Natchez Flame (22 page)

The evening before they reached Corpus Christi, they ate the last of their hardtack, and Brendan served her prickly pear for dessert, carefully peeling the spiny skin away from the ripe, red, berry-flavored core.

Priscilla ate the delicious fruit with gusto, and Brendan licked the stickiness from her fingers, his tongue sending shivers along her skin. That led to an episode of tender lovemaking that carried their weary bodies into slumber. They slept locked in each other’s arms.

“Hand me that spyglass.” Stuart Egan held the long brass telescope to his eye and surveyed the scene at the bottom of the hill through a curtain of pale green mesquite.

They had passed the pair sometime during the night, following a set of bogus tracks that led off
toward the main trail. But Tall Wind had spotted the ruse and, more careful after his near-deadly blunder with the Comanche, correctly backtracked and found their secluded campsite below the hill.

Stuart’s jaw clamped as he watched the gunman climb naked from his place beside Priscilla and pull on his breeches and boots. Curled in the bedroll beside him, Priscilla slept peacefully, her thick chestnut hair fanned out across a blanket Stuart recognized as one of his own.

His insides twisted hotly.
Ungrateful little bitch. Who the hell did she think she was?
She’d made a fool of him in front of his men, run away with her lover like some common trollop. One day she would pay and pay dearly—after he’d accomplished what he had planned.

Just then Mace Harding rode up.

“Go back and get the men,” Stuart said. “Have them circle the campsite. Be ready to move in at my command.”

Harding nodded and left to do his bidding. Mace was a tall, hatchet-faced, rawboned man, strong and tough as they came. He’d make a good foreman, though his loyalty couldn’t match Barker Hennessey’s. Mace looked out for Mace, first and foremost, and his biggest weakness was women. Where a female was concerned, he hadn’t a lick of sense.

Stuart focused the lens on the man who stood towering over Priscilla. Trask was watching the way she breathed, debating, it seemed, whether to wake her or climb back into her bed.

Stuart silently seethed. Thank God only he and Tall Wind had actually seen them sleeping together—not
that the others wouldn’t guess. She’d already sullied her reputation beyond repair, but it really didn’t matter. None of his men would whisper a word of gossip, and the ranch was so secluded no one else would ever know.

No, Priscilla’s indiscretion didn’t matter.

What mattered was fetching his errant wife home.

Stuart worked a muscle in his jaw. Priscilla belonged to him, not to Trask or anybody else. Half the hands on the Triple R had witnessed their marriage. That she had tried to run away was bad enough; he wasn’t about to let her succeed.

She would learn her place. He would sway her with words if he could—stronger measures should they prove necessary—and have the wife he needed for his career and his future sons.

He motioned his riders silently forward. “Be ready to ride in on my signal.”

Mace Harding nodded and motioned for the others to disperse. When they reached the top of the rise surrounding the camp, Stuart raised an arm, then thrust it forward. Men and horses swooped down the hill, pistols raised and firing into the air.

Trask grabbed his rifle and slammed it against his shoulder, but wisely did not pull the trigger.

Priscilla stood up, clutching the blanket around her, her wide brown eyes looking frightened in her fine-boned oval face. Through the dust that swirled around them, Stuart calmly rode forward, emerging like a specter through a storm.

“Well, if it isn’t the blushing bride.” He swung down from his big palomino, the horse tossing its light mane and violently pawing the earth. “And her
stalwart protector—You should have been expecting me, Trask.”

“I left you a note,” Priscilla said to Stuart, her voice high and shaky. “I hoped you would understand.”

Trask pulled Priscilla protectively behind him. “Ride out of here, Egan. The lady has made her choice.” He settled his rifle against his waist, pointing it in Stuart’s direction.

“I’m afraid
Mrs. Egan”
—Stuart flashed a pointed glance at his bride—“doesn’t have all of the facts. I’m sure when she does, she’ll be happy her husband has come to fetch her home.”

“Surely you don’t still want me,” Priscilla said, “not after … what’s happened.”

“A good woman is hard to find, Priscilla. One as young and lovely as you is especially precious.” He looked at her hard. “You’re new to this country and extremely naive. What’s happened out here is as much my fault as yours. I should have come for you myself, instead of trusting your care to Barker. Now you’ve fallen prey to an outlaw and a gunman. Thank God, Mace got word in Corpus Christi and I was able to find you in time.”

