A Heart for the Taking (10 page)

“Do you think we lost them?” Ellen eventually whispered into Fancy’s ear.

“I don’t know. There is no sound of pursuit and Clem was unconscious—probably for a week. I certainly hit him hard enough.” Her voice grim, Fancy added, “As for that horrid Udell creature, I’m quite hopeful that if the coffee you threw at him didn’t do permanent damage to his eyes, it at least disabled him for some time.”

A twig snapped nearby and the two women shrank together, visions of Clem and Udell flashing across their minds. Seconds passed and then they both heard the soft startled snort of a deer and the noise of a large body moving swiftly away from them through the brush.

“Oh, Fancy! I was
so
scared,” Ellen finally said softly.

Fancy squeezed Ellen’s shoulder. “My heart was in my mouth,” she admitted.

They listened again, but only the lonely, haunting cry of an owl floated on the humid, dark air.

“We’ve truly lost them, haven’t we?” Ellen asked a few minutes later.

In the darkness Fancy made a wry face. “I think so, but we’ve also managed to lose ourselves as well. I have no idea which direction camp may be, and until daylight we dare not move from here.” Glumly she added, “And what use daylight will be to us, I have no idea. We are utterly lost.”

Ellen gave a tearful giggle. “But we are having an adventure, are we not?”

Torn between laughter and tears, Fancy hugged her fiercely. “Indeed we are, miss!” she said in a shaky voice. “So don’t you
dare
tell me that you are not enjoying yourself.”

As more minutes passed, it became apparent that the two women
had
escaped. Putting aside the horrifying image of Clem and Udell stealthily creeping up on them, Fancy finally said, “We had better sleep here. We cannot continue to stumble about blindly in this impenetrable darkness. Come
daylight, perhaps things will not appear quite as bleak for us.”

Gingerly the two women arranged themselves on the ground, Fancy leaning against the trunk of a tall oak tree, Ellen’s head resting in her lap. Determinedly Fancy pushed aside thoughts of rattlesnakes and copperheads . . . and bears and the mountain lions, or panthers, that Jonathan and Sam had said abounded all through the colonies. Wolves, too, she remembered tiredly. And raiding Indians. . . . Too exhausted by the terrible events that had overtaken them, she found that not even the thought of a red-skinned savage seeking her scalp could prevent her eyes from closing. She slept.

Daylight did not vastly improve their dangerous situation. Rising to her feet and stretching uncomfortably, Fancy glanced around her. A tangle of green forest, vines, and brambles met her gaze. She recognized nothing, and despair washed through her. Had they escaped the Thackers, only to perish in the wilderness?

Her spine stiffened. Not bloody likely! she told herself stoutly.

Ellen bit back a huge yawn and muttered, “I am so thirsty and oh, so very hungry. What are we to do, Fancy?”

Fancy wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know, my dear, but we cannot stay here. The Thackers will no doubt be searching for us, and hopefully, Jonathan and his brother as well. We must move forward and pray that we find a trail or path which will lead us to some habitation.” Fervently she added, “And pray merciful God that we cross the path of Jonathan and his brother
before
that of the Thackers.”

During the next three harrowing days only part of Fancy’s prayers were answered. They did not cross the path of the Thackers. Neither did they find any discernible trail to follow, or stumble across the Walker brothers. They did manage to find several cool running streams and creeks in which to quench their thirst and bathe their scratched and insectbitten flesh. Fancy had discovered mosquitoes and chiggers with a vengeance, as well as the stray tick or two, and she was
not
enamored of them!

Since it was summer, they were able to quell the very worst of their constant gnawing hunger with berries and wild grapes and plums. Their stomachs seemed to growl continuously, and at night, as they slept restlessly wherever they stopped, they dreamed of rich mince pies, plump roast chickens, and Yorkshire puddings.

As daylight broke slowly across the land on the morning of their fourth day in the wilderness, Fancy stared blearyeyed at the gold-streaked sky overhead, wondering dispiritedly if today would be any different from the previous ones. It
had
to be, she thought grimly, aware that she and Ellen were becoming weaker and more vulnerable with every passing day. They had heard the blood-freezing scream of a panther last night, and yesterday afternoon, as they had hungrily filled their mouths with ripe juicy berries, they had been frightened away by the sudden emergence of a huge brown bear from the middle of the brambles. It hadn’t mattered that the bear had been as frightened as they had been. His menacing appearance had terrified both women, and they had run pell-mell into the concealing embrace of the forest.

Keeping their direction by the rising and setting of the sun, Fancy and Ellen had been heading in a generally easterly direction. They had decided that since they had absolutely no idea which direction their camp lay and since in all probability the majority, if not all, of the Walker party had moved on, there was no sense in trying to find it. Fancy’s haphazard plan was simple. If they traveled east, eventually they should reach the shore of the Atlantic Ocean, if they did not come across some settlement first. Once they reached the ocean, by traveling north up the coast of Virginia, they
should
come to habitation. If they didn’t die first, Fancy thought dully.

Before the sun climbed any higher, the two women rose and, ignoring their aching muscles and empty stomachs, doggedly continued through the wilderness. It was imperative that they travel as far as they could in the coolness of the morning; by afternoon the heat and humidity made ex
ertion nearly impossible. It had become their habit to find a shady spot in the afternoon in which to rest and doze until the worst of the muggy warmth abated and then arise and continue on their way until dark.

This day proved no different from the days that had passed. Sometime around one o’clock in the afternoon, they chanced upon a shady glen edged by a small brook. After refreshing themselves in the water, the two sisters settled themselves beneath the spreading arms of a magnolia tree and fell into exhausted slumber.

