Rosamunda's Revenge Page 7

  The horse grunted and twisted its neck to stare at her. The animal looked aggrieved, and Tacita felt guilty. And frustrated.

  “I’m sorry,” she muttered.

  Still, she needed to get to her beloved Rosamunda, and quickly. She guessed it was silly of her to think she could gallop to the rescue. She couldn’t let go of the mules’ ropes, after all, unless she wanted to risk all their supplies, and she knew Jed would never forgive her if she did that. Besides, without supplies they might die.

  This living-in-the-wilderness-with-the-noble-savages nonsense wasn’t all like Rousseau and some of those other novelist fellows made it out to be. Tacita decided she really ought to write to a few of the ones who were still alive and set them straight on the matter.

  “Oh, bother. I guess I’ll just have to follow at a fast walk.”

  So she did, her nerves rampaging like irate buffaloes with each jogging step her mare took. The mules looked as irritated as the horse about having to step up their pace. Tacita hoped they’d all forgive her.

  # # #

  All at once the wagon gave a tremendous jerk, and Rosamunda had to scramble for balance, no mean feat with her back legs still tied together. Still, as her center of gravity was fairly low and since she was a naturally graceful animal—she was, after all, a champion—she soon regained her equilibrium. Her teeth also regained the rope binding her ankles together. She chewed doggedly.

  She heard Mr. Cesare hollering at his mules, trying to speed them up. Then she heard Jed’s rumbling bass voice, carrying over the thunder of crunching wagon wheels and pounding hooves. She realized how worried she’d been when she felt a rush of pleasure at the sound of his voice.

  “Pull up, Pickywicker, you damned bastard!”

  Although she deplored Jed’s language, Rosamunda discovered she couldn’t fault his sentiments. Her little heart soared when she realized Mistress must have sent him out to rescue her. She was sure he’d never have bothered on his own.

  “Never!” her captor hollered back.

  She renewed her efforts on the rope.

  Suddenly, the wagon came to a shuddering halt and Rosamunda found herself upended. She tumbled back into her rough burlap prison. Then she felt herself and her bag being lifted into the air, and began yipping in terror and fury. The sack swayed back and forth in the air, and she had to scramble to keep upright.

  “I’ve got the animal!” she heard the villain holler, and gave another shrill yip. She didn’t appreciate being called an animal. “Don’t do anything stupid and you can have her back again.”

  “I’m not the stupid one here, Picklepoop.” Jed sounded really, really angry. Rosamunda almost didn’t blame him, even if he was a beast and a brute. “You hand that blasted dog over, or you’ll be breathing lead.”

  “Ha!” cried Mr. Cesare, in what Rosamunda considered an entirely too-confident manner, considering his foe evidently had a gun aimed at him. “You shoot me, you shoot this dog, too!”

  Rosamunda felt herself being jerked forward again. This was really abominably uncomfortable. She didn’t appreciate being manhandled any more than she liked being called “the animal.” Her yips turned into ferocious growls.

  “Put that sack down right now, Piccalilli!”

  “Never! Miss Grantham’s precious dog is in it, and if you shoot me, you’ll shoot it!” He laughed, sounding mildly hysterical.

  Rosamunda was feeling moderately hysterical herself. She didn’t like being used as a shield. Not one little bit. Particularly since she wasn’t sure Jed would honor Mistress’s sentiments in this matter and spare her.

  Sure enough, Jed said, “Ha! If you think I care about that hairy rat, Peckernapple, you’ve got another think coming. I’d as soon shoot it as you, so just hand it over.”

  That was enough for Rosamunda. Furious at both of these ugly, horrible men, she scrambled for the hole she’d gnawed in the sack earlier in the day and wriggled herself free.

  “Hey!”

  She didn’t have time to savor Mr. Cesare’s startled cry, or the look of astonishment on his face, before she launched herself at his throat.

  Chapter 5

  Tacita gave Rosamunda some water and some of the meat she’d demanded from Mr. Cesare—which, in Rosamunda’s opinion, was the very least she should have demanded from him. For her money, the scoundrel deserved a noose at least, even if there wasn’t a tree handy to hang him from.