Priscilla looked at Trask, whose expression had turned wary, then back to Stuart. “What do you mean outlaw? Brendan isn’t an outlaw.”

“I’m afraid he is, my dear. The fact is, he’s wanted for the cold-blooded murder of a man in the Indian Territory—the brother of a federal marshal.”

“I don’t believe it.” She stepped back to survey the tall, bare-chested man still gripping his rifle in front of him. “Brendan?”

“I shot him in self-defense,” Trask said.

“Just like Barker Hennessey,” Stuart put in with a trace of sarcasm.

“Just like Hennessey,” Trask agreed.

“Just like those men at the trading post,” Stuart went on.

“Yes.”

“And the Comanches—how many of them did you kill?”

Trask fell silent.

Stuart’s attention swung to Priscilla, whose face had turned ashen. “There’s a thousand-dollar reward offered for this man’s capture—dead or alive. He’s killed dozens of men—some of them right in front of you. Is it so hard to believe what I’m saying is the truth?”

Priscilla studied Trask, her whole body trembling. “Is it true what he’s saying … that … that you’re wanted for murder?”

“I told you, I shot him—”

“Is it true!”

“I didn’t think they’d come after me in Texas.”

Priscilla clutched the blanket around her. She swayed toward Trask, looking as if she might faint, and his arm shot out to steady her. Priscilla pushed it away. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Trask didn’t answer. His face had closed up, and his pale blue eyes looked bleak and resigned.

“Why?” Priscilla pressed.

“I’m sorry,” was all he said.

“There are more than a dozen men here,” Stuart said to Trask, “so you might as well lose that gun.”

“What about Priscilla?”

“She goes with me.”

“This isn’t her fault. I don’t want her hurt.”

“Priscilla is my wife. She’ll take her rightful place beside me.” What she needed was a good and proper beating, but he had never hit a woman, and he didn’t intend to start now.

“And me?” Trask ventured.

“We’re a day’s ride from Corpus Christi. You’ll be turned over to the law just as soon as we get there.”

The gunman hesitated a moment, glanced at Priscilla, who stared straight ahead as if she couldn’t quite believe this was happening, then he dropped the rifle into the dirt. The moment he did, a rope whirred above him. Stuart saw the hemp burn into Trask’s skin as it dropped over his head and tightened around his chest. Another rope spun and dropped, snapping tight. The two mounted men who held the ropes dallied around their saddle horns, whirled their horses, and jerked Trask into the dirt.

“Don’t hurt him!” Priscilla rushed forward, tear-filled pleading eyes turned toward Stuart. She was shaking all over, her lips bloodless, her face a mask of pain.

It was exactly what he had expected, and it was the reason why he didn’t hang the bastard himself. “He’s an outlaw, Priscilla. He’ll get a fair trial in Corpus, then odds are he’ll hang. You’d better get used to the idea.”

She blinked, and a flood of tears washed down her cheeks. She brushed at them with the back of her hand. “A man is innocent until proven guilty,” she said with a show of courage he hadn’t expected. “Surely as a man of conscience you believe that. And
if you do, it’s only right you treat him decently until he goes to trial.” But already Mace and Sturgis had dragged the gunman away.

Stuart worked a muscle in his jaw. His eyes skimmed over Priscilla and he felt a grudging respect. Once he brought her in line, she’d make a fine addition to his empire. He turned back to his men.

At the top of the rise, Mace Harding and Kyle Sturgis dragged Trask at the end of their ropes over the rocky, brush-covered landscape. He was already bloody and battered, his hair, chest, and clothes covered with dirt.

“Hold up!” he ordered, and their animals slid to a halt. “Get him on a horse and ride out a half a mile or so ahead. Mrs. Egan and I will join you at Echo Springs.”

Mace flashed him a look of comprehension. Trask would get his comeuppance, but not where the woman could see it.

“Whatever you say, boss!”

With the gunman slumped over the saddle of a wiry little mustang, the men rode off at a thundering gallop. As soon as they had dropped out of sight, Stuart turned his attention to Priscilla.

“I-I’ve got to go with him,” she said. Fresh tears glistened on her cheeks, and it galled him that a man like Trask could move her in such a way. “He’ll need someone to stand up for him at the trial.”

Stuart stifled an urge to strike her. He took a steadying breath. “He’s an outlaw, Priscilla. Even if he were innocent of the murder, what kind of life could he give you?”

