The Lost Baroness Page 12

  "I may not be your husband, darlin'," he said, so softly that the clerk could not hear, "but I'm the only man who's willing to help. Now, are you going to put on that sweater, or do we call this whole thing off?"

  She wilted. "Ja. Of course. I forget..." She took the sweater and pulled it over her head. It was way too big. The sleeves were the right length, but the rest fit her like a gunny sack, loose and sagging.

  "Now the coat."

  Without a word, she took it. Like the sweater, the slicker would have gone around her twice. But it covered her skirt to the ankle and would keep her a hell of a lot dryer than that inadequate wool coat. She fumbled with the buttons.

  Buff brushed her hands aside and did them up. When she was buttoned in, he looked at her. "You got any wool scarves?"

  The clerk said, "Plaid or plain? The plaids cost more."

  "Plaid," Buff said, knowing Siri would be twice as infuriated that he'd chosen the more expensive item for her. "Give me a couple. Blue."

  He wrapped the blue-and-green one around her waist like a sash. Handed her the other. "Put this on your head. Your bonnet's worthless."

  She seemed like she was ready to spit out a cussword or two, but she took the scarf. When it was wound around her head, she tucked the ends inside the collar of the slicker. The rich royal blue that dominated the plaid made her pale ivory skin glow and deepened the color of her eyes.

  She still looked impossibly slender and deceptively fragile, but at least now she should stay warm. "Let's go," Buff said. "We've wasted enough time."

  "I did not ask you to clothe me," she said, once they were outside. "So much money you spent. More than I make in three months. I cannot repay you."

  "You can chew me out while we walk. Which way to the trail?"

  He settled his knapsack more comfortably on his back. "I don't reckon we'll be able to use the umbrella in the woods, but we'll want the canteen. Can you carry it?"

  "Ja." She slipped the strap over her head and one arm. "The umbrella too."

  "No, I've got it. Ready?"

  "I was not the one who wasted time spending money."

  He didn't dignify that remark with an answer.

  There were two trails to Upper Astoria. The better one was along the shore at low tide. The other one wound through the woods up the hill a ways, and wasn't used enough to be muddy. Since high tide was just about then, they took the high road.

  A mountain goat would probably have liked it. Buff didn't, especially when it was partially blocked by tongues of soupy mud or cut by gullies filled with rushing, muddy water. The second time he found himself in water over his boot tops, he said, "Don't you wish now we'd come by boat?"

  The look she gave him was answer enough. She took his hand, let him swing her across a narrow cascade.

  Siri hadn't realized how hard it was raining until they were in the woods, where the trees offered some shelter, but allowed the rain to collect and fall as enormous globules of water, rather than soft little droplets. Much as she hated to admit it, she was grateful to Mr. Lachlan for the slicker and scarves. She would have been drenched before they reached Upper Astoria, had she been alone. Which would not have hurt me. How many times have I walked this trail in worse rain?

  Since last September she had come this way once a week, nearly two hours each way, no matter how bad the weather. After the first time she had been caught in a deluge, she had learned to carry a change of clothing in an oiled canvas bag, so she would be dry while she visited her babies. Today she would be wet on the walk back to Astoria, but not as wet as she would have been without the slicker. Such a kind man.

  When the forest gave way to settlement, she looked around in surprise. Never had the distance seemed so short.

  Mr. Lachlan stepped to the side of the trail and waited for her to come up beside him again. He opened the umbrella and held it over her. "Do you want to stop and rest?"

  For a moment she stared at him. "Rest? Varför? We have only come a little way."

  He grinned and kept walking. When they came to the junction of the only two roads, he hesitated. "Which way?"

  "There." She pointed to a narrow opening in the woods, directly ahead. "The other road goes up, away from the water. I do not know where."

  Just before they reached the trees, she paused and turned her back to him. The scarf bound the slicker close to her body, so she had to remove it to unbutton the oiled canvas coat. Working quickly, because the wind kept whipping her garments about, she reached between her legs and caught the back hem of her skirt and pulled it up to the front. She tucked it snugly into her waistband, then rebuttoned the coat. Despite the umbrella he'd held carefully over her the whole time, her stockings were as wet as if she'd waded a stream. Not sure what to do about the stiff skirt of the slicker, she retied the scarf around her waist.