  Jedediah Hardcastle confiscated all of the Gypsy’s weapons, much as he’d done the night before, only this time, he threatened to keep them if he didn’t promise not to bother them again. Rosamunda thought it a foolish promise to exact. After all, the fellow obviously possessed not a shred of honor in his soul. Did Jed really expect him to respect such a promise? After that Jed bandaged the fiend’s wounds, which Rosamunda considered completely superfluous. Then he gave the kidnapper a good hot lecture.

  She figured Mr. Cesare deserved a lot more than a lecture, and would have glared at the both of them if she’d not been so busy slurping up water and eating good beef. The ghastly man had snatched her before she’d even eaten her breakfast!

  Jed unloaded Mr. Cesare’s guns, promising to shoot him dead if he ever dared show his brisket—whatever that was—on the trail again. Rosamunda figured that would be entirely too late to perform such a service to humanity. She was not in a position to object, however, as she didn’t possess opposable thumbs herself and, therefore, couldn’t shoot him herself now, which is what he deserved.

  Then they remounted, Tacita settled Rosamunda in her arms, and they continued their journey.

  “Oh, my poor precious darling. My sweet, wonderful, beautiful girl. Are you all right, darling?”

  No. She wasn’t all right. Rosamunda snuggled more closely to Tacita and buried her head in her armpit. Tacita’s adoring caresses helped, but Rosamunda was still more shaken up than she liked to admit.

  “Rosie’ll be all right,” Jed said, sounding a little impatient.

  Rosamunda jerked her head out of its sanctuary and scowled at his buckskinned back. She’d like to skin him. As if he knew anything about the tribulations she’s just endured! And if he didn’t stop calling her Rosie, she was going to chew his arm off.

  “Her name is Rosamunda, Mr. Hardcastle. And she’s been through a terrible ordeal,” Tacita said, her voice throbbing with passion. Rosamunda kissed her for it. “How can you be so callous?”

  Even from the sanctuary of Tacita’s arms, Rosamunda could hear Jed sigh.

  “I didn’t mean to sound callous, Miss Grantham.” Now he sounded merely resigned. Rosamunda didn’t consider it much of an improvement.

  They were headed back to the river. When she lifted her weary head, Rosamunda could see it, threading along through the endless brown prairie like a long, shimmering muddy-gray snake. Scrub brush and some stubby trees grew near the water, but even they only looked to be a darker shade of brown against the relentless tan of the plains. This place was unfriendly and dreadful, and Rosamunda couldn’t wait until they were out of it. She whined dejectedly.

  “I don’t know why you let that awful man go, Mr. Hardcastle.”

  Rosamunda didn’t, either. She considered Jed’s lenience to a dreadful villain nigh unto wicked. To show Mistress how much she appreciated her, she snuggled into her armpit again. Tacita cooed and petted her some more.

  “What do you think I should have done with him?” Now Jed sounded beleaguered. Rosamunda sniffed and didn’t feel the least bit sorry for him.

  “Well, I don’t know. But he’s a criminal and a kidnapper, and you should have—have arrested him or something.”

  “Ma’am, there’s no place around here to take somebody I’ve arrested—especially somebody with a wagon and a whole load of beef he claims he has to get to Fort Sumner—”

  “Humph. I just bet he was lying about that, too.”

  “—and, anyway, I’m not a lawman. I can’t just go around arresting people for no reason.”

  “No r
eason? Why, that awful man stole my dog!”

  “Well, I can’t go around arresting people for stealing dogs, then.”

  “And why not?”

  Jed turned in his saddle and glanced back at Rosamunda and Tacita. His face wore an expression of long-suffering patience. Rosamunda wanted to bite him.

  “Hell—hallelujah, ma’am, I figure the man’s been punished enough. That dog of yours blasted near chewed his ears off. Not to mention his fingers. And she gnawed a hole in his neck, too.”

  And quite proud of it she was, too. After curling her lip at Jed to show him what she thought of his reasoning, Rosamunda preened.

  Tacita humphed once more. “It’s no more than he deserved.”

  Jed’s eyes narrowed slightly. Then he said, “Maybe,” and turned around again.

