Teton Sunrise (Teton Romance Trilogy) (5 page)

One day had blurred into another as they trekked through the mountains. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d washed her
face,
much less the rest of her body, and her hair hung in limp strands down her back and past her shoulders. Laurent and the others no longer smelled bad, probably because she herself stank as much as they did.

The horse underneath her suddenly stopped, and Evelyn slowly lifted her head. She forced her heavy eyelids open, and tried to focus on her surroundings. Snow-capped mountain peaks rose in the far-off distance. The shouts and laughter of men, the barking of dogs, and horses’ whinnies all mingled into one distant echo. Spread out before her as far as she could see were countless tents of all shapes and sizes, along with makeshift structures made from logs and tree branches and covered with hides. Campfires crackled everywhere, enveloping the small valley in a cloudy haze. Several deer carcasses in various stages of butchering hung upside down from wooden racks, and the distinct smell of whiskey blended with the countless other unpleasant odors wafting through the air. White men dressed in buckskins and furs mingled with Indians who wore not much more than loincloths. Evelyn lowered her head again. No doubt they had arrived at their destination, and her horrible fate awaited her shortly.

“
Mademoiselle
, the journey is over,” Laurent said gallantly, moving his horse up alongside the one she’d been given to ride. Evelyn didn’t respond.

“Why so sad?” he asked, and lifted her chin with his dirty fingers. “Today, you will meet with your future husband. It is not often that these men have the pleasure of bartering for a white bride. In fact, I believe it is almost unheard of. You will be the talk of this year’s rendezvous.”

Evelyn gave a listless laugh. Hadn’t she left St. Charles in order to escape marriage to a man she didn’t care for? Charles Richardson was looking pretty good to her right about now.

“Future husband?” she
asked,
her voice raspy and foreign-sounding to her own ears. “Don’t you mean you’re selling me to be a whore to these . . . these beasts?” She jutted her chin in the direction of the large camp, and almost lost her balance. If she fell from the horse, perhaps she would break her neck, and her troubles would be over. As if he had read her thoughts, Laurent snaked his hand around one of her wrists, steadying her seat.

“
Mademoiselle
Lewis, are you ill?” Laurent asked. He leaned forward in his saddle and studied her face. Was that concern in his eyes? Evelyn blinked and looked away. The man, if he could even be called a man, didn’t have a shred of compassion in him. Why would he be concerned for her health all of a sudden?”

“Don’t worry, Mr.
Berard
,” she spat, not hiding the contempt in her voice. “I’m well enough that you can sell me like a pig at market. No one will know, or care, whether I feel ill or not. I only hope that whatever ails me kills me quickly.”

Laurent’s face
hardened,
and he abruptly yanked on her horse’s reins and kicked his own mount forward. Following the rest of his men into the loud and boisterous camp, cheering men quickly surrounded the new arrivals. Evelyn tucked her chin toward her chest and closed her eyes. She couldn’t understand a word of what was said around her, and she didn’t want to know. Instinctively she kicked out her leg when a sudden hand groped at her upper thigh. The roar of laughter all around her became deafening.

“I have waited weeks for this moment, Laurent,” a menacing voice next to her startled her. She opened her eyes to see Oliver Sabin leering at her. He had made it no secret that he wanted her since the night he killed Henry. “You want to barter her, let’s get on with it. I have a packhorse laden with trade goods, and I’m ready to barter for her now.”

Several other men who apparently stood close enough to hear the exchange cheered. It seemed to only encourage Sabin, and he grabbed for Evelyn’s arm.

In a move faster than Evelyn could comprehend, Laurent pointed a pistol at Sabin’s head.

“Those trade goods you speak of belong to me as much as they do to you,
mon
ami
. Remember that I was part of that raid, and the cargo belongs to us all equally.”

“Yet you keep the woman for yourself,” Sabin shouted angrily.

“I am the one who found her aboard the boat, so therefore, yes; she is mine to do with as I please. She was not part of the raid.” Laurent didn’t waver. His hard stare dared any of the men to contradict him.