  "Are we going to wade?" Mr. Lachlan, who'd watched her every move, asked.

  "Nej. The trail is very steep from here, and we could slip and slide. It is safer like this, without the skirts to..." She sought the word. "...To hindra."

  "To hinder," he supplied. He looked at the umbrella. "Hmmm." After a moment's consideration, he reached inside his slicker and pulled a leather thong from somewhere. Quickly he tied it to the umbrella, forming a loose sling which he slipped over his shoulder.

  From there on, she had no breath to waste on talk, for the trail seemed steeper and slicker than it had ever been. Sometimes it was covered with piles of mud and rock, broken away from the hillside above. Twice she fell, and might have slid all the way to the river but for his quick assistance. Once he lost his balance, and they both came very close to falling into a patch of the leafless, viciously thorned stems known as Devil's-club.

  At last they came out onto a wider place whence they could see the mist-shrouded silhouettes of Martine's house, and beyond it, the Daws' enormous barn. Siri paused to catch her breath, for the last way had been difficult of footing and, in one place, almost blocked with the upper branches of a fallen cedar tree. At least the rain had stopped sometime during the last hour, although in the woods they had not realized it for a long time.

  Mr. Lachlan came to stand beside her. "You walked this every week, you say?"

  "Only one week I did not come, because there was a very great wind. I was afraid trees would fall and I could not get back." Had she failed to return, she would have lost her job.

  "Weren't you afraid they'd fall on you?"

  "Ja, but that would not be enough to keep me from going to visit mina barn."

  He stared at her, as if trying to understand her. At last he said, "Yeah, I guess Ma would have said the same thing."

  "You have a mother?" As soon as she'd said the words, she wished to call them back. Hot blood came to her cheeks.

  His chuckle reduced her embarrassment. "A mother, a father, four sisters, two brothers. How about you?"

  "About me? What do you mean?"

  "Do you have sisters and brothers? I've heard you mention your mother and your father, but that's all. Were you an only child?"

  She nodded, not trusting her voice. When she thought she could control it, she said, "Only me. There were other barn, but they did not live long." Quickly she opened the slicker--it was muddy, but it had kept her almost dry and certainly cleaner than she had been after other journeys along the trail--and released her skirt. Once she was properly dressed again, she said, "There! Now we can go."

  He stood still. "There's not much chance of us coming up on the house without being seen, is there?"

  "Why should we-- Oh! Nej, we must cross the fields, no matter how we approach." Martine had bought enough land for the house and a small stable, almost in the middle of the area which was now a new apple orchard. The trees had been brought around the Horn and planted just last spring. They were scarcely three feet tall. In five years, Mr. Daws had told her, they would produce enough apples to feed all of Astoria and he would still have enough to ship.

  As they approached Martine's house,
Siri had the feeling they were being watched. It was not a good feeling. Whoever the watcher was, he did not wish them well. She had no sense they were in danger, though. "Fantasi," she said, under her breath. Aloud she said, "The house looks empty."

  "It does, that." When they reached the front corner, Mr. Lachlan motioned her behind him. He peered around the corner, then stepped back. "I don't see anybody, but I've got a feeling... You stay here while I look inside."

  "But--"

  "Shhh. I'll be right back."

  The rain began falling again while she waited. Siri huddled against the house, wondering if he would be angry if she opened the umbrella he'd handed her. She decided to risk it.

  He was gone a long time, or so it seemed to her. When he returned, he came up behind her. She jumped when he spoke her name. "Du skrämde mig!" Her heart fluttered in her chest.

  In all honesty, she was unsure whether the cause had been alarm or reaction to his male beauty. Even soaking wet, he was handsome as a god.

  "The house is empty. Not a scrap of furniture, not a curtain or blind. Not even the scraps and litter you'd expect after a move."

  "Perhaps in other rooms..."