  “I don’t know why you went to the bother of bandaging his neck, though. After what he did, he didn’t deserve such consideration.”

  “Aw, hell-hello, ma’am, what he did was wrong, but I don’t think he’s a really bad man. I’ve met plenty of hardened bandits in my day, and I can tell you that they’re a different breed altogether. This Picklenisckle fellow just looks like an opportunist to me. I figure he’s suffered enough already.” He gave Rosamunda another look, which she returned darkly.

  “Well, I think you should have either left him to take care of his own wounds or arrested him. Humph. It would serve him right if he’d bled to death.”

  Rosamunda heartily approved of Tacita’s bloodthirsty sentiments and licked her chin to let her know it.

  “Ma’am, the only way to get a lawbreaker to justice out here is to shoot him and sling him over a horse. Believe me, if you’d ever smelled a corpse after it’s been hangin’ around in the sun for a couple of days, you’d wish you hadn’t.”

  Rosamunda swallowed and wrinkled her nose. So did Tacita. Neither of them said anything.

  “Even if I tied him up and managed to get him and his wagon and mule to a sheriff somewhere, I don’t reckon the law in these parts would care much about a fellow who stole a dog. They got bigger things to worry about. I mean, it ain’t—isn’t like he took a horse or our food or something important.”

  Rosamunda heard Tacita gasp and felt her begin to quiver with indignation. She didn’t blame her. She was pretty indignant herself.

  “Well, I never!” Tacita huffed, and subsided into offended silence. Rosamunda joined her, mostly because she wanted all of Mistress’s attention for herself and didn’t care to have her wasting any more of it on Jedediah Hardcastle, who didn’t deserve it.

  # # #

  Jed was happy when they finally got back to the Rio Peñasco and the shelter of the trees growing along its banks. There weren’t very many of them, but they provided a modicum of shade. It was getting hotter than a sun-bathing horny toad as the day progressed. He sighed in satisfaction when the horses and mules trudged into the trees and he felt the temperature drop several degrees. Because he knew one must take care of his animals in this hard land before he did anything else, he decided to let them refresh themselves at the river for a few minutes.

  In order to assuage Tacita who, he knew, was still mad at him for a variety of reasons, he said in his best, most conciliatory voice, “Would you like to dismount for a little while, ma’am? I know you want to make sure your dog is all right. I can water the horses and give ‘em a handful of grain.” In a fit of unfamiliar expansiveness, he added, “Reckon we could eat something, too.”

  He knew his afterthought had been a mistake when she said, “Well, I’m glad you think about your charges occasionally at least.”

  The frost in her voice dropped the surrounding temperature several additional degrees. Because he didn’t want any more unpleasantness to accompany him on this very, very long journey than was absolutely necessary, he decided to respond moderately. And briefly.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  His control seemed to have a soothing effect on Tacita. She still sounded stiff, but wasn’t nearly as snippy when she said, “Very well.” As though the words choked her, she also said, “Thank you.”

  Pleased to have crossed the hurdle of her displeasure almost easily for once, Jed guessed he’d be wise to continue in a similar manner. “Would you like me to help you down off your horse, ma’am?” He eyed Rosamunda with misgiving, but decided he could weather another bite or two if the animal took it into its obviously addled and extremely small brain to attack him again.

  “Thank you very much, Mr. Hardcastle.”

  Jed expected Queen Victoria herself couldn’t have sounded as gracious and condescending as Tacita Grantham did just then. In a way, her attitude tickled him. Showed she had spirit, by damn, even if she was a city woman betrothed to a sissy Englishman. He also didn’t mind putting his hands around her waist again.

  So he did, lifting her down as if she were as light as a goose-down pillow. Which, all things considered, she pretty much was. No Amalie Crunch, Miss Tacita Grantham, that was for blamed sure.

  She looked at him with those big blue eyes of hers and honored him with another little “Thank you” that sounded less regal and rather more breathy, and Jed wondered if she found him even a fraction as appealing as he found her.

  No. Of course she didn’t. Jed told himself not to be silly. That was foolish thinking, and unproductive. Besides, he was an almost-engaged man and she was an almost-engaged woman, and it was ungenteel of him to harbor such thoughts. Not that he’d ever been particularly genteel, but still . . .

