Noble Savage Read online

  She had to get across the street somehow, for the hotel was on the other side. Slowly she crept along the wall of the mercantile, holding close in its shadow, hoping no one would look this way. At the front corner she paused again, looking down the street.

  A crowd was gathered two hundred feet or so away, clustered around the front of a building. The roar of voices came from there. Torches held high threw their flickering light onto faces contorted in anger, showed shaken fists and guns held high.

  She couldn't understand a word, but she was deeply grateful that they were so occupied. Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the street. With every ounce of steel in her backbone, she forced herself to walk slowly across, until she could slip between the log wall of a barbershop and the canvas one of Granny's Dining Room.

  I made it!

  She could just hear her ma telling her not to count her chickens before they hatched. She still had better than a dozen buildings to pass, before she reached the hotel. And between them were open spaces, some as wide as a house, where she would be in plain sight of anyone with the wit to look.

  One. Two. Each time she came to an opening, she paused long enough to make certain no one was passing near the fronts of the buildings.

  Three.

  Wait. Here comes someone. She made herself as small as possible and thought I'm not really here. You're seeing things. When she was little, she'd believed that if she told herself she was invisible, she would be. Now she wished it worked.

  Several men passed, their attention plainly on what was going on in the street. Katie hurried into the shadow of the next building.

  On and on, slowly, carefully. Crossing each open space with her heart in her mouth.

  She reckoned she had two or three more to cross before the hotel. And if its back door was locked, what then?

  Someone was standing between the next two buildings, facing the street. His shoulders were broad under a bulky coat and a rifle hung from one by a sling. His hat was wide-brimmed and pulled low over his face. As he turned his head slightly, Katie saw a moustache.

  Luke!

  But what if it wasn't him? Did she dare risk it?

  She must have made a noise, for the next instant he turned and peered into the dark passage.

  "Luke!"

  No matter that the word came out a harsh whisper. He heard. In an instant she was in his arms.

  "Damn you for a fool!" he said into her ear, his voice seething with fury. "Where the hell have you been?"

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Katie burrowed against him like she was trying to get inside his skin. Luke felt a surge of desire despite the anger that flooded through him. He held her away from him and shook her. "Answer me! Where have you been?"

  "Whit'y. Caught me. Liv'r stab...." Her voice was little more than a whisper, harsh and strained. She shook her head. "Throat...hurts." Her hands caught at his sleeves and clung.

  "Damnation." He swept her into his arms and carried her along behind the buildings until they were at the back door of the hotel. "Stay here," he told her, lowering her to the steps. "I'll be right back." He all but ran around the corner to the front door.

  A few people were eating supper in the dining room. No one even looked up when Luke stalked through into the kitchen. The clerk and an older woman in an apron sat at a small table, eating. Ignoring their protests, Luke opened the back door and pulled Katie inside.

  "My wife's feelin' poorly," he said in explanation, as he pushed through the door into the dining room. "Hope you folks will excuse us."

  Only one of the diners even looked up from his food. He nodded in sympathy and took another bite.

  Luke had never seen a place where folks minded their own business so well.

  Once in the room, Luke sat Katie on the bed and held a canteen to her lips. She sipped, coughed, and sipped again.

  "Thanks," she whispered, a hand at her throat. A dirty rag was wrapped around her knuckles. The dark stain on it looked like blood.

  Luke caught her wrist and unwrapped the rag. A dozen and more scratches marred the skin of her hand, along with one oozing cut. "What happened?"

  "Told you." Her voice was stronger now, but still raspy. "Whitney caught me. Tied me up in the livery stable."

  The anger turned to a red rage. "He choked you?"

  She shook her head. "I screamed." Her mouth trembled. "Oh, God, Luke, he caught me right here in the hotel. I screamed and screamed and nobody paid any attention. Nobody!"

  Somehow the sight of Katie Lachlan on the edge of tears shook him as nothing ever had. Had she had all the fight choked out of her?

