Savage Thunder

Chapter Thirty-two

He wasn't John Longnose, of course he wasn't. She'd heard him speak in a Western drawl, after all. And his talkative, grinning companion kept referring to him as Angel, as well as alluding to the boss, who was undoubtedly Longnose. But Miles Dryden's killer might as well have been the Englishman, for that was whom he was taking her to.

They had been riding for several hours before the numbness began to wear off and Jocelyn's mind had started functioning again. Naturally enough, she was rather horrified at first to find herself sitting on his horse, in front of him, his arms caging her on both sides. But after another hour or so of listening to Saunders' busy chatter and Angel's noncommittal grunts in reply, she was less frightened, at least of these two.

Saunders was just a kid, anyway, whose grinning countenance made him seem harmless. And as long as Angel was behind her where she couldn't see him, his hard, cruel features couldn't disturb her. But not for a moment did she forget where she was going and what was awaiting her when she got there.

It wasn't a pleasant feeling, knowing you were going to die. The only reason it hadn't turned her into a gibbering idiot was her natural optimism. Until she breathed her last breath, there was hope that something would happen to save her. She could escape, fight back, be rescued. Her rifle was gone, but she wasn't completely weaponless. On her person were numerous long hairpins excellent for poking out eyes, two very hard boots, and ten sharp nails. And she had the past to bolster her courage, the many times Longnose had been foiled before.

Regardless of all that optimism, though, it still took her a while to garner the nerve to address the man behind her. When she did, it was with the most per-tinent question first. "How long do I have?"

"For what?"

"To live."

"I wouldn't worry about it," he replied offhand-edly in a slow drawl.

Jocelyn was rendered momentarily speechless after that, but gritted her teeth in pique. "I'm not."

"Then why ask?"

"So I'll know when to toss you off this horse and make my escape, of course," she retorted testily.

He laughed, surprising her. "You're all right, lady. But I already figured you had to be something special to get a favor asked of me."

"You're doing this as a favor?" she nearly choked out.

"The pay's good too."

What could she say to that? The man was obviously without conscience. Or was the debt he owed so great that the favor asked of him in return couldn't be re-fused? For some reason, though, she felt the man couldn't be coerced into doing something he didn't want to do, not for any reason. So indeed, he had to be plainly unconscionable.

That was a discouraging thought that kept her silent for a while. After all, the man represented one of her hopes. He was the stronger, more dangerous of her escort to Longnose. If he could be talked out of turn-ing her over to the Englishman, and talked into taking her back to her people instead, she didn't think Saun-ders could stop him. But how did she reach someone who told her not to worry about the time she had left to live, who was escorting her to her death as a favor, for God's sake? The answer refused to come to her, unless.

"You do know that the Englishman means to kill me, don't you?"

"He hasn't made a secret of it."

So much for thinking he might not know what he was escorting her to. "Do you know why?"

"What's it matter?"

"Nothing to you, obviously."

She heard him laugh again, and again gritted her teeth, but this time to stop herself from calling him every vile, loathsome name she could think of. Un-conscionable? Inhuman was more like it. And they called the Indians the savages in this part of the country.

"Since you're such a veritable font of informa-tion," she began again in a tight voice, "would you mind telling me how Longnose got to Miles Dry-den?"

"Who's Longnose?"

"The Englishman."

"So that's his name." He sounded surprised. "No wonder he didn't want it known."

Jocelyn made a sound of exasperation. "I haven't the faintest notion what the man's blasted name is, nor do you, obviously, but what the devil does that matter? I asked you how he got to Dryden. You re-member him? The man you killed today?"

"So she has a temper, too."

It was a statement, not a question, so she threw one right back at him, "He understands English."

Another chuckle greeted that dry retort. She really was amusing him for some reason, while he was frus-trating her to the point of screaming. But she absolutely refused to rant or rave, no more than she would beg or cry, none of which would accomplish anything, she was sure.

"Dryden?" she prompted once more.

"Why do you want to know?"

"He was suspected of many things, but not once of being one of your little band of miscreants. After all, he wasn't the usual sort of riffraff that Longnose hires… no offense intended."

"No, of course not."

