Rainsinger (29 page)

“A few hours.” Tess closed her eyes at the remembered horror. “They came so fast,” she said.

The Brit nodded.

“So fast,” she repeated. “It was terrible.”

“Why didn’t they kill you?”

“Some other men fired guns at them.” She had been breathless with exhaustion by then, but the old Indian had called, and with swift grace, the warrior dropped his knife and rode off. “I hid from them. Sonia played dead.” Tess was still furious at herself for allowing
these
men to find her.

“It’ll be a true enough death if you don’t come with us. You’ll both die out here alone,” he said. “We’ll help you get where you’re going.”

“I’m afraid of that other man.”

The Brit shook his head. “He won’t hurt you.” He stood up. “Come on.”

Against Tess’s neck, Sonia stirred, and a broken moan sounded low in her throat. Bleakly, Tess realized there was really no choice. “We’re going to Taos to meet my husband,” she said finally. “Can you take us there?”

“Taos is where we’re going. Who is your husband?”

Tess felt the pressure of lying all through her as she stared at the kindly face, but she would not deviate from her plan now. “Seamus McKenzie,” she said without blinking.

The Brit shrugged. “Never heard of him, but that don’t mean much.” He stood and whistled, a bright, loud sound, like some exotic bird. “I’m going to get Raúl to carry your woman there. Guess you can ride with me.”

Tess said nothing. She held Sonia close, taking comfort in her warmth. Below the blanket, she moved her hand on Sonia’s arm.

A third man appeared, and Tess started, gripping Sonia closer. He was tall and black and had made no sound whatsoever as he came through the brush. Tess looked at his feet as if he might have floated. They were enormous, as were his hands. His sparse beard was grizzled with white, and in his narrowed eyes, Tess saw his hatred.

Once, he too had been a slave. She would have gambled all the money in her hems on the assumption.

“This is Raúl Libre, ladies,” the Brit said, as if they were all at a tea party in a drawing room. “They’re coming with us, Raúl. If you’ll carry Rose Red, I’ll take Snow White.”

For a long moment, Raúl stared at them with a flat expression. It would be amusing, him thinking her a great lady, Tess thought, but it was important that she maintain the ruse or she and Sonia would be in grave danger. If he were an escaped slave, he’d know as soon as he heard her speak that she was no plantation belle. She’d have to think of a lie to convince him if it came to that.

Jaw hard, he squatted and tossed off the blanket covering Sonia. Immediately, his face thawed. “Let’s do this nice and easy,” he said in a rough, low voice. She heard the long vowels and soft consonants of the South. “Move up and I’ll see if can lift her.”

Tess eased forward. The man’s big hands seemed surprisingly gentle as they slipped beneath Sonia’s legs and back. With a grunt—Sonia herself was no slight maid, but a strappingly tall woman with long muscles and a babe in her belly—he gathered her limp body and stood. Tess jumped to her feet to give him the blanket, but she’d been sitting so long in the same position, her legs nearly buckled. She hobbled toward Raúl and tossed the blanket over Sonia. Raúl gave her the same odd look as the first man had given, then abruptly turned and took his burden out of the hidden place.

The Brit steadied Tess with a hand to her arm. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” She rubbed her knees and took an experimental step. The tingling eased. Picking up her once-fine blue cloak, she threw it around her shoulders and followed after Raúl, anxious not to lose sight of Sonia.

See all books
at BarbaraSamuel.Com