  "Did he harm you?" Not that he wanted the answer, but Luke figured he ought to know whether he was going to kill Whitney or not.

  "No." She rubbed at one cheek, and now Luke noticed how much darker it was than the other. "Well, he did slap me."

  Before he killed him, he'd show Whitney what it felt like to be beaten. Gently he touched the bruise with his fingers, tracing its outline. "That's all?"

  Realization leapt into her eyes. "Oh! You meant did he, well, harm me?" She shook her head. "But he did touch me. Here." She lightly touched her breast, and shuddered. "It was awful! Like something crawling on me."

  Never mind the rifle. He'd carve Whitney up like a Christmas goose, letting him feel every cut. Luke's anger flared into rage, such a rage as he'd never felt no matter how fierce the battle, how close the bullet.

  In the War, Luke had done what he'd been trained to do, knowing that if he didn't he'd likely die instead. It had been a dirty, soul-rending job, but one a man had to do.

  When he'd killed Japhet Breedlove, he'd been more scared than angry, reacting to a dangerous situation. Afterward he'd hated himself, hated Japhet for forcing the situation upon him. And he'd thrown away his gun and sworn that only the most desperate circumstances would ever make him shoot down another human being.

  Now he understood how a man could kill in cold blood. He reached for his coat, which he'd hung on the bedpost.

  "Where are you going?"

  Settling his hat on his head, Luke said, "After Whitney."

  She reached for him, caught his wrist. "You can't go after him tonight. Please!"

  "Turn loose, Katie. The man needs a lesson taught to him."

  "But not tonight!" She jerked him so hard he almost fell over on top of her. "Listen! Something's going on out there. Something terrible."

  Luke cocked an ear. Sure enough, the low roar of men's voices had grown louder. He'd become used to it, and to the occasional shots that rang out, but now he became aware that this was more than a street brawl. He stepped to the window.

  "Wait!" Katie got up and blew out the lamp, casting the room into almost total darkness. A faint line of light crept under the door, and the window showed as a pale rectangle of flickering light.

  He eased the sash up as high as it would go. A cold breeze wafted in, bringing the promise of more snow. He leaned out, his hands resting on the sill.

  The breeze also brought the sound of men's voices raised in anger. Luke shivered, but whether it was from cold or a familiar anticipation, he wasn't sure. There was something about the roar of the crowd, something primitive and bestial, that spoke of death and destruction. He'd heard that sound before--at Plattsburg and Antietam and at too many other bloody battlefields.

  If he went out there, he'd be walking into the middle of a war.

  Luke stood at the window a long time, long enough for the room to grow as cold as outdoors, as he fought memories he thought well buried.

  "Luke?" Katie called softly at last. "Close the window?"

  He did so, easing it down so it wouldn't squeak. "Have you got something I can hang over this?" he said. Nothing ever came of reliving the past. His role now was to keep Katie safe.

  "I think so." She lifted the fiddle case from where he'd set it on the floor and dug inside. "Here," she said, handing him the silk petticoat the shotgun had been wrapped in. "Will this do?"

>   He contrived to hang the petticoat over the window, fighting the thoughts the fragile, lilac-scented fabric brought to mind.

  Katie used one of the matches he'd left on the washstand to relight the lamp, wiping the chimney out with her skirt before she replaced it. At his raised eyebrows, she said, "As dirty as I am, a little soot won't even be noticeable."

  Her words brought back the angry fear he'd felt when he couldn't find her. "You'd only been half as dirty if you'd done what I said." Taking a tight rein on his temper, he asked, "Did you ever in your whole life do what you were told?"

  "I never promised to stay. You think just because you tell me to do things, I'll do them. Well, let me tell you this, Lucas Savage, I...." She hesitated as footsteps thudded on the stairs.

  Luke held up his hand for silence.

  They both listened. Two men, coming up the stairs, talking, their voices growing louder as they ascended.

  Katie's face went stark white. Luke tiptoed to the door and made sure he'd locked it. Then he leaned against it and tried to hear what was being said.

