The Lost Baroness Page 16

  A letter had arrived. Once he was comfortably settled at the Pilot Whale Saloon with brandy-laced coffee, he opened the envelope. Inside was a bank draft in the agreed-upon amount for another two months' work. So. He would continue to follow Lachlan.

  He read, skipping impatiently over the complaints that his search was taking so long and costing so much. Thorssen had no idea of the bargain he was getting. Jaeger was the best, yet his fee was little more than some of the clumsy oafs who pretended to follow his profession.

  ...word from my agent in Macao. Lachlan was there too. I fear he may be finding useful information. Perhaps he has discovered what ship she was taken by.

  If he finds her, I depend on you to make sure she does not live to claim her inheritance. It would be best if she is never formally identified, so if you have the slightest suspicion that Lachlan has found her, make sure he has no opportunity to report his success. Remove the woman before he becomes convinced she is my sister.

  But do not kill him, if you can avoid it. I have learned that he has powerful friends here in Europe and in America. His father is someone of importance, also. I do not want to occasion an investigation...

  Jaeger sneered. The would-be baron had no appreciation of his skills. If he did decide to kill Lachlan, no one would believe it anything but one more instance of the random violence Americans were so prone to.

  But first he would fulfill his contract. He would wait until Lachlan found the woman.

  Or until he was certain he would not.

  * * *

  Buff lay absolutely still until the noise stopped. The mud slide had carried him along on its crest, as if he were a small boat skimming a huge wave. He was bruised and would ache like the very devil later, but now he was simply breathless. He crawled out of the thicket where he'd been caught and held.

  "Siri? Siri, where are you?"

  Only the drip...drip...drip of rain on wet foliage answered him.

  He'd been too far behind to reach her before the slide hit. It must have started only a few feet above the trail, for there had been little noise to warn them. One minute they had been pushing their way through drooping, dripping branches. The next the world had turned upside down in a rush of mud and debris that had picked him up and tossed him fifty feet down the hill.

  "Siri?"

  He clawed his way up a sheer rock wall, catching at small protrusions, slipping on wet moss, nearly falling when a tuft of dead grass pulled loose. "Siri, where are you?"

  A crow answered him. Another, and another, until the forest was filled with their harsh caws.

  He hoisted himself to a narrow ledge, found himself facing a crumbling, weeping slope of mud and cobble. He inched along the ledge until it gave onto a steep slope densely covered with thimbleberry. "Siri! Answer me, damn it!"

  The crows mocked him.

  At last he reached the trail. A wide tongue of mud, littered with rock and debris, covered it, but it was still passable.

  "Siri?"

  Buff forced himself to stand still and get his bearings. There. He'd noticed that nurse log, with a young spruce straddling it. Siri had just passed it when he heard the slide. He walked slowly along the trail, trying to peer into the dark, tangled woods below the trail. Surprisingly the slide had done little damage. It seemed to have been restricted to a narrow path.

  At the far end of the slide path, he paused and turned, looking back into the woods. All he could see was tangled underbrush and thick tree trunks, mist-shrouded and obscure.

  The crows had gone silent as he walked the trail, but now they began their chorus again. Buff looked up, wondering what had set them off. One glided to a landing on a branch not ten feet away. He looked that way and saw her.

  "Siri!"

  Skidding and sliding, he got to her. She lay prone, almost buried under sticks and twigs, rocks and mud. Buff reached out, almost afraid to touch her.

  He cleared away the debris that hid her face. It was turned slightly to the side and was scratched and pale. But when he lay his fingers on the pulse under her jaw, he felt the reassuring thump-athump of her heart.

  Her slicker had protected her from the worst of the debris, its oiled canvas a tough covering for delicate skin. But it wouldn't have stopped her bones from breaking.

  He slipped his knapsack from his shoulders and set it beside her. He started to unbutton his coat.

  That was when he saw the handle of the umbrella, protruding from a mass of debris not three feet from Siri. He extracted it and wiped the mud from the black silk. To his surprise and relief, it opened. One rib was bent, but not badly. Buff propped it up so it protected Siri's head and shoulders. Then he removed his slicker and laid it over her lower body and legs.

