Midnight Star (Star Quartet 2)

“You’re being utterly perverse again, Del!”

“And you won’t put up with it anymore, right? You’re going to jump up and pummel my chest and kick my shins.”

“Are you going to send me back to England?”

“No. I’m going to take you to bed once you are well again, and make certain that you become pregnant. Pregnant ladies shouldn’t travel, you know.”

He paused a moment, aware that his body was quickly responding to his words and thoughts. He was picturing her flat belly rounding with his child. He turned away and began to make coffee.

“When are you going to bathe the rest of me?”

His hand trembled on the coffeepot. “Chauncey,” he said over his shoulder, refusing to look at her, “you are flirting with danger.”

She sighed. “I look awful.”

“Yes, but adorably awful. You’re also too thin, and you smell like a wet horse.”

The whiskey she had drunk had spread a warm glow through her mind. The throbbing in her shoulder had lessened considerably. “How long will I take to heal?”

“A couple more days. Then we’ll go to Grass Valley.”

“Why did the Indians attack us? Why did they take me?”

He handed her a steaming cup of coffee, then pulled it back. “No,” he said more to himself than to her, “the coffee will sober you up.” He cradled the tin cup between his hands and sat on the floor beside her, crossing his long legs. Then, in answer to her question: “I don’t know. Did they tell you who they were?”

“Yes, the woman who guarded me was named Cricket. She said that Chatca, their leader, had broken away from Chief Wema’s tribe.”

“Ah.”

“What do you mean, ‘ah’?”

“Nothing in particular, I guess. It’s just that the small bands of renegades have nearly all been wiped out. God, what we’ve done to the poor bastards!” He sipped at his hot coffee, his expression thoughtful. “If you are ready to tell me about it, I would like to know what happened, Chauncey.”

“Well,” she said tartly, “I can’t think of those Indians as poor bastards! They were filthy, smelled far worse than you can imagine, and lived like animals.” She sighed. “Perhaps they had no choice. But they didn’t have to shoot you and abduct me!”

“I would have abducted you had I seen you.”

“No, you wouldn’t. You would have waited for me to abduct you.” He’s made me laugh a bit, she thought. Is he afraid I’ll become hysterical? “I fought Chatca and he struck me. I don’t know how long I was unconscious, but when I came to and began to fight him again, he hit me again. When I woke up, I was in some kind of odd-looking lean-to—”

“A wigwam, it’s called.”

“—and this young woman was there. She said a priest had named her Cricket. She was one of Chatca’s wives. She told me Chatca wanted me.” She paused a moment, getting a grip on herself. The memory was humiliating and terrifying.

“Then he saw that you were bleeding and left you alone.”

“Yes. He was very angry. There was this other Indian woman, named Tamba. She wanted to slit my throat, but Chatca protected me. I stayed in that . . . wigwam for several days, until I thought I’d go out of my mind. Finally Chatca agreed that I could have a bath in the stream. Cricket took me there, and I coshed her on the head. The other woman saw me and pretended that she would help me escape. When I was riding Dolores through the camp, Tamba shot me. I prayed I was riding in the right direction.”

Delaney said nothing.

“It sounds like such a pitiful tale.”

“You were very brave,” he said finally, smiling at her. “I am proud of you.”

“Why are you looking so morose, if I’m so brave?”

He drank the rest of his coffee and merely shrugged at her question.

“Delaney, what are you thinking?”