much prefer to join the revelry.

Suddenly Shannon saw something that made her heart slam against her ribs. A dark crouching figure detached itself from the shadows and entered Clive’s wagon. Within seconds the shadowy figure became a part of the dark interior.

His attention on the dancers, Clive appeared not to notice. Was she the only one who saw what was happening? Shannon wondered. She was certain that Blade was continuing his mysterious search of each wagon and was amazed at his daring.

She was about to turn away when she saw Clive assume a thoughtful expression, then pause before the back flap of his wagon as if undecided whether or not to enter. All Shannon’s senses screamed in silent warning, strangely unwilling to let Clive learn of Blade’s suspicious behavior. She had no idea what was going on, but of the two men she’d trust Blade before Clive. But if she didn’t act fast Blade would be in big trouble. Something inside her made her act spontaneously and without conscious thought to the consequences.

“Clive, won’t you dance with me?”

Clive turned, a slow smile curving his thin lips. He couldn’t believe his luck when he saw Shannon approach and ask him for a dance.

Blade had just entered Clive Bailey’s wagon, convinced he’d find weapons but needing sufficient proof. Fort Laramie lay mere days away and time was running out. Blade knew he was pressing his luck, but he had waited a long time for just such an opportunity. Clive Bailey was less vigilant than Olson, so Blade threw caution to the wind and entered the wagon while Bailey’s mind was occupied elsewhere.

A surge of elation seized Blade when he discovered a false bottom in the wagon. But it was short-lived. Clive’s shadow fell across the opening of the wagon and Blade froze, knowing full well what would happen if he was discovered skulking inside wagons, especially Clive Bailey’s wagon. Being a half-breed placed him in a dangerous position. One misstep and he’d find himself dangling from the end of a rope. People had little use for breeds in this part of the country. Besides, Bailey would know exactly why Blade was searching his wagon and wouldn’t let him live long enough to tell. Blade had nearly resigned himself to being discovered when a flirty voice diverted Bailey’s attention.

“Clive, won’t you dance with me?”

“Why of course, Shannon,” Blade heard Clive reply. “How could I refuse so pretty a request?”

Diminishing footsteps crunched in the dirt and Blade allowed himself to breathe again. Shannon didn’t know it, but she had probably saved his life. Was she aware of what she did or did she really want to dance with Clive Bailey? He banished that disturbing thought from his mind as he quickly resumed his examination of the false wagonbed. Hoping the fiddlers would drown out the noise, he pried up a board and inserted his hand into the opening. His breath slammed from his chest as his fingers brushed the barrel of a rifle, then another, and another. Evidently the entire wagonbed held a treasure trove of weapons. And he’d bet his right arm Mad Wolf knew it!

Carefully Blade replaced the board and left the wagon as silently as he entered.

“Thank you for the dance, Shannon,” Clive said, edging toward his wagon. He’d much rather stay and hold the elusive Shannon in his arms, but he hated to leave his wagon unprotected. He didn’t trust that half-breed—he was far too nosy for Clive’s liking. Actually, he didn’t trust anyone on the wagon train. Anyone, including the half-breed, could be a government agent and the weapons he was smuggling inside his wagon were worth a small fortune.

Shannon’s heart raced furiously as Clive edged toward his wagon. Though she’d kept her eyes peeled she hadn’t seen Blade leave Clive’s wagon and instinctively she knew he was still inside searching for God knew what. She couldn’t let Clive leave now and discover Blade at whatever dirty work he was up to.

“Must you go?” she asked, surprising Clive. “It’s such a beautiful night and I’m in the mood for a stroll.”

Clive couldn’t believe his ears. He’d spent weeks trying to get close to Shannon Branigan and had been thwarted at every turn. He was smart enough to take advantage of the unexpected bounty offered him and answered with alacrity. “I’d be happy to walk with you, Shannon. With Indians about I wouldn’t want you walking out alone.”