Fancy never knew what it was that brought her awake, but she was suddenly heart-poundingly alert. Something had disturbed her, and frantically her gaze scanned their little glen. A terrified gasp came from her as her eyes fell upon a pair of moccasins . . . moccasins that encased a pair of rather large feet.

Panic and rage twisting through her, Fancy scrambled upright, her gaze moving swiftly up the tall, lean body in buckskins; another equally large, buckskin-clad body stood just behind the first. The Thackers! But when her eyes finally rested on the dark, granite-hewn features of the man standing in front of her, her heart gave a great leap as she realized that it wasn’t the Thackers who had found them. It was someone infinitely more dangerous to Fancy’s peace of mind—Chance Walker.

I
t was no accident or mere coincidence that had brought Chance Walker to this lonely little glade where the Merrivale ladies had stopped to rest. He and Hugh had been searching for them since noon of the day after Fancy and Ellen had disappeared.

Chance, Hugh, and Morely had left Richmond with the imported horses two days behind the Walker party. Chance had known that it was only a matter of time before they caught up with the others. In confirmation of that, they had come upon Jonathan’s man, Simmons, driving a heavily laden wagon, the second day of their journey. They would have joined forces with him, but Simmons seemed oddly reluctant for their company. So, with a shrug, they had pushed onward. With no wagons and only themselves to worry about, Chance and his two companions could have overtaken the larger group quite rapidly, but the Thoroughbreds were not in as good condition as Chance would have preferred and he had not wanted to push them, especially the pregnant mares. It was obvious from the camp remains they found on the trail that his party was gaining on Sam’s group.

From the very start of their journey Chance had known that he was looking forward to overtaking Sam’s party. He
had told himself that it was only because he enjoyed Sam’s company enormously and that he could amuse himself endlessly by tweaking Jonathan’s arrogant nose. But he knew in his heart that his eagerness to catch up with the others had nothing to do with any of those reasons. No, his anticipation had nothing to do with meeting the Walker men, but it had, he admitted reluctantly, everything to do with that haughty little creature with those great golden brown cat-eyes. . . .

To his intense annoyance, he had discovered that he could not get Jonathan’s baroness out of his mind. Her image tantalized him every waking moment of the day, and at night . . . at night she drifted seductively through his dreams, her exoticshaped eyes daring him nearer, her soft mouth taunting him.

Oh yes, he’d been quite eager to see the baroness again. When they had at last come across Sam’s camp four days ago, he’d felt a sharp stab of elation. Elation that had swiftly turned to icy fear when he had learned why the party was still encamped at high noon: the baroness and her sister had disappeared.

It had taken him several minutes to get the full story from a hysterical Constance. Sam and Jonathan were not present; they were away from camp, searching frantically through the forest for any sign of the two young women.

In grim silence Chance had listened to Constance’s terrifying tale, and he realized instantly that the ladies could not have simply wandered away. It was highly unlikely, with all the warnings Constance tearfully claimed they’d been given, that they would have willingly strayed out of earshot.

Everyone was convinced that the women were simply lost, but Chance didn’t think so. In his brief glimpse of her, he’d seen lively intelligence in the face of the baroness. Chance was bone-deep certain that she wouldn’t do something so foolish as to get herself lost in the middle of the wilderness. And if she hadn’t gotten lost . . . His mouth had thinned.

There were several reasons why the women could have disappeared so inexplicably, and he didn’t like any of them. And if his suspicions were correct, Sam and Jonathan were
wasting their time looking for them in this area. By now, they would be, if still alive, miles from this spot.

After a hasty consultation among themselves, it was decided that Morely would stay with the Walker party and the horses and that Chance and Hugh would begin their own search. They would do so afoot, a common enough way of traveling through the vast untracked wilderness of the Colonies, carrying with them the supplies that they would need. A bow was slung across Chance’s broad chest, and some arrows were in the quiver on his back; he’d be able to hunt silently and not betray their presence to others. Chance wasn’t sorry to leave the horses behind; in the virgin wilderness through which they would travel, there were many places a man on foot could go that a horse couldn’t.

Sam and Jonathan arrived back at camp just as Chance and Hugh were on the point of departing. Even under the circumstances, Jonathan was not happy to see Chance. Sam was delighted. And after listening to Chance’s theory that there were only two explanations for the disappearance of the baroness and her sister, Indians or outlaws, Sam sadly concurred. Sam also agreed with Chance’s plan: Chance and Hugh would undertake to pick up a trail and find the two women while the others continued on their journey to Walker Ridge.

Jonathan had been furious that he had been excluded from the search party. Bitterly conscious of the prearranged meeting between Simmons and the Thackers in this area, he had already surmised what had happened to the women, but his lips were sealed. Knowing the men involved, he was certain the women were dead—or worse. While he intended to take his vengeance, he had already decided if this whole farce was not to be a total failure he had to wait until he had received the profits from the trading venture to move against the Thackers. The loss of the women was a terrible blow to his ego, and his private rage against the Thackers was very great—perhaps even greater because he could not give vent to it.

Staring across at Chance, his emotions carefully hidden,
Jonathan had simply demanded that he be allowed to come with the other two.

Coolly, Chance had looked him up and down and said flatly, “You have spent too many months in London to be much help. You were never one for the wilderness anyway. I doubt you would last a day at the pace we will set. The last thing we need is a London dandy to worry over.”

Jonathan’s fists had clenched and he had taken a menacing step toward Chance. “By God!” he had exploded. “I ought to teach you some manners toward your betters.”

Chance had smiled, a cold glitter in his blue eyes. “Any time,” he had said softly. “Any time you think you are my
better
. . . .”