Wilderness Trail of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 1) Page 4

  Bear’s offer did not surprise him and his family would be safer with his adopted brother along. “If we decide to go, there is no man I would rather have join us.”

  “I’m honored. Are yer brothers inclined to be going to Kentucky as well?”

  “Sam for sure. Like you, he doesn’t have a family to worry about and he’s been restless lately. He needs a challenge. Footloose William would go anywhere the rest of us go. After losing Diana, John needs a place to start over. But Edward is unwilling to attempt a trip this difficult. I don’t know if he’s being cautious or cowardly. Sam thinks him a coward.”

  “Nay, he isna a coward—he’s just na an adventurer like Sam. Edward is uncomfortable without four walls around him. I think he would be a burden to ye, if ye dinna mind me freely speakin’.”

  “I expect you to speak freely.”

  “I sense you still have some doubts.”

  “What if the land is not all it’s purported to be? Maybe it’s only a hunter’s paradise. What if I can’t make a decent living there? I won’t be a failure.”

  “Och, ye’re na capable of failing. Worse is to na try at all. Those who do na attempt that which is difficult are the real failures, and the real cowards. They’ll always wonder what might have been—what they might have done. They’ll be the ones with regrets at life’s end. Ye’re na a man to flee from a challenge or to give in to fear.”

  “But I must be logical about this decision.”

  “Aye, Stephen, to be sure. And it’s understandable to be torn. But some decisions require more than reasonableness. A courageous man does na do a great deed because it is reasonable. Like tossing the caber in Scotland, this is a test of your strength. A brave man acts out of faith and courage and tosses the caber as far as he possibly can.”

  He stared at his big friend. Bear’s wisdom sometimes seemed as grand as his physical size. As he had done with Sam, he let Bear’s words sink in, and again his courage strengthened.

  “Are you gents hungry or just thirsty?” Harry put a pint of ale in front of each of them.

  “Harry meet my adopted brother Daniel McKee. We call him Bear,” he said.

  “I’ve heard of you. You’re that wolf and bear hunter,” Harry said, quickly wiping his wet hands on his stain-covered apron before shaking Bear’s outstretched hand. Harry turned to Stephen. “How long have you known Bear?”

  “Since he was a cub,” he answered.

  Bear and Harry both laughed.

  “That’s an…interesting neck adornment you wear Bear.” Harry stared wide-eyed at Bear’s neck.

  The impressive band of assorted huge teeth and claws, some more than four inches long, frightened nearly everyone who saw it.

  Stephen remembered one man it had literally scared off. The man had stopped at the Barrington tavern while traveling through New Hampshire. He became curious about Bear’s unusual neck adornment and inquired as to its origin. William, who often told tall tales, especially to unsuspecting strangers, jumped in and explained why Bear wore it. William told the man, well on his way to inebriation, that his adopted brother had been orphaned and raised by a she bear. William said Bear was so much like his namesake, and knew so much about them, that it was probable that the giant was half bear himself.

  Bear, who had been thoroughly enjoying William’s embellishment of his ancestry and childhood, while having an abundance of ale himself, roared exactly like a bear, glaring down fiercely at the diminutive man.

  It was just too much for the man. He hurried away, stumbling over chairs in his attempt to escape. Bear and William had laughed for an hour after he’d left.

  “I’ve kept one tooth and one claw from each bear I’ve killed as a tribute to them,” Bear told Harry, who still stood staring, clearly mesmerized by the intimidating collection.

  “I know folks around here are grateful that you’ve thinned them out some,” Harry said. “Bears and people don’t mix well.”

  “But they are the unmistakable kings of the forest,” Bear said adamantly. “They command respect both for their uncanny stealth and for their courage. I’ve learned to respect and understand them. I’ve seen them climb a 100-foot tree in seconds and there’s an old Indian sayin’: a needle falls in the forest, the eagle sees it, a deer hears it, but the bear smells it. Aye, he smells fear too. To be a good hunter, or a good fighter, you can never let your adversary smell fear.”

  Wise words, Stephen thought. His stomach growled. It had been a long time since breakfast. “I’ll have your pot pie Harry,” he ordered. “What’s new in Durham?”