  "...Freeman...nonsense...a pack of ignorant malcontents who...newspaper...."

  The other man's answer was inaudible. After a moment, Luke heard a door open, then shut. Footsteps descended the stairs. He wished he dared open the door to see which man had gone into the room across the hall.

  He'd bet his buttons it was Whitney. It had been that kind of day.

  Turning, he held a finger to his lips. Katie nodded her understanding. She sat on the side of the bed, running her fingers through her loosened hair, pulling wisps of straw from the tangled strands. Her skirt was filthy, mud-stained and wet along the tattered hem, and her bodice was missing a button or two. Even her boots were much the worse for wear, scratched and muddy.

  She'd never looked more tempting. Luke reminded himself of why she looked as if she'd been dragged through a knothole backwards. It made him mad all over again.

  "I'm waiting," he whispered, silently cursing the need to keep quiet. He wanted to yell at her so bad he could taste it.

  "For what?" Her whisper held a challenge.

  "For you to tell me what on earth possessed you to run off like that. My God, woman--"

  "Shhh!"

  He controlled his voice. "The day I turn you over to your pa will be the happiest day of my life. You've given me more grief than any man ought to have in a lifetime. All I have to do is turn around and you're haring off on your own, as if nobody has any ideas but you."

  "That's not true!"

  "Oh, it ain't? What about the time I told you to wait in the railcar? But you wanted a walk. And the time you followed me into the depot. You could have waited outside. And there was the time--"

  "Oh, be quiet! You're not so all-fired perfect either. What about when you went storming off into the snow? You darned near froze to death."

  "Tarnation--"

  "Shhh!"

  With effort, Luke lowered his voice. One deep breath led to another, then a third, before he could whisper softly, "I swear, Katie Lachlan, if you go off on your own one more time, I won't go lookin' for you. Since you're so danged independent, you shouldn't have any trouble at all going the rest of the way on your own." He knew he didn't really mean what he'd said. But maybe she'd believe he did.

  Her chin came up and her eyes flashed in the golden light. "That's all right. I don't need you anyhow."

  "Oh, you don't? That ain't the way I see it. If ever there was a woman needed a keeper, it's you."

  "A keeper?" Her whisper almost turned into a squeak. "And you think you're qualified?"

  "Lady, right now I wouldn't take the job if you paid me to. Why I never saw--" Luke broke off. This wasn't getting them safely out of town. "Make up your mind. Do what I tell you or look for somebody else. I ain't one of your knights in shining armor."

  She glared at him for a moment. Then her chin began to tremble. "Oh, Luke, I know I did wrong!" she wailed softly. At his abrupt motion, she continued in a whisper, "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

  If she'd snapped back at him, he might have been able to stay mad, but this apologetic Katie was something new and wonderful. Luke pulled her close.

  "Ah, sweetheart, don't cry. I was just so scared. What if you hadn't got loose? I'd have never found you." He rocked back and forth, comforting her.

  Comforting himself. His head had been so full of what-ifs that he'd scarcely been able to think. More than once, during the War, he'd seen what could happen to a defenseless woman. His mind had kept seeing Katie at the mercy of a man without mercy.

  She was so precious to him, this small, foolish, fearless woman. Pushing aside the residue of his anger, Luke lifted her and laid her on the bed. He lay beside her on his side, head propped on one hand. The lamp needed trimming, for it flickered and smoked.

  No matter. He could see enough. She clung to him, sniffling now and then.

  Luke pulled her into his embrace.

  Her arms slipped around his neck.

  She was warm and soft. Whether it was just his wishful thinking or for real, she smelled of lilac, bringing back to Luke memories of love and laughter. Of a life without hatred and evil. The life he'd known once, long ago.

  She snuggled closer, her hair tickling his nose, her face tucked against his neck. He felt her lips moving against his throat, a wet flick of her tongue just above his collar.

  Luke knew he should push her away. "Katie girl, this ain't the time or place."