“But very well,” he continued after several tense moments, and shrugged. He lowered his weapon, and reached for Evelyn’s arm, pulling her from the horse. A wave of dizziness swept over her when her feet touched the ground, and for a moment she thought she might black out. Laurent tightened his grip on her arm to steady her.

“Spread the word that Laurent
Berard
has brought this beautiful white woman who goes by the name of Evelyn Lewis to rendezvous, and I will entertain all offers for her.” Like a theater actor, he swept his hand out in front of him in a dramatic gesture, pronouncing Evelyn’s name in his peculiar French accent. He scanned the large crowd of men that had formed around them.

“Bidding will begin in one hour.”  His words were barely audible above the eager shouts of dozens of rough and eager-looking mountain men. Evelyn couldn’t bear to look. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her head felt as if it was made of lead. All she wanted to do was
sink
to the ground and allow sleep to overtake her. Perhaps then this nightmare would end.

Laurent led her further into camp, stopping next to a group of willow bushes.

“Rest here,
mademoiselle
. You will need all your strength.” He pushed her to the ground.

Evelyn raised her head and glared at him through unfocused eyes. “If you have even one shred of decency in you, you foul, disgusting excuse for a human being, you’ll take that pistol you’re so fond of and put a bullet through my temple.”

Laurent stared down at her,
then
burst out laughing. “I cannot do that,
mademoiselle
. You are much too valuable for that.”

Evelyn shot him a look of pure contempt, then turned her head and closed her eyes. Tears of despair squeezed through between her closed eyelids, and rolled down her cheeks. Glad for the fever that ravaged her body, making her mind nearly numb with delirium, she leaned back against the branches of the willow. She’d barely closed her eyes when a sharp tap on her shoulder startled her awake.

“It is time, mademoiselle,” Laurent whispered in her ear.

“What?” Evelyn croaked. She forced her eyes open. Men stood all around her, eager and hungry looks in their eyes. She’d just closed her eyes. Was the hour up already?

Laurent helped her to her feet, and she stood facing dozens of rough and unkempt-looking mountain men. A shiver ran down her spine. Sabin stood at the front of the group. Evelyn tried to lift her chin and square her shoulders, but it was too much of an effort. She tuned out Laurent’s voice as he asked for someone to make him an offer. The voices became louder and more boisterous, and Evelyn shut out the noise as best as she could.

A sudden loud uproar from the men made her lift her head to see what the renewed commotion was all about. Men stepped aside, and Evelyn’s gaze locked on a man pushing his way to the front. Broad-shouldered but of average height, he carried himself with a certain confidence that seemed to be lacking in most of these other men. He was just as unkempt as the rest of them, his long thick black hair falling nearly to his shoulders, and most of his face obscured by a bushy beard.

“What did you say?” Laurent exclaimed next to her.

“I’ll give you half a year’s beaver pelts for her,” the man said in a deep and resonating voice. The roar of the men around him increased. He didn’t look at her, but instead glared at Laurent as if he intended to kill the man with his stare alone.

“You can’t barter pelts for her. They belong to the Rocky Mountain Fur Company.” Sabin sneered and tried to block the other man’s way.  “
B’sides
, since when have you ever wanted to trade for a woman?”

“Since I decided I want this one,” the dark man answered gruffly. “And my pelts are mine to do with as I choose.”

He stepped forward and grabbed Evelyn’s arm, pulling her away from the half-circle of men. He stopped and turned toward Laurent.

“I’ll settle up with you in a little while.” His tone implied more than paying for what he had just bought.