  Harry’s expression grew serious. “Nothing big except that devil Bomazeen.”

  The name hung heavy between them, a sudden dark threat. Stephen glanced at Bear, who also appeared dismayed to hear the name.

  “He’s back?” Stephen asked in disbelief.

  “Where? When?” Bear nearly demanded.

  “Sorry to say, near your neck of the woods. Just heard of it. He left his usual calling card—scalped a widow named Andrews and slit her throat. As if that weren’t enough, he ran her through with a bayonet. Stole her few valuables. Something’s brought the devil back. Probably looking to steal slaves to trade. She was too old to be of any use to him, poor soul, so he just did away with her. Now they think he must have been the one that stole young Lucy MacGyver.”

  “Mrs. Andrews, she lived not more than five miles from my farm,” Stephen said. His mind and his heart raced and his nerves tensed. “My God. Forget the pot pie, Harry. I’m leaving.” He leapt up from his wooden chair, knocking it over.

  “It’s dangerous traveling at night,” Harry protested, while righting the chair. “Wait till morning.”

  A sense of foreboding filled Stephen, as he gathered his weapons. Jane. His girls. Please God, keep them safe. He needed to go now.

  I’m coming, Jane.

  “You’ll need to eat,” Harry said, “Take this loaf of bread with you.”

  “My thanks,” Stephen muttered hastily, as he started off, rushing toward the door.

  “I’ll go with ye,” Bear offered, tossing money on the table, and following Stephen out.

  “No, I’ll need the loan of your steed. My wagon will be too slow,” Stephen shouted over his shoulder as he wove his way through the noisy tavern.

  “Aye. My new horse is a good stout geldin’. Keep him at a slow lope and ye can ride all night long,” Bear said as they started across the square.

  “Bear, I need those supplies. Could you get them for me and then come as soon as you can?”

  Stephen started to sprint and Bear managed to keep up.

  “Aye. Give me yer list. Tomorrow’s morn I’ll be at their door and then on me way.”

  Within moments, he and Bear rushed inside the livery barn, lit with a small hanging oil lamp. He gobbled the bread while Bear quickly saddled the big horse and shortened the stirrups. The food made his stomach feel as if he had swallowed a rock, but he forced himself to wolf it down since he hadn’t eaten all day. As Bear handed him the gelding’s reins, the anxious look on his friend’s face told him he understood Stephen’s apprehension.

  “God’s speed, my friend,” Bear said, as Stephen mounted and took off.

  He rode all night, through a stiff breeze and damp chill. But worry kept his mind from noticing the cold. He alternated between thinking about what might be in the dark forest ahead and desperately praying for his family. Jane’s face kept coming into his mind. Normally the vision brought him pure joy, but tonight every image made his gut knot tighter. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her.

  Every mile through the night’s black silence made him more uneasy. His jaw tightened so much it ached and his back muscles, already tired from his wagon trip that day, felt hard as rock. He focused so intensely on the dark trail ahead even his eyes began to hurt. He couldn’t help but remember the dozens of vanished lives and recall the tragic testimonies of the few survivors of Bomazeen’s raids. If he had known Bomazeen was anywhere near his
home, he would never have left Jane and the girls alone.

  Catching a glimpse of a horse and rider coming up the fork to the right, he reined the big gelding in hard, pulling him to an abrupt stop. “Who goes there?” he yelled, pistol drawn. Although nearly sunrise, it was still dark and difficult to see.

  “Stephen, it’s me,” Sam yelled back.

  A few moments later, his brother lined his tall steed up next to Stephen.

  “Bomazeen is back. He killed again. I just warned John. I was riding to warn you. I didn’t recognize you on that dun mount,” Sam explained.

  “Borrowed him from Bear so I could get back from Durham faster.”

  Bear’s horse snorted, the hot air from his nostrils sending puffs of vapor into the cool air. Sam’s gelding, also ridden hard, did the same, filling the darkness between the two men with a ghostly mist.

  “Bear is bringing my team and supplies. I left Durham as soon as I heard about Bomazeen. Rode all night,” he explained, trying hard to hold his emotions in check.