  “My pleasure, ma’am.” Especially since the rat didn’t bite him this time.

  “Oh, my, it’s much cooler in here, isn’t it?” Tacita looked adorably flushed as she fanned herself with her hand. The mutt in her arms was eyeing him malevolently, but Jed decided to ignore it.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He waited until she’d sat herself down on a big thrusting tree root and settled the animal on her lap. Then he handed her some jerky and a hard biscuit.

  “Thank you very much,” she said in a much softer tone of voice. Maybe she was getting over her huff. He sure hoped so.

  “I shall brush my darling’s hair after luncheon, too, since she got all ruffled while being such a good, brave puppy.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Jed said. He did so without even grimacing, and was proud of himself.

  Her brilliant smile almost knocked him dead. Maybe she wasn’t so hard to take after all. Maybe all he had to do was keep in mind that she was a woman uneducated in the ways of the wild, one who had no experience in the world and who honestly believed that dog of hers was the only thing on earth that loved her. He sure as the dickens hoped he could remember that the next time things got rough and she began screeching at him.

  Hope died abruptly when he heard a gruff, growly voice say, “Now what have we here? Why, I do believe I just found what I was looking for.”

  And, out of the trees on the other side of the river, a lone gunman on a big black horse emerged. The gun in his hand was aimed directly at Jed’s most prized vital organ and looked as big as a cannon.

  Tacita leapt to her feet and uttered a stifled scream.

  Rosamunda yipped.

  Jed let his chin drop to his chest and muttered, “Aw, hell.”

  Chapter 6

  Tacita’s mouth had gone dry and her heartbeat sped up as soon as she felt Jed’s hands on her waist. When he lifted her from her saddle as if she weighed nothing at all, she had to hold her breath so she wouldn’t swoon.

  He was so big. And when he wasn’t making her angry, he made her feel incredibly safe. Of course, she’d never tell him so. He already had an inflated head. Nevertheless, she was impressed that he’d managed to effect the rescue of Rosamunda with so relatively little difficulty.

  Tacita wasn’t sure what she’d do without Rosamunda. Or even if she could do without her. She certainly didn’t fancy finding out. But Jed hadn’t failed her. He truly was adept at this frontiersmanship nonsense.

  Her heart was still fluttering in
her bosom when the gunman appeared. Then it stopped fluttering instantly and sank like a stone. Her recoil was involuntary and immediate, and she squeezed Rosamunda so hard, the poor love squealed.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Precious.”

  Tacita didn’t dare take her attention away from set foot in a city again.

  “What the hell do you want?” Jed growled.

  Tacita, worried lest this latest villain take exception to his rough question, reached out with her foot and kicked him. He barked out an annoyed, “Ow!” and glared down at her. She glared back. Rosamunda growled.

  “Never you mind what the hell I want, damn it,” the intruder said. Tacita deplored the foul language both of these men employed.

  “Who in the name of thunder are you?”

  “My handle’s Farley Boskins, not that it’s any of your business.”

  “Reckon it is my business, Boskins. You just made it my business.”

  “Be quiet, Mr. Hardcastle!” Tacita hissed. “The man’s got a gun!”

  Jed looked at her for a second as though he’d just discovered she had two heads. He grumbled, “I can see that, Miss Grantham.”

  “Well, then, for heaven’s sake, don’t annoy him!”

  Jed rolled his eyes and snorted.

  Their captor chuckled. “It don’t matter none, ma’am. None of his lip ain’t gonna bother me none nohow.”

  It took her a moment to sift through the words the man had uttered, rearrange them into various grammatical orders, and pick one that made sense. When she’d done that, she determined that he was telling her that he didn’t mind if Jed snarled at him. Small comfort. Still, it was better than watching him shoot Jedediah Hardcastle and seeing Jed fall dead at her feet. When the dismal possibility entered her head, she shuddered, wishing her mind’s eye’s vision wasn’t so acute.

  Her horror increased when the stranger dismounted and walked over to her, grinning evilly. She scooted away from him until she was flat up against the trunk of a large oak tree.