Romancing the Wilderness: American Wilderness Series Boxed Bundle Books 1 - 3 Read online

  Martha glared back at her with as much anger as fear in her eyes and her little hands shook, but she still clung protectively to her two younger sisters. Jane knew Martha would fight Bomazeen herself to protect them. The courage shown by her seven-year-old awed her. In that moment, she realized what she had to do.

  She put herself between the girls and Bomazeen. “Do you need water?”

  Bomazeen grunted, continuing to greedily gorge on the bread and ham.

  She moved slowly to the water pail. Spotting her cooking knife on the counter, she picked it up, hoping he hadn’t noticed. She would try that first. She dipped some water and took it to him. Her hand shook so badly much of the water flung out.

  Bomazeen snatched the dipper from her, but then grabbed her other wrist. “You think you can whip me with little old cooking knife? Stupid woman. I’ve been cut many times, but I’m still hunting you whites. You can’t kill me. Indian magic protects me.” He threw the knife into the fire before slapping her face hard, nearly knocking her over. The imprint of his hand burned her skin, but disgust from the fiend’s touch really made her smolder.

  Then he reached for her, squeezing her arm painfully, and prepared to slap her again. Suddenly, he stopped short. He groaned what seemed like disappointment, and twisted his pursed lips.

  She recoiled at the daggers of evil his narrowed eyes hurled at her. Then she glanced toward her daughters and her heart strengthened again. Angry that she’d let him see her get the knife, she ignored her stinging cheek. Her Scottish temper rose to the surface, repressing her fear. “Sir, we are protected by the Lord Almighty, who is stronger than your heathen superstitions. He will speedily avenge any blood you spill upon this family.”

  “I not afraid of your God. I kill whites and Indians many times. He never hurt me.”

  “He will—in hell.”

  Bomazeen snorted loudly. “A story for weak children.”

  Rather than rile him further, she reined in her temper. “What do you want?”

  “Your oldest girl will make good slave.” He pointed at Martha. “And Chief needs a woman. I spied you once near town when I was passing through to southern tribes. I knew then that I could get good price for you. Chief will like red hair. He already smoked his pipe to make you his wife and he celebrated joining to your spirit.”

  “I’ll die first,” Jane swore.

  Bomazeen jabbed a dirty finger in her face. “Then you’ll die.”

  At that, Polly’s echoing sobs froze her heart like a thousand cold winters.

  Stephen, if I never see you again, remember I loved you.

  Chapter 5

  Stephen pulled into Durham as the sun slipped behind the western side of the White Mountains. Spring still hadn’t overcome the evening chill, and it felt cool enough tonight that they might even wake up to a light frost. Well-dressed shoppers, slaves, servants, horses, dogs, and assorted peddlers crowded the busy city’s streets. He stabled his team at the livery barn and then headed across the cobblestone square to Harry’s Tavern and Inn, where he planned to eat a nice meal and spend the night.

  As he walked, his thoughts turned from food to Jane. As usual, he missed her already.

  The popular inn was, as always, crowded and loud, and its distinctive smell, a blend of aromatic food, musky men, and oak burning in the enormous fireplace, assaulted his nostrils as he went in. In addition to drinking and eating, the mostly male clientele used the tavern to unwind, smoke their pipes, read the latest newspaper, play billiards, share gossip, argue endlessly about politics, and lately to learn news of travelers who had gone west. He noticed one of Harry’s most popular drinks sitting on many of the tables. Called a ‘Flip’ it was a potent concoction of beer and New England rum, sweetened with molasses. The tavern owner plunged a red-hot iron into the brew, giving it the flavor of burnt sugar.

  Several men he had known since his youth shouted or waved their welcomes as he entered. Looking for a place to sit, he spotted Bear. His best friend and adopted brother’s stature and bright coppery hair made the man hard to miss.

  “Stephen, it’s a fine surprise to be seein’ ye. I just ambled in meself,” Bear said in his booming Scottish lilt. He stood to shake hands, towering over Stephen.

  He shook Bear’s strong hand, nearly twice the size of his own, then sat. “What are you doing in Durham? You hate big cities, and I thought you were hunting. If I’d known you planned to come here, we might have traveled together.”

  “I had to see the doc about a tooth that suddenly made me want to weep like a wee bairn. He pulled it and told me to go drink a few sassafras ales to dull the pain. A fine doctor that one. He knows what good medicine tastes like.” Bear gulped his ale with relish. “I should have gone by to tell ye before I left, but I was hurtin’ so, I dinna want to see or talk to anyone, even you.”

  “Glad you’re here. It’ll give us a chance to talk.” Stephen valued his friend’s opinions. Bear’s keen intellect had a way of getting to the meat of a matter. And despite his coarse appearance, he possessed the qualities of a scholar, having acquired an excellent education as a child beside a peat fire in a lonely Highland glen.

  “Aye, and a chance to swig a few ales, if ye have a mind to.”

  “After that wagon ride through those windy ass hills, I’m ready for a good meal and some of Harry’s ale. It made me appreciate that old story about Grandfather Thomas.”

  “Your grandfather was a Samuel.”

  “My father’s grandfather. The one that was a Scots Coventeer and had to leave Scotland in 1685 because he refused to swear allegiance to the English king. Tradition has it that even at age eighty, Grandpa Thomas frequently drove his ox team to the nearest market town, and none of the other farmers could get there any quicker than he. Or unload their wagons any faster than he did.”

  “Aye, that sounds like one of yer braw kinsmen,” Bear laughed. “Are Jane and the wee ones well now?”

  “Beautiful and stubborn—the whole lot of them.” He smiled as he thought about how enchanting Jane looked in the moonlight last night after she woke him. He wanted to think about the rest of what she did to him, but Bear was asking him a question.

  “So what brings ye to Durham then?”

  Stephen cleared his throat. “Jane needed cloth to make the girls some new clothes. They’ve about outgrown everything. I needed supplies too and I heard they have new spring grass seed,” he explained. “But I’m finding it difficult to think about planting.”

  Bear chuckled, nodding. “Nay, ye’re na inclined to farming much.”

  “True, God knows, but that’s not the reason.”

  “Well, don’t be making me guess, what is it then?”

  “I’m thinking about heading west. To Kentucky.”

  Bear’s coppery brows rose and his eyes widened on his ruddy face. “Truly? ‘Tis a bold move. I would consider it meself. Heard tell ‘tis a hunter’s paradise. Temptin’.”

  “As you well know, it’s been my dream to find better land. Personal danger seems but a minor consequence compared to the opportunity to secure rich land. But I worry about Jane and the girls. How can I put their lives in jeopardy?” he asked, already feeling his jaw clench.

  “Well, the key to safety will be to travel in a large, well-armed group. If ye decide to go, I’d be pleased to be a part of it,” Bear offered.

  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 jus
t 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 backward 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.