  “Guns loaded?” Sam asked.

  “Yes. Both.”

  “Good. Don’t worry, we’ll be there soon.”

  “God, don’t let it be too late.” Stephen kicked the big horse and gave him his rein.

  Sam rode close beside him.

  The hooves of both steeds thundered at the same pace as his racing heart.

  CHAPTER 6

  Taking his time, Bomazeen slowly skulked closer to Jane.

  She saw foul lust building on his face, as he stared at her like a wolf ready to devour its prey. It caused her stomach to churn with disgust.

  His lips parted, revealing a narrow pointed tongue. He touched himself and his lascivious eyes clouded with animalistic desire. The thought of him touching her made her skin crawl.

  Appalled, she stepped backwards until she felt the wall against her back. She frantically searched for something to use to defend herself. She spied the musket by the door and darted towards it.

  But it was too far away.

  Bomazeen quickly followed. She felt his hand grab the back of her neck. He shoved her to the floor, then rolled her over. One hand still held her throat as he grasped her bodice, tearing the garment to her waist, and exposing her breasts. His eyes widened and his mouth opened, revealing rotting teeth.

  She cringed as his long filthy nails traveled slowly across her breasts and felt her skin tear beneath his sordid touch.

  She cried out as he grabbed her hair with one hand, using it to pin her against the floor. As she bucked and kicked, fighting with every ounce of strength she could summon, she felt her hair tearing from her scalp, her roots ripping.

  “Stop fighting or I’ll just scalp this hair off your head and be done with it,” he threatened.

  It was no idle threat. The evidence hung from his belt. She forced herself to quit resisting, at least for the moment. But her anger continued to escalate.

  Then he released her hair, grasped her wrists, and with one hand planted them firmly above her head, before reaching for the ties of his leather breeches.

  She wanted to vomit the revulsion exploding inside her. This cannot be happening, she screamed inside her head. It can’t. I won’t let it. She twisted and turned against his weight.

  Bomazeen reached under her gown. His hand moved quickly. Too quickly.

  Jane released her shock and horror in a shrieking scream.

  Little Mary woke and began to cry loudly. The baby’s crying seemed to reverberate through the terror in the room making the sound nearly deafening.

  She struggled against the pressure of his body trying to force her legs apart. She had never felt anger so intensely. Then her fury escalated even further.

  Obviously distracted by the baby’s intense squealing, Bomazeen growled like an angry animal and stood, keeping a grip on her wrists. He turned toward the cradle, a look of pure loathing contorting his face as he stomped toward the baby, dragging her along beside him.

  Extreme dread instantly filled her. Would this beast kill Mary to silence her? God, help us, she begged silently.

  She resisted with all her might and weight trying to stop him, but the man was strong and he held her wrist with a deathlike grip. But she had to stop him. As Bomazeen neared the baby, she jumped to her feet, snatched Mary into her free arm, and clutched her infant daughter protectively against her exposed breasts. “Leave my baby alone,” she shouted fiercely.

  “Bitch.” Bomazeen released Jane and tore the baby from her arms.

  “No!” she screamed, lunging at him with a wild frenzy as she tried to take her daughter back, tears of rage burning her eyes.

  Bomazeen put his hand around the baby’s throat and held the infant out at arm’s length, away from her.

  She thrashed about wildly, trying to reach her daughter, but Bomazeen kept the baby just out of her reach. Her throat tightened as desperation filled her. She had to save her baby. “Please,” she begged.

  Mary’s little legs dangled like a rag doll’s as the devil just sneered at her, and continued to taunt her with the wailing child.

  She struck out, but he caught her arm midair, then painfully twisted it behind her back. He hoisted Mary in the air like a trophy. When he raised his arm back preparing to toss the infant, all three girls screamed in alarm and Jane felt her heart stop.

  Seeming to take great pleasure in frightening the little girls, Bomazeen’s evil sneer broadened. He tightened his grip around Mary’s throat and squeezed. He dangled her again, tormenting her sisters.

  This time, anger trumped fear and Martha ran towards him, her little arms outstretched, clearly intent on grabbing Mary away from Bomazeen. “No, no, no,” Martha screamed.