Clive didn’t actually think Indians still lurked in the area, but he reckoned it wouldn’t hurt to frighten Shannon a bit. He offered her his arm and they strolled together just beyond the circle of wagons, careful to keep well within the area between the sentries and line of wagons. It was a dark night except for the twinkling stars, and Shannon began to doubt the wisdom of being out here alone with Clive Bailey. She was about to suggest they return when she felt Clive’s arm snake around her waist.

“I’m glad you finally came to your senses,” Clive said. His smug tone set Shannon’s teeth on edge. “At first I thought you were sweet on that half-breed, but he’s not good enough for you. I realize he’s a handsome brute, but he’s a savage nevertheless.”

Shannon froze, realizing she had made a serious error in judgment. “Take your hands off me.”

“What’s the matter, honey? Don’t be bashful, you’re the one who lured me out here. We’re alone. Everyone is busy dancing and having a good time. Besides, the tall grass will hide us well enough.” He began pulling her down to the ground with him, pinning her beneath him.

“Clive, no!” Shannon fought valiantly to resist. “I’ll scream!”

Clive seemed confused. Isn’t this what Shannon wanted? Acting spontaneously, he placed a hand over her mouth. “What kind of game are you playing?” he hissed in her ear. “Why did you invite me out here if it wasn’t for a romp in the hay? Lay still, you little tease, and I’ll try to make it good for you. But if you aggravate me, I’ll take my pleasure and forget about yours.”

Shannon could do little more than make desperate noises in her throat and shake her head frantically from side to side. What had once seemed like a good idea had swiftly disintegrated into a horrible nightmare. Why hadn’t she left Blade to his own devices? she wondered grimly as she struggled with Clive. Having embarked on a dangerous path, Blade should have been prepared to accept the consequences. Why, oh why did she think she could help him?

Suddenly the pressure on her mouth eased and Shannon drew in great gulps of air. Though she couldn’t see him, she knew Blade had found her in time to rescue her from Clive; it was the second time since the wagon train left Independence.

She was wrong—dead wrong.

It was true Clive no longer pressed her down onto the ground, but someone definitely more menacing had taken his place. A grotesque mask floated above her, its face streaked with paint, teeth white against the rich hue of copper skin. With recognition came fear, and Shannon opened her mouth to scream, only to find herself effectively muzzled by Mad Wolf’s thick hand. She had replaced one devil with another!

Mad Wolf spoke not a word, grinning delightedly at having found Shannon so easily. He had expected difficulty in stealing Swift Blade’s woman from under his nose, but Wakan Takan, the Grandfather spirit, must surely favor him to bring Little Firebird out to meet him. He moved with agile grace through the tall grass, dragging Shannon behind him, his hand still covering her mouth. He spared but one contemptuous glance at Give Bailey’s prone form. He hadn’t clubbed him hard enough to kill him, but he would have had it been anyone else out here with the woman he desired for his own.

Shannon’s struggles were like nothing to the powerful Sioux warrior. From the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of Clive Bailey stretched out on the ground. She knew he wasn’t dead, for he was moaning and thrashing around. Vaguely she wondered why the guard gave no warning—and then she knew. Olson lay near his post in a pool of blood, a tomahawk protruding from his back.

Beyond the outer perimeter of the camp, Mad Wolf’s companions waited with horses. Flinging Shannon onto his pony, he leaped up behind her and whipped the animal into a gallop before Shannon had regained her breath. Her scream came too late, lost to the wind and the screech of an owl.

Blade casually rejoined the emigrants at the center of the camp. A deep frown worried his brow when he saw no sign of either Clive Bailey or Shannon. He would have left immediately to search for them if Nancy Wilson hadn’t sidled up beside him and engaged him in conversation. When he was finally able to extract himself, Shannon still hadn’t reappeared, and a terrible premonition seized him.

Blade made a thorough search of the camp once he escaped from Nancy Wilson, who seemed unwilling to let him go. Her eyes spoke eloquently of secret pleasures, and her voluptuous curves were tempting. But Blade had other things on his mind. Shannon and Clive were nowhere in camp, of that he was certain. Had the little vixen lured Chve out on the prairie for a reason? he wondered distractedly. Didn’t she know how dangerous the man was? She had barely escaped Clive’s attentions once—why did she deliberately flout fate by tempting him again?