Shakespeare roused and shook his head. Feeling sorry for himself wouldn’t do any good. He rose and went into the bedroom. Blue Water Woman was as pale and still as before. He sat on the edge of the bed and placed his hand on her brow to see if she had a fever, and she opened her eyes.
“There you are.”
Shakespeare nearly jumped. “You’re awake!” He bent and kissed her right cheek and then her left, his eyes misting. “Damn, you gave me a scare.”
Blue Water Woman licked her lips. She was unbearably weak, and her head throbbed. But she didn’t dwell on the shape she was in. She saw the worry in his eyes and perceived the turmoil he was in, and did what she always did. She took his mind off his worries by asking, “Whose bed is this?”
“What?”
“A simple question. This is not ours. What kind of husband are you that you put me in a strange bed?”
“Now see here,” Shakespeare said in some annoyance, “we’re in Zach’s cabin. He went off after the Blood who took Lou. I’ve done what I could for you and tucked you in.”
“I want to be in our own bed.”
“Later.”
“I would like to go now.”
“If you aren’t the most contrary female who ever drew breath, I don’t know who is. I’ll take you to our cabin when you’re up to it and not before.”
“But—”
“Have you forgotten the knock on your noggin? Do you have any idea how much blood you’ve lost? It’s best you lie here and get your strength back.”
“Nate would take Winona if she asked him. Zach would take Lou.”
“I never,” Shakespeare said, and launched into a quote. “ ‘I will fetch you a toothpicker now from the furtherest inch of Asia. Bring you the length of Prestor John’s foot. Fetch you a hair off the great Cham’s beard. Do you any embassage to the Pygmies.’ ” He paused. “And whatever else your little heart desires.”
Blue Water Woman mustered a wan smile.
“Share the humor, why don’t you?”
“You are yourself again.”
Emotion welled up in Shakespeare. Here she was, severely hurt, and she was more concerned about him. He tried to speak but couldn’t for the constriction in his throat.
“Cat have your tongue?” said Blue Water Woman a white saying she remembered. “It must be some cat to stop yours from wagging.”
Shakespeare looked away. He coughed, then carefully embraced her and whispered into her ear, “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”
“More than you love your mare?”
“A horse is a horse. You’re mixing feathers and fur.”
“More than you love your rifle?”
“Now you’re just being silly. I’m fond of my gun, yes, because it keeps me alive. But I’d never ask it to marry me.”
“More than you love the Bard?”
Shakespeare raised his head and looked at her. “Damn, woman. When you cut, you go for the jugular. But since you have put me on the spot, I’ll confess.” He stroked the soft sheen of her neck. “I love you more than I love old William S.”
Blue Water Woman grinned. “At long last I know where I stand. I should be hit on the head more often.”
Shakespeare laughed. She was acting more like her usual self every minute, and there was a pink blush to her cheeks that bode well for her recovery. “Is there anything I can get you? Anything at all?”
“How soon men forget. I want to be in my own bed.”
“ ‘Well moused, lion.’ I will go make a travois.”
“How sweet of you. And all I had to do was twist your arm.”
Shakespeare McNair sighed.
Zach King was doing it again. He was being reckless. He knew it, but he couldn’t stop himself. The sign was fresh. The tracks showed he was close to his quarry, close to the Blood who had taken the woman he loved, close to rescuing her. So he pushed hard up the slope, goading the bay when it flagged. He was so intent on the tracks that he came out of the forest and was a few feet up a talus slope when he realized what it was, and drew rein.
Zach raised his head. The tracks led onto the talus. He pursed his lips in puzzlement. Only a madman or a fool would try to cross talus. The Blood impressed him as neither. The spike on the sapling had been the work of a shrewd mind.
The ridge above the talus consisted of more timber broken by large boulders. Nowhere was there any sign of Lou and her abductor. So they must have made it up.
Zach had a decision to make. Climb the talus, or be smart and safe and ride around it. Riding around would take longer. Since every second of delay was an eternity of suspense, he did what he knew he shouldn’t. His father would have the good sense not to. The same with McNair. But Zach jabbed his heels against the bay and started up.
Almost immediately dirt and stones spilled from under the bay’s heavy hooves. The bay snorted and stopped, and Zach urged it on again. He held his rifle low against his left leg, the reins in his right hand.
Up above, Lou was startled by a clatter. She looked down, and her heart leapt into her throat. It was Zach, coming to save her! She opened her mouth to shout a warning, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw the warrior smile.
The Outcast was pleased with himself. He had planned well. The woman would yell. The breed would forgo all caution and charge up the slope. The talus would bring the breed’s horse down, leaving the breed on foot in the open, within range of his arrows. Then he realized the woman was looking at him.
A chill rippled through Lou. She knew that if she shouted, Zach would come flying up that treacherous slope—which she now suspected was exactly what her captor wanted him to do. She saw an arrow notched to his bowstring, an arrow meant to take her husband’s life, and she acted out of sheer impulse, out of her love for the man who had claimed her heart. She threw herself at the warrior.
The Outcast was caught off-guard. He had expected the woman to shout. With her ankles bound, he’d felt she posed no threat. But suddenly she was on him, raking at his eyes with her nails, a fierce gleam in her eyes that made him think of a mountain lion protecting her kittens or a shebear, her cubs.
Lou’s one hope was to blind him. She couldn’t hope to overpower him; he was much too big and too strong. So she clawed at his eyes with both hands while driving both her knees at his chest.
The Outcast was knocked back. He rolled as he hit the ground and she clung to him like a bobcat to its prey. He wanted to hold on to the bow, but if he did she would take out an eye.
Lou missed his eye but opened his cheek. He kept turning his head to thwart her. When he tried to roll on top of her, she kicked out with all her might with both legs.
The Outcast was sent tumbling. He lost the bow and the arrow and came to a stop on his stomach. Placing his hands flat, he went to push up and realized he was on the talus. He rose as high as his knees and looked up just as the white woman launched herself at him.
Lou gave no thought to her safety, no thought to the life in her womb. She thought only of Zach and what her captor would do to the man she loved if she didn’t stop him. She slammed into the Outcast’s chest so hard that it sent pain shooting from her shoulder to her hip. The next instant she was on her side and sliding.
The Outcast was sliding, too. He thrust his arm down to stop, but he was caught in a flowing current of stones and dirt.
Below, Zach drew rein in amazement at the sight of his wife and her warrior captor locked in mortal combat. He saw Lou hurl herself at the warrior and both of them tumble down the slope in a rush of broken earth. “Lou!” he bawled in alarm.