Evelyn darted a frantic glance at Laurent, whose mustache twitched as he smiled triumphantly.  She tried to pull away from the menacing man’s grip, but he held firm. She had no strength left in her. Her head pounded, and her world began to spin. Her legs felt like bread pudding, but she forced one foot in front of the other as he dragged her away from the crowd

Evelyn didn’t care anymore what happened to her. Her mind was too tired, and her body weak from the fever that had plagued her for two days. She simply wished she could curl up and die. Her legs suddenly gave out, and she stumbled. Before she hit the ground, the gruff mountain man who now owned her scooped her in his arms. For a moment, Evelyn stared up into the trapper’s deep blue eyes, which were partly obstructed by thick strands of black hair. His dense black beard covered most of his facial features.

Evelyn blinked, trying to keep him in focus, but his face suddenly became a blur.

“Alex,” she whispered, just before her world went dark.

Chapter 4

“What the hell were you thinking, bringing her here?” Alex roared and charged at the man who stood next to his horse,
unwrapping
the leather girth straps from around the animal’s belly. Laurent
Berard
spun around on his heels.  Before he could react, Alex grabbed the Frenchman by the front of his shirt, his momentum sending both of them against the horse. The animal sidestepped nervously, and Laurent nearly lost his balance. Alex grimaced, his face inches from his wide-eyed opponent. His fists dug into the slightly shorter man’s collarbones. Laurent stared back at Alex.

“I had no choice, Walker,” he said between gritted teeth, and grabbed hold of Alex’s wrists in an attempt to loosen the grip.

Locked in a duel of strength, Alex refused to back away. He leaned toward Laurent in an attempt to unbalance him, but the Frenchman had squared his legs in a way that made it impossible to budge him. The slow smirk on Laurent’s face only served to infuriate Alex more.

He was tired as hell, and had been looking forward to a nice long nap. Two nights ago, he had successfully stolen back all the horses that the Blackfeet had stolen from him and his six traveling companions. He’d ended up with a few extra animals that he planned to trade at rendezvous. The party of Blackfeet was too small to dare an attack on this large gathering, so he wasn’t worried about being followed. Hundreds of trappers from all over the Rockies were already congregated here, along with countless Indians from various tribes. Alex hadn’t much cared to find out who had already arrived. He would look for acquaintances later. He especially wanted to seek out Aimee Osborne, and ask her to remove the buckshot from his chest.

After an all-night ride to reach the site of this summer’s rendezvous, a small valley some hundred miles from the mountain range the Shoshoni called the
Teewinots
, Alex had been looking forward to a day of sleep. He and his fellow trappers had arrived in camp before dawn, and after tending their stock, had simply spread their bedrolls on the ground. There would be time to set up a more permanent camp later.

He’d just fallen asleep when that meddlesome Yancey called to him, his voice full of excitement and going on about the talk in camp over a white woman who apparently had the misfortune of being caught on the river by a group of thugs. Alex had rolled over under his blanket and threatened to put a bullet in Yancey’s head if he didn’t leave him in peace.

“The Frenchman, Laurent
Berard
, is making a big show of bartering her to the highest bidder,” Yancey continued. “He wanted it announced throughout camp that he had a white woman by the name of Evelyn Lewis. I think this sort of thing is downright barbaric, and . . .”

Whatever else Yancey had said was lost to Alex. A jolt of adrenaline had surged through him at hearing the name. It was impossible that Yancey had misspoken. What were the odds that there was another Evelyn Lewis? If it was the same girl who haunted him in his dreams, how could she possibly end up here, of all places?

Alex didn’t waste time to contemplate the question. He made sure his pistol was loaded and stuffed in the belt around his waist, and fingered the elk antler handle of his knife. Dashing through camp, he weaved between tents and lean-tos, and soon saw where all the commotion was coming from. Dozens of men gathered in a semi-circle, whooping and hollering. Laurent’s distinct voice, trying to calm the crowd, reverberated over the others.

She barely looked like the girl he remembered seeing in St. Charles a few months ago. Her hair that had shone like spun gold that day at the docks now hung listless and dull from her head. She appeared pasty and frail. Her slight body, dressed in men’s breeches and shirt, swayed like a young sapling in the wind, an occasional shiver coursing noticeably through her. Every now and then, her head jerked up, revealing her terror-filled eyes.