She ignored the interruption, though she was pleased to note his thick skin was pierceable. "He was merely a harmless fortune hunter, not a mur-derer," she pointed out.

"Old Dewane, he seemed to think otherwise, which was why he approached your harmless fortune hunter when he recognized him, before he even cleared it with the boss. And seems he was right on the nose, since your harmless fortune hunter came through for us, didn't he?"

"Was this before or after he'd been invited to join our group?"

"After. We caught up with you in Silver City, the morning after you got there. Dewane and his brother were checking out your hotel to see if there was any way to get to you when he spotted Dryden talking to your lady friend in the lobby. The rest you can figure out for yourself."

And she could, not that any of if really mattered except to satisfy her curiosity. You had to have op-portunity to learn from your mistakes, and these men were determined to see that she didn't have any more opportunities, of any kind. Or were they — truly de-termined, that is? Was their loyalty unshakable, or could it be bought?

She decided not to wait to find out. "I can pay you more than the Englishman."

"I know."

"I'm talking about a fortune." There was no answer. "You don't care?"

"No."

"How can you say that?" she demanded incredu-lously. "You just killed a man for money."

"You talk too much."

"Well, you did, so money must mean something to you."

"Not much."

"Then why did you kill him?"

"You talk too much," he repeated.

"And you not enough!" she retorted.

"Look, lady, it was like this. The man deserved to die. He turned you over to us, didn't he?"

"He didn't know for what purpose."

"Don't kid yourself," he told her in disgust. "He was told you wouldn't be around to point the finger at him afterward. He merely tried his own scheme first — one, I might add, he's made into a profession."

"What do you mean?"

"According to Dewane, he was a card cheat who'd been run out of just about every town west of the Missouri before he changed his career to marrying old widows for their money, then getting rid of them when the money ran out."

"Divorcing them, you mean?"

"No."

"Oh."

"Now will you shut up?"

Her jaw was getting sore from so much teeth grind-ing. "If you don't care for my conversation, sir, you can put me back on my own horse."

"Nice try, lady," was all he said to that.

She did finally fall silent. She wished they had let Sir George go, as they had Miles' horse. She hated to think what would happen to him if her luck actually did desert her this time. She almost asked Angel if he would keep Sir George, but decided he would make no better owner for the magnificent stallion than Longnose would.

Saunders, who had been riding a short distance ahead of them, eager to get where they were going, topped a small rise and let out a shout. Instantly, Jocelyn’s blood turned cold, suspecting what she would find on the other side of that rise. She wasn't wrong. There was a steeper drop, enough to conceal the six men in the process of setting up a camp — until now.

Saunders' shout had stopped them at the various tasks they had been doing, so that when Angel topped the rise, they were all looking up in that direction, and every eye was riveted on his prize.

Involuntarily, Jocelyn leaned back into Angel's chest. Thoughts of escape weren't very bolstering at the moment; weren't very conceivable either. All she could do was wonder in what manner Longnose meant to kill her. Would he just shoot her to get it over with quickly, or would he want her to suffer a while first?

She saw him right off. He stood apart from the others, tall, slim, ramrod straight, both hands resting on a silver-handled cane. He obviously hadn't been involved with the camp setup as the others were, an activity likely too menial for his tastes. His clothes also stood him apart from the others. He was wearing not only a dove-gray three-piece suit, but a stylish overcoat of worsted wool as well. He was also a good ten years older than any of his companions, somewhere in his early forties, she would guess.

So this was her nemesis at long last. He didn't look like a cold-blooded killer to her. His men all fitted the mold, but he didn't. He looked perfectly harm-less, in fact, and so out of place it was ludicrous.

Jocelyn might have smiled at that thought, for she was rather out of place herself in her heavy velvet riding habit, frothy lace neck scarf, and tall black riding hat, but she didn't feel like smiling. Longnose might not be what she had expected, but he was still the man who had doggedly pursued her for three years with his loathsome intent.

Jocelyn tensed as Angel headed down the slope to join his friends, who were no longer staring in silent awe. Some of their comments broke through her fran-tic thoughts, and even made her take her eyes off Longnose long enough to notice them. They were all her enemies by association, and if she did somehow manage to get out of this, it wouldn't hurt to know them by sight.