  "I looked in all the rooms. Even in the cellar and attic. Nothing. Not a scrap of paper, not a forgotten toy. Nothing." Again he leaned around the corner to look.

  At what?

  As if in answer, he said, "Do you feel like somebody's watching us?"

  "Ja, I have thought so since we came across the field. Someone evil." She shuddered, as icy, ghostly fingers scampered up her spine.

  "I don't like this. Put the umbrella down." He unbuttoned his coat and reached inside. When his hand emerged, he held a...

  "A gun?"

  Holding it out to her, he said, "Do you know how to use it?"

  Siri shrank back, eyeing the long-barreled pistol with apprehension. "I do not know--"

  "Well, hell. Okay, let's find a place you can wait--"

  "Nej! I will stay with you."

  "Then stick close to me. We're heading for the stables. You keep your eyes peeled over your shoulder, make sure nobody sneaks up behind."

  "Varför?"

  "Shhh," he hissed over his shoulder as he edged back along the house. Once at the back corner, he crouched lower and moved into the open.

  Siri slipped the makeshift sling over her head and shoulder, so the umbrella hung across her back. She followed as closely to him as she could, mimicking his stance.

  As they approached the stables, the feeling of danger increased. Whoever watched them did so from there. Siri bit back words of warning as Mr. Lachlan laid a hand on the doorlatch.

  "Take this." He slid his knapsack from his shoulders.

  She caught it and almost dropped it, surprised at its weight.

  "Now stand off to the side," he said softly, motioning toward the left.

  She moved along the wall to its end. When she looked back at him, he motioned for her to crouch down. She did, wondering what he intended to do.

  Suddenly Mr. Lachlan kicked the door open. In an instant he had disappeared. A moment later she heard a crash, then nothing.

  She waited an eternity. Then another. There were no other sounds, save the whisper of rain and the steady drip...drip...drip of water from the edge of the roof. When she could wait no longer, she crept to the door, peered inside.

  The interior might as well have been a cave, for the windows were all shuttered. As her eyes grew used to the darkness, she saw a shape lying on the floor a few feet inside. Even as she stared, it moved. Moaned.

  And rolled over, showing itself to be Mr. Lachlan.

  Chapter Twelve

  Buff rolled over and looked up into the face of an angel. He knew he wasn't dead.

  The angel patted his cheeks. Sharp knives of pain shot through his head. "Don't--" He closed his eyes, because the world wanted to spin around him.

  "Oh, you must wake! Please Mr. Lachlan. Awake!" She patted his cheeks again, this time more gently.

  He smelled cinnamon. Wet wool. Cedar dust, horse, and hay. He opened one eye a slit. The angel--Siri? Yes, that was her name. Siri was stroking his brow, was murmuring soft words in a strange tongue.

  Opening the other eye, he tried to see his surroundings, but the light was dim, gray, and flat. The shadowless space around him gave way to a dark vault above. From the smell, he was in a stable, but a stable that had stood empty for a while. "Help me up," he said, struggling to lift himself on arms that shook.

  She slipped an arm about his shoulders and lifted. As soon as he neared upright, his stomach rebelled. Again he closed his eyes, and willed it to behave. After a while it settled down and he said, "What happened? Where are we?"

  "We are in the stable. You came in and someone was waiting. He hit you. You have a very large goose egg on your head," she told him. "Are you svindlande?"

  Buff looked at her. He should know the word. It nibbled at the edges of his mind, but he couldn't get hold of it. "I'm dizzy," he said. "Feel sick." He tried to remember why he was in this stable, why Siri was here with him.

  She'd come to him, frightened. He'd gone to check her room. Hadn't he? Damn. He must have hit me a good one. He had a concussion, no question. He remembered the symptoms, from the time he'd fallen out of a tree when he was just a lad.

  The last thing he could remember was facing a suspicious, gun-toting redhead in a nightgown.

  "Where are we?" he repeated. "And why?"

  What she told him made sense. He remembered making arrangements to come up here, to see what he could learn.

  "You were nedvetslös for so long," she said. "Not awake. Then for a while more, you were half awake, talking in many languages. I was afraid you were dying."

