Shawnee Bride. Elizabeth Lane
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was taking him so long? Had he met a friend? A girl, perhaps? Had he stopped for a drink m one of those unsavory little dens that had sprung up along the waterfront? Didn’t he know she was waiting for him?
Clarissa’s young, untempered patience frayed and snapped. Ignoring the shout of the guard who saw her leave, she strode out of the gate and stalked across the green. What harm, after all, could it do to find Tom Ainsworth and give him a piece of her mind? She was already wet. As for danger, there could hardly be any menace lurking within a stone’s throw of the fort.
The white string was easy to follow. It gleamed against the wet grass in the eerie half-light of the gathering storm. Clutching her skirts, Clarissa sprinted along its path. There was no guarantee the string would lead her to that inconstant rascal Tom Ainsworth, but at least, with luck, she would find the kite.
By day, the shacks along the riverfront had a seedy quality about them. Now, in the rainy twilight, every black shadow seemed a living, crawling thing. Slivers of lamplight glimmered through log walls. From somewhere in the darkness a man coughed and swore violently. A woman laughed.
By now the string had grown wet and muddy. Clarissa’s eyes strained through the murk as she picked her way down an alley. She was soaking wet and shivering with cold. Her slippers were ruined, and her aunt would likely be furious with her. Oh, what she would say to Lieutenant Thomas Ainsworth when she caught up with-
Her thoughts ended in a startled gasp as her foot bumped something soft and solid. It was a man, lying quite still, facedown in the mud.
It was Tom Ainsworth.
“Oh!” She dropped to a crouch, her anger swept away by concern as she saw the bloody red welt on his temple. She seized his shoulders, desperate to rouse him. “Don’t be dead, Tom,” she prayed aloud, shaking him hard. “Oh, please, don’t be dead!”
He moaned, and Clarissa’s heart welled with relief and gratitude. “Come on!” She struggled to lift him. “We’ve got to get you back to the fort!”
His head turned then, and she caught the stark flash of alarm in his eyes. “Run, Clarissa!” he whispered hoarsely. “Leave me and get yourself out of here!”
“Don’t be a donkey!” She gripped his shoulders, desperate to force him up. “I’m not going anywhere without you, Tom Ainsworth, and that’s that, so you may as well just-oh!”
Rough hands seized Clarissa from behind, wrenching her up and backward. Her scream ended in a muffled gasp as a greasy palm clamped over her mouth, wrenching her jaw. She found flesh and bit down hard.
“Hell-bitch!” The slap exploded in her head, igniting hot glimmering rings of pain. She sagged against her unseen captor, dazed but still conscious. As her vision cleared she saw Tom on his knees, struggling to stand. A second man, clad in grimy buckskins, had materialized from the shadows. His moccasin-clad foot caught the side of Tom’s head in a brutal kick. Tom crumpled in the mud and lay still.
“Let me go to him!” Clarissa writhed and twisted against the arms that clasped her like a vise. The stench of her captor’s unwashed skin and clothes made her flesh crawl.
“Well now, Zeke, looks like we’ve got ourselves a feisty one. Pretty one, too.” The man in buckskins fingered the knife at his belt as he looked Clarissa up and down.
“Damn good thing we got somethin’ outa this,” the man named Zeke growled. “Her boyfriend there didn’t have enough in his pocket to make rollin’ him worth our trouble. Leastwise, we can have ourselves a little fun. Wanna toss dice for who gets ‘er first?”
Clarissa could feel his breath, rank and steamy against her bare shoulder. Gulping back her fear, she glared at the wiry man in buckskins. “Don’t either of you touch me!” she snapped imperiously. “If the lieutenant and I don’t return straightaway to the fort, my uncle, Colonel Hancock, will have his whole regiment out looking for us. You’ll both be hanged on the spot!”
“Now ain’t you the uppity one!” Zeke’s grip tightened on her arms, hurting her. “You won’t be so high-an’mighty once you’ve had us atween your legs, will she, Maynard? Hell, she’ll be beggin’ for it, like they all do!”
The man in buckskins hesitated, scowling.
“Maynard?”
“Shut up. I’m thinkin’.” He scratched at his scraggly jaw. “If what the girl says is true, we’d be runnin’ a risk to take turns with her here in town. But if we was to carry her downriver with us…”
“Hell, Maynard, that’s the best idea yet!” Zeke responded with a whoop. “Ain’t nobody goin’ to trail us into Injun territory. We can keep the little spitfire tied to the boat an’ hump ‘er whenever we want. Atween times, she can cook an’ wash for us!”
Clarissa fought back waves of sick panic, forcing herself to stay calm. Her only chance of escape lay in keeping her head, she reminded herself. She would wait for the two men to lower their guard. Then, at the first opportunity”
We’re wastin’ time,” Maynard growled. “Let’s get to the boat.”
“What about the boyfriend?” Zeke glanced down at Tom Ainsworth’s limp body where it lay in the rainspattered mud.
Clarissa’s heart plummeted. She had been praying the young lieutenant was still alive and that someone would find him before it was too late. “Leave him here!” she urged. “Look at him! What possible harm can he do you now?”
“Plenty if he ain’t dead yet,” Maynard snapped. “And
even if he is, folks who find the body might piece together what happened. Only place this young bastard’s goin’ now is the bottom of the river.”
“Please.” Clarissa strained frantically against Zeke’s grasp. “Don’t kill him. I’ll do anything you say.”
Maynard laughed roughly as he bent to pick up Tom’s inert feet. “You’ll do it anyhow, girl. As I see it, you ain’t got much choice.”
The storm’s full fury was moving in, heavy rain whipping the river to a froth. Clarissa stumbled through the mud, pressed forward by Zeke’s painful grip on her arms. Through the downpour she could make out the river’s edge and the blocky outlines of the boats. Lanterns flickered through the darkness. Her heart leaped as she realized there were people on one sheltered deck-people who would surely not fail to heed a young girl’s cry for help.
Maynard had looped his arms around Tom’s feet and was dragging the young lieutenant facedown through the mud. Tom had not uttered a sound. Clarissa feared he was dead, but fearing was a far cry from knowing, and that uncertainty held her prisoner. If there was one chance in a hundred that Tom was alive, she could not break loose and abandon him.
“Step lively, now girl.” Zeke chuckled as he prodded her down the long slope toward the water. “The sooner we get you downriver, the sooner the fun can start!”
Clarissa trudged through the storm, willing herself to bide her time. Her gown was soaked, her shoes and petticoat caked with mud. Her hair hung in her face and streamed down her back in long, wet ribbons.
“I’ll wager you’re a virgin,” Zeke said, leering. “I can tell that much from the looks of you. Maynard an’ me, we always share the goods by half, but only one of us can break that cherry, an’ I aim for it to be me. I’m better equipped for it if I say so myself. Maynard, now, he’s just a little feller, if you get my meanin’!”
Clarissa steeled herself against his vulgar prattle. She had no illusions about what this unsavory pair planned to do with her. Just last month her newly married cousin, Jenny, had confided in breathless whispers all the details of physical love between a man and a woman. The description had fascinated Clarissa then. But what Zeke and Maynard had in mind was far removed from love, and the very thought of it made her sick to her stomach.
The lanterns were closer now. She could make out the silhouettes of three men in their light.