  Siri moaned.

  "Siri? Wake up sweetheart." He stroked her cheek. It was warm, not icy as he had feared. "You need to wake up."

  Another moan. A soft sound in the silence of the forest.

  The crows had stopped calling.

  * * *

  She was picked up, tossed, dropped. But she did not sink, as she had before. She floated, on an ocean of pain, amidst waves as hard as rocks. She fought to escape the grip of the water, fought to breathe. As she rolled again, she found air and gasped, filling her lungs before she was dropped again, into a swirling maelstrom.

  Icy cold water bathed her legs, surrounded her. A wild cacophony of sound filled her ears. She tried to curl into herself, but her legs were held, her arms would not bend. She fought the bonds, but it did her no good. They had chained her, and struggling would only wear the skin from her wrists and ankles. She had seen the scars on the other... No! No, it is only a bad dream. Far, please, Tell me again it is only a dream.

  "Siri. Siri? Wake up sweetheart." A hand, gentle on her cheek.

  Far?

  Nej, han är inte min far. It is...she could not remember his name, but she could see him. En ängel med gyllene gloria. No, not an angel. A devil, for he tempted her and beguiled her and made her almost forget...mina barn! Ah, Gud, jag glömde mina barn!

  She moaned, unable to help herself. How could she have forgotten her children?

  No child now, but a woman grown. She had been a wife and a mother. And now she was a widow and her children had been stolen from her.

  Siri opened her eyes and saw him. He was kneeling beside her, coatless, water dripping from his chin. His wool shirt was plastered to his body, streaked with mud and torn over one shoulder.

  "Siri, how do you feel? Can you move?"

  Move? She was not sure. Carefully she flexed her fingers, made a fist. Now her toes. They moved, but... "My legs..."

  "Don't move." He turned away.

  She felt cold air and moisture on her ankle.

  "There's a vine wrapped around your ankles. Hold still."

  A tugging, a careful touch that scarcely moved her foot.

  "Try it now."

  Cautiously Siri tried again. This time her knees bent and her ankles flexed without hindrance. Without more than a dull ache, in fact. "Yes, I can move." She put her hands under her shoulders to push herself upright. Sharp pain radiated from her shoulder. She collapsed, panting. The pain seemed to expand, to fill her chest. "I cannot."

  "Lie still." His hands touched her lightly, skimming up her arms, pressing on her shoulder blades. Testing her ribs. "I don't feel anything wrong. Can you turn over."

  She moved and the pain intensified. "My shoulder. I cannot..." She touched her right shoulder with her left hand. "This one--"

  Gently he turned her to her back, handling her as if she would break with any sudden move. Again his fingers probed. "You've got a broken collarbone, near as I can tell. Just stay still. I remember..."

  He scratched his chin, and she heard the rasp of whiskers against his fingers. After a moment's thought, he took the scarf from his head. "This is wet, but it's better than nothing. I'm going to sit you up. It'll probably hurt, but I need to wrap this around you."

  Surprisingly, sitting up did not hurt a
ny more than being turned, except her arm seemed to pull heavily on her shoulder. Siri reached across and held her right forearm.

  "What I want you to do is to pull your shoulders back as far as you can. Farther. Like that. Good girl."

  Siri breathed through clenched teeth as she follow his instructions.

  "Yes, keep holding that arm up so it doesn't pull." He reached around her. "Now, I'm going to tie this so you can't move your arm. We'll hope that works. I think it's what Pa did when Katie broke her collarbone."

  As soon as the scarf was tied, she realized the pain had almost gone away. Not the aches she felt in every muscle and joint, but the sharp pain in her shoulder. "Oh, ja, that is much better!"

  His grin seemed forced. "Good. That must mean I did the right thing." He adjusted the umbrella so no rain fell on her head. "We'll rest a bit, then we've got to get going. Do you think you can walk?"

  "I hope so. My legs seem to be working. There is no pain."

  "Good." He shivered.