  Bomazeen released a sinister cackle and took a step backward, closer to the cradle, maintaining his hold on Jane, and nearly twisting her arm out of its socket. All she could do was watch, helpless, as Martha struggled to reach her tiny sister.

  Bomazeen dangled the baby just above Martha’s head, mocking the child’s desperate efforts by raising Mary further up every time Martha nearly touched her sister. He smirked at her oldest daughter. “Is this what you want? You’re a little wildcat, like your Ma.”

  The madman’s actions made Jane furious, but worse, she feared he would tire of his cruel game and just kill Martha.

  “Leave my sister alone!” Martha screamed. Her oldest child repeated the pitiful plea over and over.

  Jane saw her chance. Martha’s act of bravery provided her with a needed distraction.

  As Bomazeen continued with his cruel taunting, she slowly stretched her free arm towards the cradle. Every inch of movement caused her other shoulder extreme agony but she would not stop no matter how badly it hurt. She desperately felt for the pistol she always hid underneath the cradle’s mattress when Stephen was gone. She found it! Gritting her jaw, she took a slow steadying breath to calm her fury. She was left-handed and held the pistol in her right. She prayed her aim would be true as she cocked the weapon.

  Bomazeen turned towards the sound to face the barrel of her firearm.

  In that frozen instant, his malicious expression changed, as if his face turned to stone.

  She desperately wanted to fire, but Bomazeen held Mary in front of him and held her at an awkward angle, making the pain in her shoulder excruciating.

  Then his expression changed again. The stone came to life with the cold blood of evil. “You bitch. You can’t kill me.” He turned toward her and prepared to heave Mary at the weapon.

  Horrified, the mother in Jane rose above her own fear. As his arm came back, she fired.

  The ball’s impact threw Bomazeen backward.

  Mary flew out of Bomazeen’s hand. Through the smoke of the gunpowder, she saw her baby falling in what seemed like slow motion.

  Martha lunged forward to catch her sister.

  The baby landed in Martha’s arms, breaking her fall. As Martha and Bomazeen both fell to the floorboards, Jane heard a loud thud as the devil’s head h
it the wood floor.

  She gathered Martha and a screaming Mary up in her arms, sobbing in dismay at the sight of blood splattered on her baby. Her hands flew across Mary’s face and head, then her arms and legs, desperately wiping at the blood, searching for injuries. Mary wasn’t bleeding. It was Bomazeen’s blood.

  She quickly put Mary back in Martha’s arms and stood. Grabbing Bomazeen by both hands, she lugged him toward the door, but pain flared in her strained shoulder. She could only use one arm to pull him. She struggled for some time, against his dead weight, but finally managed, a few inches at a time, to get him out of her home. She glared down at his bleeding head, as he lay motionless on the porch.

  She blinked hard and shook his revolting image from her head. She stumbled around his body, tripping on her skirt and fell next to Bomazeen’s reeking collection of scalps. A broken shard of her teacup cut her arm. Clutching the bleeding gash against her thundering heart, she hurried inside.

  She bolted the door and locked all the windows and shutters in their home. Her hands trembling, she reloaded her pistol, and tucked it inside her apron. Only then did she motion Martha, Amy and Polly to her side. Whimpering, they ran to her grabbing the folds of her gown with their little hands. “Mama, Mama,” they cried in unison.

  Martha buried her weeping face in Jane’s skirt as she gently lifted Mary from her daughter’s arms. “My brave Martha,” she said soothingly, as she stroked the girl’s head.

  Unable to stand another moment, Jane sank to her knees and the girls piled around her as she hugged each of them fiercely. She kissed their tear streaked faces blending their tears with her own. She needed to cry with them, needed to let the tears wash the terror from their hearts.

  Then her blood turned cold at the realization of what might have been their fate—the horror that Stephen would have come home to. She started to shake. Her knees weakened, her hands trembled, and her heart raced. She wanted to speak, to reassure her daughters, but her jaw quivered. She struggled to compose herself for the sake of her girls.

  She wiped tears away from her face with the back of her shaking hand. “Thank you Lord, thank you,” she finally managed to mutter.