Dark Trail Rising: Four Tales of the Old West Page 3

  "He ain't good, that's for sure." He scratched his head, and Ginny flinched at the 'ain't'.

  "Is there anything to be done for him?"

  Harley shook his head. "He's still pretty weak, but he says he can manage a pistol if he can just rest a spell."

  Arthur gave a grim nod. "Let's just hope those Apaches hold off a while so he can get rested, then."

  "They will," Harley said. "Now, they'll wait 'til it gets dark. Come back for their dead Then we'll see what other tricks they've got up their sleeve."

  Ginny gave a slight shudder. "Perhaps I should get dinner started."

  "You do that, Ginny," Harley said. "If I'm gonna meet my Maker, I want to do it on a full stomach."

  "Harley!" Ginny's hand flew to her mouth, and Arthur had to stop himself from stepping toward her. How easy it would be, he thought, to pull her close, hold her in his arms again, let her cry on his shoulder. But, that wasn't his position, and never would be again.

  Harley touched her hair. "Aw, Ginny, you know I don't mean anything. You're just jumpy." She nodded, quickly moving away from them toward the kitchen without answering.

  "Women." Harley shrugged and walked away, back toward the front of the building, leaving Arthur and Jeremy where they stood beside the boarded window.

  When Arthur glanced down at Jeremy, he was clutching the book again like a talisman, his fingers absently moving over the top of the binding. The blood had soaked in and dried. Fitting, Arthur thought. 'Bloody' was the best description of his reign. And it seemed to have followed him, even here—despite his best intentions.

  Tenderness welled in Arthur's chest as he watched Jeremy. The boy had lost so much. His parents, his home, all that was familiar—and now, his uncle. He was alone in the world, much as Arthur had been at his age. Elizabeth Franklin had been right—the lad would need his dreams—if he survived.

  Jeremy looked up, meeting Arthur's gaze with a look that Arthur understood before the boy uttered a word. Still, his breath stopped when the boy spoke.

  "You're him, aren't you? Arthur Pendragon. Arthur Pender. Ginny—Guinevere."

  "No, no—that's…foolishness, Jeremy. Just coincidence."

  But the boy shook his head, steadfast belief in his clear gray eyes. "It's not, though. The legend says you'll return. When the time is right and the need is the greatest, you'll come— That's what it says, sir."

  Arthur laid a palm on the boy's head. "I know," he said softly. "God help me, I know exactly what it says."

  "Please, save us, then!"

  Arthur's gut clenched at the boy's earnest plea. "Don't you think I would, if I could?" The anger at his impotence overrode all else, and the light dimmed in Jeremy's eyes. But Arthur didn't apologize. Jeremy stiffened at the rebuff and Arthur dropped his hand from the boy, turning away from him.

  Indecision had never plagued him. But now…now he didn't know what to do. This wasn't his time, or place. He had been born a king, cursed through the centuries. But in all the years the farce had been played out again and again, he'd never been in this position. This time was different. Ginny and Lance were both here—and this boy, Jeremy, with his innocence and goodness, his hopes for the future and dreams of the past, was somehow now his responsibility. He'd been responsible for soldiers and serfs, armies and citizens—civilization had been in his hands, at one point.

  And yet—

  It was the belief and trust of this one boy who trumped everything that had come before. Before that unthinkable deadly battle with Lance, he'd wanted nothing more than to keep the dream he'd begun alive and well throughout the centuries. It had seemed so important. He'd forgotten just how important, until he and Jeremy Davis boarded the same stagecoach.

  Chapter 5

  Ginny served the stew and cornbread with forced gaiety. Joe and Harley picked up their spoons as soon as she set their bowls down, but she cleared her throat and said, "Perhaps we should have a prayer for our bounty and for deliverance from the savages before we partake." She glanced at Arthur. "Would you mind saying the blessing, Mr. Pender?"

  Arthur schooled his features in a mask of bland remoteness. Ginny knew his faith in God had long vanished. Did she mock him?

  "I'll be happy to," he responded at last, bowing his head. How long had it been since he'd prayed? Did he even remember how it was done? "Dearest Father in Heaven, bless this food that has been so lovingly prepared by Thy humble servants. Watch over us and keep us safe, if it be Thy will. Grant us a miracle on this, the eve of Thy Son Jesus' birth. In His name we pray, Amen."