But looking them over only depressed her. They were a hard, dangerous-looking bunch, well suited to this line of work. She'd get no help there, and, she realized now, she really would need some help. She hadn't thought there would be so many of them, or that several of them would be looking at her with lustful gazes. Dear Lord, her courage was fast de-serting her, as were her hopes of escape.

"Well, hot damn! I didn't think she'd look like that, did you?"

"Ya whar 'spectin' an ol' broad maybe?"

"As a matter of fact—"

"You can forget what you owe me, boss," someone else yelled out. "I'll take the horse!"

There were a few chuckles, but they didn't stop the personal comments that were unnerving Jocelyn.

Un-consciously, she pressed even closer to Angel as he moved slowly toward Longnose.

"Damn, I ain't never seen hair that red."

"Too skinny."

"Who cares?"

"She gonna get passed around first or what? That's all I wanna know."

It was a question more than one of them wanted answered, apparently, for they looked toward the

Englishman. But he said nothing yet. He was still staring at Jocelyn, and he was smiling now.

That stiffened her spine. So he was gloating, was he? And he was thinking of handing her over to these lowlifes first for their amusement? _

She was ready when Angel stopped and lowered her to the ground. If Longnose had been just a bit closer, he would have had the point of her boot laid to his chin. That would have forced his hand. But there were other ways to provoke him into killing her immediately, before his men got serious in their de-mands. She was not about to suffer through a mauling and then be killed. That was asking too much.

But the moment Jocelyn determinedly started to-ward her countryman, she was whipped back around to face Angel. He had dismounted behind her, and she saw with some surprise that he wasn't nearly as tall as he had seemed in the saddle. Seeing him for the first time so close, she realized he wasn't much older than she was. But there was a wiry strength hidden beneath that rain slicker that fell to his boots.

She felt it in the steely grip on her arm. And he was angry. That she saw in those cold black eyes of his.

The feeling was confirmed by a soft, furious hiss that startled her. "Don't do it."

"What?" she asked warily.

"You were going to sock him one, weren't you?"

Her eyes flared incredulously. "How the devil did you know?"

"I could feel you preparing for battle."

She stiffened again, and demanded of him in a terse whisper, "Let go."

"Guess I was wrong when I figured you had some smarts. Figured you'd be working on delaying tactics rather than suicide, to give your guards a chance to find you in time."

She managed to jerk her arm away. "It's a matter of priority, of what one holds most dear."

"And you hold pride dearer than life?"

She blushed to hear it put that way, and to hear his disdain too. Blast the man, he was right. She should be willing to do anything to put off the inevitable. Was there really a chance she might be found in time?

Angel seemed to read her mind. "Don't worry about it. Today's not your day to die, honey."

She opened her mouth to demand he explain that cryptic remark, but another voice spoke first. "So good of you to join us, Your Grace."

She turned around slowly and waited until Longnose had closed the distance between them. She had to look up now, but that was all right. For some rea-son, even though she didn't understand what Angel had meant, she wasn't afraid with him standing behind her.

"Not at all, Longnose." She gave him a regal nod. "I should thank you for inviting me. I would have been quite devastated to have missed your little gath-ering."

For one reason or another, his men found her remarks hilarious. He certainly didn't. His cheeks suf-fused with heated color, and his icy gray eyes prom-ised her a truly gruesome death. She had provoked him, and without having to damage her hand doing it. But before he did anything about it, she heard Angel mutter a vile oath behind her, and then she was forc-ibly moved aside.

Elliot's hands itched to get around her neck, but he wasn't so far immersed in that fantasy that he didn't notice Angel's movement. The man now stood par-tially in front of the duchess and was very casually folding back his coat to allow easy access to the gun on his hip.

The significance of that was not lost on the older man, but it didn't worry him in the least. Angel was only one man in eight, after all.

Elliot should never have taken him on in the first place, but it was rather late to concede that point. He'd been aware when he met him that he might have trouble with this one, a man so different from the others.

But he was the tracker Owen had found in Benson, and he'd picked up the duchess's trail almost immediately, enabling them with some hard riding to catch up with her.

