She glared at him. “Why, you sleep-insider, what do you know about truth and lies? What do you know about survival?” Before she thought about what she was doing, she ran at him, her head down, and rammed him in the stomach, and when he gave a quiet whoosh of air, she kicked his shin hard with her stiff-soled boots, then bit him on the chest.
He grabbed her around the waist, and they went tumbling to the ground as he put his hand below her chin to keep her from biting him again. When he had her pinned, her small body under his large one, he looked at her. “What the hell’s wrong with you? What are you up to? What are you doing in these mountains?”
“Don’t hurt my throat,” she whispered. “Anything but that.”
He saw that there were tears forming in her eyes and he released his hold on her chin, but he still lay on top of her, not allowing her to get away from him. He watched as she turned her face away, not wanting him to see her tears, and that seemed unusual to him. Most women liked for men to see them cry, he thought.
“Tell me what’s going on,” he said softly, his face close to hers.
“I can barely breathe with your weight on me, much less talk and, besides, you are bleeding on me.”
He glanced down at his arm, saw the blood running and dripping onto her expensive riding habit. “Sorry. About the blood, I mean. It wasn’t easy getting to you. I had to come up that rock face over there.”
Maddie twisted to look at it, saw the sheerness of it. She looked back at him. “Not possible. Even my father couldn’t climb that.”
He gave her an odd look. “I could and did climb it.”
As he looked down at her, his body on top of hers, his face close to hers, she saw his eyes darken and she began to twist to get away from him.
“You won’t succeed in getting away, and I don’t mind telling you that I find the sensation of your struggles not unpleasant. You might as well tell me the truth.”
She opened her mouth to speak, then cocked her head and listened. “He’s here,” she whispered. “He’s waiting for me.”
“He has been for some while. Makes more noise than La…”
She looked at him and her eyes were pleading. “Please release me. Please, I beg you. I beg you with all my heart and soul. Please release me and let me go to him.”
“Maybe this man is your lover. Maybe you’re sneaking away so General Yovington won’t hear of this.”
“Are all your brains in your trousers?” she hissed. “Isn’t there more in life to you than this?” She gestured, meaning his body on hers.
He looked surprised. “Many things mean more to me than…this.”
“He’s leaving. Oh, my God, he’s leaving.” At that Maddie became a frenzy of activity as she struggled to get away from him.
He watched her for a moment, easily holding her but fascinated by the fact that she would fight him so hard. Whatever she wanted, she wanted it very, very much.
“Anything,” she choked out through a mixture of tears and rage and desperation. “I will give you anything if you’ll let me go to him alone. Money. Jewels. I’ll…I’ll…” She looked into his eyes. “I’ll go to bed with you if you let me have thirty minutes alone with him.”
At that, he rolled off her and sat up. “Go,” he said softly. “I will give you thirty minutes, then I come after you. Understand?”
Quick tears came to her eyes. “Thank you,” she murmured, and started running up the steep hill, tripping over branches, a scrub oak scraping her face, falling ag
ainst a rock and bruising her hands, but never even pausing in her scramble up the hill.
He watched her until she was out of sight, then leaned back against a tree and listened. He could hear when she found the man, and for some reason he gave a small smile. Somehow, it was gratifying to know she had received what she so much wanted.
And what was it she wanted, he wondered. What was she after? All in all, just what in the world was going on around this woman? The longer he knew her, the more she seemed to resemble the eye of a cyclone, with people and events moving around her. He wondered if she knew about the other men following her, about the Indian, and the man even farther away than the Indian.
He listened and could hear the raised voice of the man. ’Ring was on his feet instantly. Whoever the man was, relative, friend, or enemy, he wasn’t going to be allowed to harm her. ’Ring hadn’t taken ten steps when an arrow came sailing into the tree in front of him. Instantly, he dropped to his belly and reached for his revolver, but it wasn’t there.
He looked around him but could see no one, hear nothing. The arrow was a warning, he knew that, for if it’d been meant to, that arrow would have hit him. But a warning of what? To stay away from the woman? If so, why hadn’t the Indian shot when ’Ring had been wrestling with her? Was the arrow a warning to leave the singer alone with this man?
Slowly, cautiously, while searching the trees for any sign of the Indian, he stood and put his hand on the arrow, then pulled it from the tree. Crow, he thought. Odd, for the Crow weren’t a violent people. In fact, frequently the Crow welcomed the whites, ’Ring knew, because the whites brought wonderful goods that the Crow could steal—and they were thieves of the first caliber. ’Ring had heard that they could take a man’s horse and leave him sitting in the saddle.
He looked at the arrow, at the little steel tip. Indians today liked firearms, but often used a bow and arrow when they wanted to be quiet. This Indian didn’t seem to mind that ’Ring knew he was there, but either he didn’t want the woman to know—or she knew already. And the Indian didn’t seem to want ’Ring to interfere with whatever she was doing.
He lifted the arrow in a silent salute to the Indian then slipped it into one of his tall moccasins as he heard the woman who called herself LaReina come down the hill. His blood was dried on her habit, her hands and neck were scratched, and he imagined she had a few other bruises on her as well.