  "I'll live," he assured her, though at this moment, he wasn't sure he wanted to. His head hurt like the very dickens, and the world had a tendency to somersault before his eyes. He licked his lips with a tongue dry as a rock in the desert. "Do you think you could find me some water. I'm still a little shaky."

  "Ah, ja, I have the canteen. Can you sit?"

  Buff realized then that she'd been supporting him. "I think so."

  When she moved, he wavered a bit, then found his equilibrium. She held the canteen to his lips and he sipped slowly, keeping his eyes closed. He knew the disorientation would pass, but he wasn't sure they had time to let it.

  "Tell me what happened."

  "When you searched the house, I had a...a feeling someone was watching. You said you felt the same, when you came back to me. You wanted to search the stables before we went to talk to Mr. Daws. When you found the door locked, you became suspicious."

  "I did? Why?"

  "The doors of the house were not locked. You thought the watcher might be inside. So you broke the door. Only a moment after you went in, I heard a crash. I waited, but heard nothing more, so I came to find you." She gestured in the opposite direction of the open door. "There was a window, at the back. It had been pried open."

  "Shit! You came barreling in here without a thought of the danger? Damn it, Siri, what were you thinking of?" He caught her close. "Don't ever do that again. If you think there's danger, stay away. Stay safe, until you know it's past."

  "I should let you face all the danger and do nothing? How foolish that would be, when you are facing it on my behalf!"

  Buff tried to think. Could Siri's mother-in-law have left someone to watch for anyone seeking information about the stolen children? It didn't seem likely. As far as the old besom knew, Siri hadn't a chance in hell of finding her children. Even if she did, the odds were against her getting them back, even if she brought in the law.

  Kidnapping, while a contemptible crime, wasn't something the law in a frontier area was going to worry about. He remembered talking to the County attorney, who'd told him if he could bring in the kidnapper, with proof a crime had been committed, prosecution might be possible. The trouble was, Siri had not reported the children's disappearance, and they had been staying with
the grandmother, with their mother's permission.

  His stomach had settled down, but the world hadn't. It still tended to spin when he turned his head quickly. Yes, definitely a concussion. "How long was I out? Unconscious," he added at her puzzled expression.

  "A long time. Perhaps an hour? I am not sure. It is difficult to tell the time with the day so dark."

  They had a boat waiting. Time to be getting back to the river. He pushed himself to one knee, waited while the world steadied. "Help me up," he said, hating the need to ask her. "We've got to get going." Once on his feet, he swayed, and was grateful for her shoulder, quickly tucked under his.

  Together they made it to the door. The rain fell like a gray wall. Even the big house ahead looked indistinct, distant. "How far is it to the river?"

  "Not far. A ten minute walk, perhaps. But why?"

  "I can make that." He stepped forward, still leaning on her, then paused. "My hat. Where's my hat?"

  "I did not see it. Let me look." She left him propped against the doorjamb. He heard her footsteps, but didn't turn to watch her. The less he moved, the happier he'd be.

  "I cannot find it," she said when she came back.

  Well, hell! "Did I have it on when I came in?" Even a ten-minute walk in this downpour without a hat was not something he wanted to undertake.

  "I think...ja, you did." She grimaced. "Perhaps I missed seeing it. I will look again."

  "Never mind. I'll bet the bas... the man who hit me took it." Again he looked out into the rain. "Well, there's no help for it. Maybe the boatman will have a hat he can lend me."

  "Boatman? There is no boatman. We walked here."

  Buff stared at her, not sure he'd heard right. "We walked? In this rain? From Astoria?"

  She looked away. "Ja," she said, after a long pause. "I do not go in boats. So we walked."

  Not sure what to say, Buff stared out into the rain. The dim light under low, heavy clouds gave no sense of morning or afternoon, but he had a hunch it was getting late. Even if they'd started at first light, it would have been going on for noon by the time they got here, given the likely condition of the trail. Allow him an hour to search the house, an hour to lie unconscious, another half-hour to gather his wits. It couldn't be any earlier than midafternoon. Two hours and a bit until sundown, he reckoned.