  Her answer was to pull his head down so she could press her lips against his. After a moment, she parted her lips.

  So did he.

  "When better?" she whispered.

  Her breath was warm and sweet in his mouth.

  He drank of her sweetness. His tongue boldly explored every nook and cranny of her mouth. Just as boldly, she caught his lower lip between sharp teeth and nipped, laved away the pain, suckled.

  The part of him that knew better lost the battle with his body's desperate hunger. When she whispered again her need for him, he groaned and surrendered.

  Katie clung to him, feeling safe in his arms. Feeling cherished. Desired.

  A less civilized man than Whitney would have raped her tonight. Her helplessness had, for the first time, really brought home just how vulnerable she was.

  And how much she wanted Luke to be the first.

  "Luke, please," she whispered against his neck. His body was still tense, still resisting her embrace. He was so darned noble, not wanting to take advantage of her, not wanting to risk giving her his child.

  But he'd told her himself that there were ways....Well, so had her sister. And her aunt. And her mother.

  They just hadn't told her what they were.

  "Make love to me."

  He groaned.

  And reached for the buttons on her bodice. One by one his fingers fumbled them open. His mouth followed his fingers, lips skimming across the top of her camisole, leaving a burning trail wherever they touched.

  Katie held herself still only with an effort. She wanted to sit up and tear her dress open, to discard the layers and layers of clothing she wore until his callused fingertips could trace their magic everywhere on her tingling skin. Until his mouth could discover her every secret.

  She reached for the buttons on his shirt, but Luke's hand on hers halted her frantic plucking. "Wait," he said, his words vibrating against her breast. "Not yet."

  He worked her bodice free and fully open. "Pretty," he said, tracing the lace edging of her camisole with one finger.

  The finger left the lace and moved lower, circling her breast, coming nearer with each circle to a nipple that was aching and turgid. Katie arched upwards, but Luke's hand only continued its slow teasing.

  She wanted to scream. To beg. "Luke!"

  "Katie," he breathed, as he lowered he head and breathed against her camisole.

  Cotton and wool might just as well have been the thinnest silk, for the heat and moisture of his breath spread across her breast,
intensifying the ache, sending tides of pleasure through her body.

  Katie gave herself up to sensation. His mouth, his hands were everywhere. She felt cool air on her breasts once, realized that he had somehow removed her dress. But his mouth was doing wonderful things to her again, and this time there was no clothing to prevent his tongue from flicking and teasing her nipple.

  His hands were strong as they lifted her and pushed her petticoats away. Her wool drawers stopped him only a moment as he struggled with the ties at her waist, then they were gone too.

  Katie gasped as his tongue traced a line from her breasts to her navel.

  "Sweet," he whispered. "You taste so sweet."

  She caught at his shirt. "I want to see you. To touch you."

  "Not yet." His hands closed on her hips, moved along her thighs and calves, to her ankles and back.

  Her legs quivered, her knees bent and flexed. When his hands neared the juncture of her thighs, she cried, "Now, Luke. Please!"

  But all he did was lean over and kiss her belly, as his hands drew lines of fire from breast to thigh, never touching where she ached to be touched, yet feeding the flames that burned within her.

  Mindlessly she yielded to him, entirely caught in the sensations he roused in her. He kissed his way to her feet and back, nipped at her belly, dipped his tongue into her navel. When he lifted her legs to his shoulders, Katie could only gaze at him through passion-glazed eyes. Incapable of anything beyond wanting him, she could only plead, "Love me, please!"

  She thought he murmured "I do," before he put his mouth on her.

  Katie burst into flame. A wild, leaping conflagration that lasted an eternal instant, burning away everything in swells of fire that broke over her awareness like waves on a beach. She felt herself tossed on the flames, mourned them as they receded and died, leaving her consumed.

  A long time later Luke unwound himself from her embrace and sat up. She felt the cold flannel of the sheet slide over her still-heated skin as he pulled it up and tucked it around her shoulders. The bed creaked when his weight left it.