  "Amen," Ginny murmured, her voice breathless with emotion. When he glanced up at her, she turned away quickly, pretending to have forgotten something in the kitchen. Most likely, he thought with some shame, she was remembering another time. A time when he had the faith and belief in God that he now must pretend to keep.

  "I do hope Mr. Dodge recovers soon," Mrs. Franklin said. "The poultice we made for him should help."

  "I'm sure he will be feeling better by tomorrow morning," Ginny responded as she returned to the table. "I shall pray for him this evening."

  "Yeah, my Ginny's a big one for prayin'." Harley crumbled a piece of cornbread over the top of his stew, giving Ginny a grin and a wink. "It don't always help, but I reckon it makes her happy just the same."

  "We're gonna need all the help we can get tonight," Joe put in seriously.

  "Yeah," Harley muttered, becoming serious. "There's more of 'em this time than there's been before." He looked around at the faces at the table. "I saw Sky Eyes out there today—"

  Joe glared across the table at Elizabeth Franklin. "Yeah. I coulda had him if someone hadn't pushed my rifle up at the last minute."

  Mrs. Franklin was unperturbed. "Pass the salt, please, Mr. Danforth, will you? And just for the record, I didn't want you to do something you might regret later."

  Danforth handed her the salt, scowling. "With all due respect, Ma'am, if I'd not been interfered with, this whole thing might be over."

  "Or, Mr. Danforth, perhaps you might've brought down even more of their wrath by killing their leader. I wonder, is this Sky Eyes a man who might be reasoned with? He's a white man, with eyes like that."

  "Reasoned with? Ma'am, you saw what he was like out there today—ruthless, that's what he is." Danforth took a bite of the stew, nodding in Ginny's direction. "Awful tasty, Miss Ginny, just like always."

  "But he's not one of them," Mrs. Franklin persisted. "He's different, somehow…"

  "Now, listen to me." Joe sat forward in his chair intently. "He's a killin' murderin' savage. His eyes may be blue but his heart is just as black as all the rest of 'em."

  Ginny's spoon clattered to the floor. "Oh, dear. I'm so clumsy." She bent to retrieve it, then rose to get a clean one. As she walked past the window, she paused as if she scanned the prairie for any sign of the Indians. But Arthur knew she looked for only one.

  She glanced back toward the table, feeling his stare on her, and their eyes met briefly before she looked away again.

  One thing was clear to him. Ginny was not going to be surprised at Lance's appearance. She'd known all along. And she hadn't told him Lance was here—she'd given him no warning, and somehow that made him angry all over again. Maybe she'd been hoping it would end differently for them all this time. She'd have been unsure of him, Arthur thought, and what he might do. Trust was nonexistent between them, now.

  Hell, there wasn't much he could do under the circumstances. Even if he'd wanted to change things…it would play out as it was meant to. As in chess, Arthur thought, the queen retained all the power. Even more than the king.

  Chapter 6

  Ginny had put up a small fir tree in one corner of the great room in celebration of the holiday. It was pitiful, Arthur thought, but it brought a smile to his lips, all the same. She'd never been much for crafting and decorating, though she'd always seemed to appreciate the efforts of others. Now, here she was, on her own in this time, with no servants to order about, and fro
m what Arthur had seen, living a lonely existence.

  In the life he'd had as king, from his childhood, there had been elusive magical moments. Moments when he'd been able to 'see' things. Merlin hadn't given him the skill, he'd been born with it. The sorcerer had only taught him to use it, and chastised him when he 'thought too much' to take advantage of it. Morgan, his half-sister, had gotten the lion's share of magical talent—something Arthur was glad of. But, he didn't need the gift to see how miserable Ginny was here, in this place and time.

  The divining gift did come in handy, at times. In this era, he'd discovered quite a use for it at the gaming tables. Looking across the lamp-lit dimness of the room at Ginny, he suddenly wished it extended to mind reading. But…would he really want to know her thoughts any more now than in all those years past? No. He'd seen enough. The furtive glance through the slatted window was confirmation enough of where her heart and mind lay. With Sky Eyes. With Lance.

