The Maverick's Bride Page 10

  Adam relayed the words of gratitude. Endebelai nodded and began to speak.

  “What is she saying?” Emma whispered.

  Adam shook his head. “She says your sister is dead and will not return. But look outside tonight and you will see the moon.”

  Chapter Seven

  “No!” Emma cried out. “Cissy is not dead. The soldier came for her. Please—it must be so.”

  “Whoa, now.” Adam pulled her close. “It’s just a feeling she has.”

  “But Cissy is not dead.” She shrugged out of his arms. “Tell her I’m going to find my sister.”

  Adam transmitted the message, and the old woman whispered a reply. “She offers the Maasai farewell. I pray to God that you meet nobody but blind people who will not harm you.”

  Emma gazed down at the woman whose own eyes saw nothing. “Please tell her I shall return soon. Perhaps I can bring a doctor. There must be some way to help.”

  Adam spoke in a low voice as he ushered Emma out of the hut. “It’s not good to offer too much hope,” he told her when they stood in the sunshine once again. “I gave Endebelai the guest’s farewell: May you lie down with honey and milk. She was satisfied with that.”

  Her eyes caught the light and flashed a deep olive green. “You’ve been in Africa a long time. You know the people well.”

  He settled his hat on his head. “I know this clan. They’re my family.”

  “How can that be? Their lives are so different.”

  “Are they?” he asked. “The Maasai have a religion. They marry and love their children. They have their own ritual greetings, traditions, legends. They take care of their homes and look after their animals.”

  Her face had softened. “Perhaps you’re right.”

  “Let’s move out.” He motioned toward the horses. “The sooner we get to Tsavo and find out if anyone’s seen your sister, the better. And don’t forget your hat.”

  “Hat?”

  He winked and gestured at the white pith helmet lying beneath a bush. A crowd of curious children encircled her headgear. One held a stick and prodded it. When the helmet suddenly rolled onto one side, the children shrieked and scurried backward.

  Adam spoke to one of the older boys, who hooked the helmet with the end of his cattle stick and carried it to Emma. She thanked him and settled it on her head, much to the children’s amusement.

  Adam noted that her efforts to pin up her hair had failed. Long golden waves covered her shoulders and tumbled down her back. The urge to touch was palpable.

  He and Emma mounted their horses and rode from the village. They spent the morning crossing trackless yellow grasslands. Dust coated their clothing and made Emma cough. Even though she called for Cissy and Adam fired his gun into the air, they saw no sign of human life.

  But they were not alone. Herds of gazelle, antelope, zebra and giraffe grazed on the savannah. Adam pointed out a circle of vultures gliding over a lion’s kill on the horizon. Emma shuddered and wondered aloud if it might be Cissy. But they rode near and saw that the slain animal was a young hartebeest.

  Adam enjoyed sharing the mystery and majesty of this land with the young Englishwoman. He had no doubt the Master Creator had arranged the order of nature so it blended and harmonized. He had learned about God as a boy in church, but he had lost interest in religion amid his rebellion against his parents.

  Lately, though, he had taken to praying again. In fact, he talked to God more or less throughout the day. At night by lantern light, he often read the Bible his mother had packed in his trunk before he left for Africa. He took comfort in the words of forgiveness, peace and hope.

  Reflecting on his past, Adam thought about his decision to follow his own path, refusing his father’s order to stay in Texas and run the family businesses. His parents had angrily yielded to his stubbornness. Years passed without contact. He had written to his mother once but his father had readdressed the envelope and sent it back unopened. Then one day he had learned it was too late ever to make amends.

  He saw that hardened part of himself in Emma, the way she erected walls and refused to give up her dream. Now her father had died, and Adam lifted a petition heavenward that she would not have to live as he did—haunted forever by the unresolved pain of a broken bond.

  “Your mother stayed behind in England?” he ventured to ask as they traversed a dry gully.

  “My mother?” Emma appeared startled by the question. “No, she died some time ago.”

  Adam bent to stroke his horse’s neck. “Are you anything like her?”

  Her expression sobered as her attention drifted across the landscape. “My mother and I were identical in spirit. When I was a girl, we walked through the countryside together, and she urged me to notice everything.”

  “Observation—like your Miss Nightingale taught.”