  "Jösses! You have no coat." Guiltily she realized that his slicker covered her legs, doing little good. The ground was wet and so was she, from what had soaked through her clothing. She pulled the slicker off her legs and held it out to him. "Put this on."

  He didn't argue.

  When he shivered again, Siri made up her mind. She stretched her legs, flexed her feet. "If you will help me to stand, we can go on." Even if she had to crawl, she was not going to keep him in this cold, wet forest any longer.

  Even with him taking most of her weight, she could not stand. "Förlåt mig. My knees, they are ostadig...weak and useless." The sound of her voice, at the edge of tears, shamed her.

  "Give it a while," he soothed. Despite his shivers, his body was warm, and she wanted to burrow close.

  "I should be asking you to forgive me, Siri. I was criminally careless, bringing you along. If I'd given the situation the thought it deserved, I'd've realized its potential for danger."

  "You would have left me behind?"

  "Damn right! A woman like you has no business on this poor excuse for a trail." His arms tightened around her. "Great God, Siri, you're lucky to be alive!"

  "I have walked this trail many times, Buffalo Lachlan. I would come this way again, if mina barn..." She lost all English as a combination of anger and pain overwhelmed her.

  How dare he think she would stay safely behind while he sought Rosel and Rolf? Her children. Her responsibility.

  Just like min far. Like Valter. Så dominerande. Så dum. Are all men convinced women are helpless and weak?

  Locking the words behind her clenched teeth, she pulled herself out of his embrace. Before he could assist her, she forced herself to stand. One day she would tell him what she thought of stupid masculine pride. But not until they found her children.

  Once she was on her feet, she felt lightheaded for a moment, until the world steadied around her. New aches made themselves known, but none was severe enough to prevent her walking. With his help, she climbed to the trail. Her first few steps were hesitant, but soon she found her stride. It was slower than before, because having her arm tied to her body changed her balance.

  She forced a smile, wondering if she looked as grotesque as he did, with mud smeared across his cheeks and paler streaks where rainwater had trickled through it. "Let us go. I want some tea."

  "Good idea. Do you have any idea how far we are from town?"

  "I remember thinking we had only one more steep part to cross. So an hour? Perhaps a little more."

  "Let's go, then." He gestured her to go ahead of him.

  When he had indicated she should lead the way yesterday, Siri had been surprised. Valter would never have let her walk ahead of him, even if she had known the route and he hadn't. Neither would have her father.

  After a while she realized he was letting her set the pace. He could have walked away from her had he chosen to do so, and not just because of her skirts. His stride was free and loose, as if he walked for pleasure.

  She stopped, not trusting herself to speak over her shoulder with her balance uncertain. "Mr. Lachlan?"

  He caught up with her. "Siri, my name is Buffalo. Or Buff, to my friends. I think last night qualifies us as friends, don't you?" His eyes held warmth as he looked down into hers.

  Ah, ja! A djävul for certain. "It is not a common name. Why did your father name you for an animal?" She had seen pictures of buffalo. Great, ungainly beasts with shaggy coats and fierce faces.

  "I wasn't named for the critter," he said, "but for a man. A good friend of my parents'."

  "Another man named Buffalo?"

  "Uh-huh. I think he named himself when he came West. Or maybe he earned the name. Lots of the fur trappers got nicknames hung on them for their exploits."

  The trail opened into fields. Soon it turned into a road--Spruce Street. "I think we'll go to the Chinese Store first," Buffalo said.

  "Why?"

  "Mrs. Leong will dry our clothes and feed us. I don't want to take you back to the hotel looking like you do."

  "Mrs. Welkins would have a fit," she said, imagining her employer's expression, should they arrive looking as they did.

  As if her appearance mattered. There was small likelihood she would have a job tomorrow.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mrs. Leong took them in without question. After a few painful moments while the Chinese woman helped her undress, Siri stood nude before a fire and let herself be examined. She held her right arm with her left hand, almost afraid to breathe. To do so sent shafts of white-hot pain radiating down her arm and across her shoulder.