  Joe and Harley kept watch at the front window, looking out into the blackness for any sign of attack. Elizabeth Franklin sat talking quietly with Jeremy, and Arthur heard the boy's enthusiastic responses as he recalled happier memories of his home in North Carolina he'd left behind. Perhaps talking about it would soothe him, Arthur thought, and calm his nerves.

  Ginny uncertainly sought him out once more. Now that she'd lied to her husband, Harley took no notice of her proximity to Arthur. And Arthur couldn't help recalling how naturally the falsehood had sprung to her lips. Had she given it forethought, he wondered, or had she just become a skilled deceiver? Oh, no. She'd always been that.

  "You don't seem worried overmuch, Arthur," she murmured softly, as she came to stand beside him.

  "Come now, Ginny. Let's have done with this pretense, shall we? We both know Lance is leading that band of savages."

  Her gaze faltered, and she looked away from him, not answering.

  "Do you really believe he'll harm you?" The note of gentleness crept into his tone, in spite of his resolve not to care.

  "I—I don't know, truly. He was—so angry when we last spoke. When I told him I'd made my decision to go to the convent—"

  "You haven't seen him since—since we fought?"

  She shook her head. "Not really… Oh, I've seen him, during these attacks, but never spoken to him. Arthur, I've lived a thousand lives, but not fully. I seem to just wake up in another time, another place. Somehow, I—" She stopped herself, then went on in a controlled tone. "I believe it must be the same for you. And for Lancelot. We're all trapped in this circle."

  "How do we end it, Ginny?"

  She moistened her lips in the nervous gesture he recalled so well. "I'm not sure. But I—I wonder if maybe it's not somehow connected to…forgiveness."

  Anger flared quickly in Arthur's heart. She dared ask him to forgive? Forgive her treachery? Forgive Lance's betrayal? Forgive her causing the death of the dream he'd held so dear? A cold smile touched his lips.

  "You ask much, my lady. Especially after all you've taken."

  She nodded, the stricken look in her eyes almost too much for him. Even in the near darkness, he could see the pallor of her flawless skin.

  "Yes. You were always a much better person than I, Arthur. You had a generous heart. A loving soul."

  "Make no mistake, Ginny—I am first a warrior. A ruler."

  In the gathering darkness, she laid a hand on his. "No, Arthur. You are first a man. And a good one." The softness of her skin on his in the shadows brought a flood of memories which he'd thought were carefully locked away.

  "You know Lance won't attack now." His lips curved caustically. "He loved Christmas-tide more than the rest of us put together." It had always been Lance who suggested they find the biggest Yule log in the forest, spearheading the effort to organize the men, and making it a festive occasion. It had been Lance who sang the Yule songs with such fervor, his deep baritone booming through the stone hallways of the castle.

  Ginny's eyes filled with sudden tears. "Arthur—when I see him as he was today… I wonder if he even recalls the things we remember. It seems he's become absorbed in the ways of the Apache. The look on his face is so intent, so—cruel. I don't believe he's the person we knew."

  "He was never the person I thought I knew, Ginny. Never." At her quick look, he smiled. "Yet, there's a part of me that, even now, wants to call him my brother, as I did before—before everything fell apart."

  Ginny nodded. "I hope that same part of you remembers me in another light as well, Arthur," she whispered.

  Arthur flicked a quick glance to where Harley Thompson sat, talking with Joe. Curiosity won over propriety. "Why are you with him, Ginny?"

  Ginny suddenly dropped her gaze. "Earlier in this life I was…a—a—"

  Arthur shook his head in disbelief. "A prostitute?"

  "Shh!" An embarrassed flush colored her cheeks. "Yes. A 'soiled dove' at Maybelle Wainwright's brothel in Kansas City. Harley was my first customer—at least the first one I knew about. You know how it is—you just appear. People know you sometimes. Sometimes you're a stranger in town. You don't have a past you can remember, but you have a hundred lives you've lived before."

  "Yes. I know."

  "Harley asked me to marry him. I…barely knew him."