“H-he saved my life. I have to help him.” She
started toward the horizon, clutching the blanket around her, stumbling blindly after the gunman.

Stuart caught her arm and jerked her to a halt. “Get dressed, Priscilla.”

For a moment she just stood there, looking dazed and forlorn, and very nearly ready to crumble. Then she glanced down at her half-clad body. She blinked back her tears and lifted her chin. “Turn around, please.” Her voice sounded shaky and raw.

“I’m sorry, Priscilla, but I’m not about to. You’ve shown yourself to half my men and wallowed with Trask like a trollop.” He set his jaw. “You’re my wife, Priscilla, not his. I know you’ve been through a good deal and I’ve tried to be patient, but I’m the man you married, and it’s time you faced that fact.”

Priscilla dug her fingernails into her palms, working to bring herself under control. She deserved this—all of it and more.

Swallowing against the hard lump swelling in her throat, she straightened her shoulders. Letting go of the blanket she walked to where her clothes lay draped across a rock. She turned her back to Stuart and with hands that shook fiercely, began to pull on her garments.

Brendan!
her mind screamed.
Why has this happened? Why didn’t you tell me? What will happen to you now?
She could still see his bruised and battered face, see his look of despair and bitter resignation. What had he been thinking in those last few heartbreaking moments? What was he thinking now?

She flicked a glance at Stuart. He was angry, seething beneath his controlled surface, and hurt by what she had done. She’d expected him to be angry,
and she didn’t blame him. She deserved his anger and more. Yet even after all that had happened, he was willing to accept her as his wife.

Priscilla’s chest constricted, the ache there nearly unbearable. Stuart would remain her husband, but it wasn’t Stuart she wanted. It was a gunman named Trask. An outlaw who had deceived her and encouraged her to commit sins of the flesh.

She shouldn’t have trusted him, shouldn’t have loved him.

Yet in truth, she loved him still.

It was all she could do not to sink down into the dirt and let the agonizing tears wash over her. Her mind was a jumble of confusion, of questions and regrets, and dreams that could never be. She felt bewildered and lost, and incredibly alone. Since the day she had stepped off the boat in Galveston, it seemed her world had been turned upside down. From the start, she’d been frightened and out of her element, yet she had forced herself to go on. She had seen men killed, traveled over brutal, nearly uninhabitable terrain, been roughly abused, and nearly been murdered by Indians. Yet she had weathered it all and continued.

Then she had fallen in love.

Now she’d discovered that Brendan wasn’t the man she’d thought he was. He was an outlaw wanted for murder. He wasn’t her husband—Stuart was—yet she had given herself to him freely and completely.

It was the gravest sin she had ever committed and yet …

With hands that continued to tremble, Priscilla fastened
her single embroidered petticoat, then pulled her dress on over her head. She fought to reach the buttons up the back, but Stuart’s blunt fingers pushed her hands away.

“You’re very lovely, Priscilla. I can see why a man like Trask would go to such lengths to lure you into his bed.” He captured her chin and turned her to face him. “Once we’re sure you’re not carrying Trask’s bastard, I fully intend to take up where he left off. Once that’s happened, you will accept your place as my wife, and we can get on with our lives.”

Priscilla said nothing. She was too upset, too uncertain to say much of anything. Besides, what choice did she have? She had no money, no friends, and no place to go. Even if she had a home to return to, she wouldn’t know how to get there.

Stuart was her only answer. Just as he had always been.

Dazed and disoriented and numb clear to her bones, Priscilla let him guide her to a docile-looking sorrel tied to a tree behind Stuart’s palomino. He unfastened the reins and helped her up, and she arranged her skirts to cover her legs as much as possible.

Mounted on his big palomino, Stuart led the animal off behind his in the direction the men had ridden.

“Aren’t we going back to the ranch?” Priscilla asked, vaguely aware they were traveling away from the Triple R. She heard the tremor in her voice, but couldn’t control it.

Stuart reined up and waited till she rode up beside him. “No. Mace brought news of a problem in
Natchez. We’re nearly to Corpus Christi. Well just go on from there.”

She didn’t say anything more, just let him lead the sorrel away. Her throat had closed up and more tears threatened. Blackness swirled ominously near, and the world around her narrowed until she saw only the horse and rider in front of her. The urge to sink into blissful unconsciousness was nearly overwhelming, but she willed the darkness away.