  "Many cut," Mrs. Leong said from behind her. "All little. No need to mend." She came back to stand before Siri. "Your face very pretty tomorrow. Many colors."

  She shivered. And wished she had not. Now as she was getting warm she was becoming aware of scrapes and bruises everywhere. Her entire face hurt, although the ache was nothing like what she felt in her right shoulder.

  "You bathe, then I give ointment. You hurt not so much." Mrs. Leong's smile was sympathetic.

  "Can you do something so I can use my arm? I must work tomorrow."

  "You not make beds for many days."

  A noise at the door made Siri look frantically for a place to hide.

  "Only my nephews. They make bath for you." Mrs. Leong went to the door and opened it a crack. She spoke, a long, musical spate of strange syllables, and closed it again. "One minute. Your bath be ready."

  "What did you mean, I won't work for many days? I must. Mrs. Welkins--"

  "Welkins already find new maid." She shrugged. "You not come home."

  Panic rose inside Siri. Without a job, what would she--

  "Come. Bath ready." Holding the door open, Mrs. Leong gestured for her to go to the next room.

  Siri could only stare, as she tried to think what to do. If she had no work, no money, how could she find her children? How could she...

  Gentle hands pushed her toward and through the door. "Bath now. Talk later."

  Helplessly she let herself be led to the tin tub, stepped into the steaming water. When a strong arm slipped around her waist to help her sit, she did so, unresisting. She kept a grip on her injured arm because she was told to.

  She bent her head and let water pour over it. Someone applied soap to her hair and worked it into a lather.

  She felt her last hope slipping away, while gentle hands bathed her.

  * * *

  Clean and dressed in ill-fitting clothing that must have been dug out of a missionary barrel, Buff stood beside the stove in the Chinese store and cradled a cup of steaming jasmine tea in both hands. The perfume wafting from its surface sent a wave of homesickness through him.

  Maybe it was time he went home. Time he grew up.

  He'd left home almost eight years ago, in May of 1865. His whole family had traveled all the way to New York, then to Boston. There he'd bid them farewell and taken ship for Europe.

  Hadn't looked back since
.

  Bright lights and loud music and fancy women. That's what he'd been seeking. And excitement. Oh, how he'd sought excitement. Anything different from the quiet and peace of the mountain-fast valley where he'd grown up.

  He hadn't seen a real town until he was almost man high, hadn't worn real shoes or smoked a cigar or tasted good whiskey. The only played music he'd heard was from the fiddle his pa had brought home from the trading post at Fort Boise.

  Then he'd gone adventuring, and had found more than he'd bargained for. From the day he'd walked through the door of the great house belonging to the Earl of Heatherwood, he had been catapulted into a glittering world beyond his wildest dreams. He'd hobnobbed with European nobility, won gold from princes and millionaires, flirted with women clad in priceless silks and jewels worth a king's ransom. All the while he had lived on the edge of danger, seeking out the secrets and the chicanery of those who lived beyond the laws that kept civilization operating.

  Yes, he'd found his excitement, and had tasted its often bitter cost. And now he was almost all the way around the world from where he'd begun. How far was Boise City? Five hundred miles? Not more than that, he was pretty sure.

  He stepped to the fogged window and wiped a circle clear. Outside the rain still fell, not yet turned to sleet. It would, though. He'd felt the bite of the wind when they'd come into town, and was sure it was even colder now.

  The door behind him opened. "You come now."

  Buff turned. Mrs. Leong gestured for him to follow her.

  The light in the low-ceilinged room was dim, but even so he had no trouble seeing the woman in the bathtub. She was hunched over, curled into herself. Her dripping hair lay in dark strings across her white shoulders. "Siri?"

  "She need you," Mrs. Leong said, before she stepped back into the corridor and pulled the door closed.

  The room was warm and steamy. Puddles stood on the floor around the bathtub. Buff didn't care. He knelt. "Siri? What is it? What's wrong?"

  She lifted her head, showed him a face ravaged by tears. "The hotel...my babies...how can I..." Her words ended on a low keen, a sound so grief-filled, so heart-rending he wanted to weep himself.