There was really no need for trouble now. Elliot was, in fact, grateful to Angel for distracting him. To end this glorious triumph in a burst of rage was not the least bit fitting, nor what he had envisioned. The duchess deserved much more than that. So if the lad wanted her, if that was the reason for his subtle chal-lenge, he could have her. They could all bloody well have her. And when they were done with their sport, he would slowly choke the life from her while he had her himself.

Elliot smiled, savoring that thought, and was fur-ther delighted to see the duchess disconcerted by it.

Good. Her previous audacity had been unexpected and not at all appropriate. He wanted to see her fear, needed to see it.

"You have a bizarre sense of humor, Your Grace. I trust it won't desert you too soon." And then Elliot dismissed her for the moment, asking Angel, "Was there any difficulty with Mr. Dryden?"

"None to speak of."

"Excellent. I was beginning to wonder about him, but he's done his part admirably and will now further aid us by buying us time."

"How's that?"

"By sending her people to look for her in the wrong direction, of course. After all, it's to his benefit now, as well as ours, that she isn't found."

"It ain't gonna matter much to him," Pete volun-teered at that point. "Angel killed him."

There was a long pause before Elliot said, "I see," then another long moment before he added, "Well, so much for the additional time element. I assume you at least made good time getting back here?"

"Good enough," Angel drawled. "Now you answer me one. Why is it you never said she was a good-looking woman?"

"Because that fact is quite irrelevant."

"Oh, it's relevant, all right. Very relevant. A pretty thing like this shouldn't ought to be wasted."

Jocelyn slapped his hand away when his finger grazed her cheek to the accompaniment of those words.

So that was what he had meant by saying she wouldn't die today. It was almost dark. No one was going to find her in the dark. These men would have all night long to rape her, and Angel undoubtedly meant to be the first.

Longnose must have thought so too, for he was smiling again. "There's time enough for that, cer-tainly. I would have suggested it myself. Just be care-ful with her. The privilege of killing her is mine, after all."

If Jocelyn were prone to swooning, those words would have had her collapsing. As it was, she was overcome with panic. Sir George was her only chance now. If she could just get to him, she'd earn a swift, merciful bullet in the back, for that would be the only way they could then stop her.

But Angel must have read her thoughts again. His hand clamped on her arm like a vise, keeping her at his side. She would have killed him in that moment if she had the means. She was in fact reaching for one of her hairpins when his quiet voice arrested the movement.

"It don't sound to me like you took my meaning," he was telling Longnose. "I've decided to keep her—

until I get tired of her."

"That's out of the question!"

Angel's voice turned softly menacing. "I wasn't asking your permission, Englishman."

The older man's face mottled with color again. He even raised his cane, which was a mistake.

What ensued was becoming quite familiar to Jocelyn, seeing guns drawn at the blink of an eye. She only jumped slightly when the shot was fired, but to her everlasting disgust, Longnose was still standing there.

Angel's bullet had merely shot the cane out of his hand.

But the man didn't have the sense to calm down even then. "Mr. Owen!" he bellowed.

That gentleman apparently had more sense. "Fer-get it, boss. I ain't tanglin' with the likes o' him."

And when Longnose glanced at the others, he found pretty much the same opinion. One by one, gun belts were slowly being dropped to the ground. It was only when Jocelyn noticed that Angel's gun was pointing from man to man that she realized why. Not one of them cared to try their luck at disarming him, even though they so outnumbered him. Incred-ible. But then she wasn't the only one who had witnessed how swift he was, or how accurate.

"Bring that horse over here, Saunders," Angel ordered, indicating Sir George.

The boy quickly complied. Jocelyn almost smiled, her relief was so great. Until she recalled that she wasn't actually being rescued, but was merely ex-changing one bad situation for another. The odds were better now, though, and her life was no longer in imminent danger, so she supposed she had reason to be grateful to her unexpected savior.

She changed her mind about that, however, at his parting words to Longnose. "For your purposes, man, you can consider her dead. Her people won't find her where I'm taking her, and when I'm done with her…"

"You'll kill her?"

"Why not?" Angel replied with a shrug. "IVe got Dryden's money as payment in advance."