  "From a convent to a whorehouse, huh? Fitting, somehow." Arthur couldn't resist. The pain of the memories that assailed him called up the firestorm of hurt and betrayal he still had no defense against. It hurt almost as badly now as it had at the time.

  "Arthur—" she started, then nodded resignedly. "Yes, that's fair. Anything you say is fair. But just remember, you aren't the only one who's been hurt." There was genuine sorrow in her tone, but Arthur was unaffected.

  "Spare me."

  "As you will, my lord." She turned and walked away, toward the back bedroom.

  Arthur felt Jeremy's eyes on him. He met the boy's steady gaze, but the worshipful light that had been there before had dimmed.

  ****

  Arthur sighed heavily. The woman had always driven him to madness, one way or the other. Now, she'd given him another idea that had possibilities—unthinkable ones.

  Forgiveness, she'd said. Could he find that in his heart? Would it even truly matter if he did? He would do anything to break this perpetual cycle of living lives not his own.

  It would surely take a miracle to break this prophecy that came true over and over again. Who would have believed that living could become so tiresome? That death would be a welcome reprieve? And, if there were nothing beyond death?

  Oh, yes. He'd thought of it time and again. If a bullet took him down, or an Apache arrow, and he truly succumbed to his wounds as a mortal man might—then what? Going into darkness forever might not be such a terrible outcome.

  Everlasting life was much overrated.

  But this wasn't the same as what the Holy Bible promised. Being taken to the bosom of God was not the same as waking up in a border town with a hangover he couldn't get rid of. So much for his "life" this time around. All he wanted was peace. Rest for his wounded soul. Forgetfulness of all that had once been his, and then been lost to him.

  Seeing Lance through the years was bad enough. But now…seeing Ginny once more, being reminded of her loveliness, her scent, her touch—this must surely be hell already. There could be no greater punishment. What had he done that had been so very wrong?

  Perhaps it was all to end this time. He wanted to be prepared, if that were the case.

  Chapter 7

  As the night wore on, tempers grew short as nerves frayed. From somewhere outside, the sound of an owl filtered through the silence.

  Harley tensed, glancing at Joe. "Damn bastards."

  "I want that blue-eyed son of a bitch in the worst way. Woulda had him too, if it hadn't been for her." Joe inclined his head toward Elizabeth Franklin who sat on the settee, Jeremy slumped against her in sleep.

  Arthur's senses were in tune with what was going on outside. He barely heard the quiet conversa
tion of the other two men. Sally sat with Ernie in the back room. Arthur didn't hold out much hope for Ernie. The man had put up a valiant front this afternoon, but there was no doubt that whatever illness he'd suffered from previously had taken a toll on his health. He was certainly dying, and for that, Arthur was sorry. He'd seen the genuine love on Sally's face, the tears shimmering in her blue eyes. And though Mrs. Franklin had done what she could, Arthur suspected it would amount to too little too late.

  The owl called again, and Joe rubbed the back of his neck. "Damn hoot owl," he muttered. "Injuns say—"

  "I know what they say, Joe." Harley cast a quick glance over his shoulder at Ginny, who was curled up in his chair, asleep, her head twisted at an odd angle.

  Arthur made a conscious effort to restrain himself. Why should he care if she was comfortable? Yet, how he wanted to go to her and put a cushion beneath her golden hair. It shone in the lamplight, clean and soft. He remembered the feel of it between his fingers as they'd made love— He closed his eyes. She was not his, nor ever would be again.

  "What do they say, Mr. Danforth?" Arthur asked, needing something to take his mind off the path his thoughts had taken.

  He opened his eyes just in time to see the other two men exchange an uncomfortable glance.

  "It don't matter." Joe's voice was gruff, but Arthur recognized the fear that edged his comment.

  "Still, I'd like to know."

  "They say an owl tells of death." Harley turned to look at Arthur.

  Arthur shrugged. "I wonder if that's a real owl we're hearing, or an 'Indian' owl?"

  "Means the same thing either way," Danforth said. "Unless they figger out what's happened at the next station and get us some help."

  "Ain't likely to happen on Christmas." Harley kept his eyes on the darkness.

  "Maybe…I could talk with this 'Sky Eyes'," Arthur suggested slowly.

  Both men turned to give him disbelieving stares.