Layla nodded. She was stuck in a bad box, no doubt about it. She realised now that screaming would get her nowhere. Might even conjure up a few other wastrels who’d be intent on having their way with a woman fool enough to wander out into the Black Hills alone.
Fool.
What had she been thinking? But she’d been lost, alone, without a choice. She had acted upon the instinct to flee, too afraid to stay and meet her fate. The fate that she’d played a part in arranging.
The man removed his hand and she moistened her lips with her tongue. She could taste wood-smoke and soap. This man kept himself clean. He’d also recently made a fire. Her belly growled and she silently cursed her human frailty.
“You hungry, eh missy? We’ll have to see about getting you some victuals in a while then. But you gotta promise to behave.”
“Who…” Layla tried to take a deep breath but the man’s knees crushed her sides.
“Who am I?” He finished her question. “Well that’s for me to know…and for you to find out.”
Layla gasped. “I…I can’t…bre…”
“Oh!” He jumped to his feet. “Sorry…Didn’t realise I was squashing ya.”
He grabbed her hands and pulled her upright.
“Now remember what I said…” He kept hold of her wrists.
“I remember,” Layla nodded. Black spots swam before her eyes and she staggered. The stranger caught her beneath her armpits with his large hands then scooped her up. She leant her head against his chest, momentarily too weak and dizzy to protest.
“Now I’m gonna take you back to where I’ve set up camp then we’re gonna have us a little chat. Understand?”
“Yes,” Layla whimpered. She cleared her throat. Better not to sound afraid. “I mean…yes, I understand.”
What on earth did he want? What if there were more men there and he intended on sharing her with them? She glanced around but the trees were thick and the moon was a sliver in the sky. She’d likely break her neck if she tried to run off and she felt too weak to even attempt it. Better to wait and see what he wanted to talk about and maybe get something to eat. Build her strength a little so she could think. Clear her head. Then plan.
“Can you walk?” His voice was laced with a tone she didn’t recognise. Was it mockery or concern? She didn’t trust herself to read him; men were too confusing. She’d gotten it wrong before and she couldn’t risk doing so again.
“I think so. I just got up too quickly was all,” Layla replied. But confusion gnawed at her. She didn’t want him to put her down. His broad chest was firm, his arms strong and he smelt so good, like a grassy field after a rain storm. Ridiculously, she actually felt safe in his arms. As if staying close to this stranger and maintaining some sort of human contact would keep her from harm.
She blinked away tears. How could she allow herself to imagine that she’d be safe with this man? With any man? Offering her body, her heart and her dreams hadn’t kept Henrik close.
They were all dangerous.
Men.
Especially strangers. Especially the ones you thought you knew well.
He gently placed her on her feet but kept his hands on her upper arms. The heat emanating from him was such that Layla believed she would have scorch marks on her arms when he removed them. When she felt steady enough to stand alone, she nodded. As he stepped back, she felt the space between their bodies opening up like a desert canyon and the night air chilled her where the warmth of his body had just been. The sense of loneliness confused her as it enveloped her. Had it lifted for a moment, that constant companion that she would gladly leave behind?
He led her slowly behind him, gripping her left wrist, like a man leading his horse. As if she were an animal not a woman. But then that was how most men viewed women, as possessions to treat how they desired. To be thrown away once they’d tired of them or beaten to a pulp if they were annoyed by them. She’d seen it all. Been through some of it.
She walked carefully, keen to avoid tripping or falling into a hole. She couldn’t afford to be hindered by an injury.
After about ten minutes of silent progress, she could smell smoke and hear the welcome crackling of logs on a fire. A horse whinnied in response as they ducked through some trees and entered a clearing.
A fire blazed in the centre and another man sat in front of it, his back to them.
“Didn’t take you long, Charlie,” the man chuckled.
“She wasn’t hard to find. Clearly no idea how to hide her tracks.”
The man at the fireside shook his head.
Layla shivered. They were laughing at her. Just like he had. Taking her for the fool that she was. She’d been an idiot allowing herself to get caught. Caught by the heartstrings then caught as she fled.
“Miss Powell.”
Layla jumped at his use of her name. How did he know who she was?
Charlie released her. “This is Etu.”
She walked towards the fire and crouched in front of it, rubbing her wrist where he’d held it. The dizziness had passed but she could sure use a drink. Her mouth was dry as autumn leaves. She placed her Stetson on the floor next to her.
“Hello.” She eyed them both. It seemed that there were only two of them unless there were more nearby.
Etu’s face was hidden by a curtain of dark hair which fell to his shoulders but she assumed from his name that he was Sioux. He crouched forwards as if keen to avoid actually looking at her. It bothered her because, for some reason she could not explain, she was keen to get a look at him. But even though he hid his visage, she could make out strong broad shoulders and long-fingered hands. Those hands could be dangerous, no doubt, if he raised them in anger. But on the other hand, perhaps he would know how to use them to please a woman.
Such thoughts at such a time. She was being ridiculous. The sun must have addled her brain.
“Would you like something to drink Miss Powell?” Charlie asked, dragging her from her perusal of Etu.
“Coffee’d be great, thank you.” She eyed him as he approached the fire and she had to force her mouth shut. He didn’t just smell good, he looked good. Even with his Stetson on, she could see his obsidian eyes shining in a tanned face. He had a strong square jaw and a full sensual mouth. She licked her lips. He was a handsome man. He had to be about six foot, give or take, and he looked fit as a wild stallion in his cowhide trousers and waistcoat. A fine figure of masculinity.
But she knew that a handsome exterior didn’t make for a good man. He might look good on the outside but who knew what was going on inside that male brain? It must have been her exhaustion that led her body to react the way it did when he’d scooped her up in his arms. Pah! Her foolish, weak female body had responded to the first touch of a man, the first human contact, it had felt in a while. What was wrong with her? Physical weakness had led to trouble before and she should take care to ensure that it didn’t happen again. Were all women this weak or was it just her? Was she—as the pastor had said of women with carnal desires—in fact, a sinner? She shivered as she tried to brush the unpleasant thought away as she would an annoying fly.
“Etu?” At Charlie’s use of his name the other man got up and went over to the saddles which were hung over a fallen tree near the horses. He rifled in their bags then brought out two small bundles. Layla watched him carefully.
So Charlie was in charge. Etu must be his employee.
As Etu returned to the fire and knelt opposite her, he pushed his shiny hair behind his ears and Layla swallowed a sigh. His skin glowed in the firelight,