  She glanced at him in surprise. “You remembered,” she murmured. “Yes, I learned to look carefully. My mother wanted me to understand more than painting and beading. She took me along when she visited orphan workhouses and hospitals. My father opposed such ventures. Perhaps he was right. My mother’s spirit of determination and independence caused her to wander astray. Her willfulness, Father always said, led to her death.”

  Adam considered this, aware there was much Emma had not told him. “You should know they’ve buried your father by now. It’s not easy to manage funerals out here.”

  “He’d be pleased to be buried near a railroad.”

  Adam could not find more to say, so they traveled in silence. The sapphire sky was a giant bowl that dwarfed the grassy hills. The sun beat down like a golden hammer. He worried about Emma’s pale English complexion. Beneath that silly hat, her cheeks were a bright pink.

  “You’re burning,” he told her. “Here. Wear this.”

  She blinked in surprise as he leaned over, lifted off the pith helmet and replaced it with his hat. “But you’ll cook,” she protested.

  “My skin is leather already. Besides, you look good in that hat. Beautiful.”

  “Nonsense.” Her cheeks flushed a vivid crimson as she reached up to touch the wide brim. “Are we far from Tsavo?”

  He eyed the sun. “I’d say another hour. Are you thirsty?”

  “And hungry. I feel as if I haven’t eaten for days.”

  He handed her the canteen with its remaining swallows of water. “When we get to Tsavo, we’ll eat. You can rest on the trip back to the coast. You’re going to need your strength for the search.”

  “Do you think it will take long to transfer the money? I can’t bear to wait. Cissy’s life hangs in the balance.”

  “Emma…” Adam said her name gently, the urge to protect her was stronger than he had expected. “Emma, you know it’s not likely that Cissy—”

  “I shall never believe she’s not alive,” Emma cut in. “Until I’ve searched every inch of the protectorate, I must believe Cissy is somewhere out there. I shall know when my sister dies.”

  “How will you know?”

  “My heart will tell me. It may sound odd, but I believe that.”

  “When a person you love is hurting, you feel it, too.”

  “Do you love someone in such a way?” she asked, her eyes searching his face. “I can see that you do. Your souls are bound, as mine is to Cissy’s.”

  Adam chose not to answer. At this moment, he was sure of only one thing. He must never let this woman close to him again. She was too dangerous to his plans and his future. More important, she was too dangerous to his heart.

  The sun had started to dip when Adam and Emma rode into Tsavo railhead camp. At first sight of them, a cry rose from the workers, and men poured out of the corrugated tin buildings to hail the arrivals.

  “Miss Pickering!” Nicholas Bond dashed through the station doorway and ran down the steps. His dark coattails fluttered in the breeze as he hurried toward her, top hat in hand. “You’re alive. Thank heaven.”

  Emma slid down from her horse. Her wrinkled skirt hung
heavy with dust. She removed Adam’s hat and pushed her damp hair back from her forehead.

  “Cissy?” she asked Nicholas. “Have you news of my sister, Mr. Bond? Is she here?”

  “No trace of her.” He caught her hand and pressed it to his lips. “Dearest Emma, I thought I had lost you. You should never have left the station. We were all frantic, and your father…” He caught himself. “My deepest condolences on your loss.”

  “I have no doubt my father would want me to find my sister.” She pushed away from him. “Excuse me, for I haven’t a moment to lose.”

  “But it’s impossible she could still be alive.” He took Emma’s shoulders, forcing her to meet his eyes. “There’s little water and nothing to eat. Lions and wild dogs are savage hunters.”

  “Enough of that, Bond.” Adam stepped up beside Emma. “People do survive alone in the bush. I did, in case you’ve forgotten. There’s a chance the girl may be with someone. Right now, I need to get this woman something to eat and drink.”

  “I shall see to her needs, Mr. King,” Nicholas informed him. “The Crown appreciates your service, but now Miss Pickering is under my protection.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Adam countered. “The lady and I struck a bargain. She’s under my protection.”

  Nicholas’s lips tightened. Emma brushed a hand across her forehead. “Adam, please. Mr. Bond, I can explain.”

  “Adam! Adam, you ol’ turkey buzzard!” A laughing voice carried across the heated air, and the three turned to see a short, compact young man striding toward them. He waved a white hat high as his head of bright yellow hair bobbed with each step. “Where’d you go? I been scoutin’ this place high and low. You bring my horse back?”

  “Soapy.” Adam stepped around Nicholas to greet the younger man with a firm handshake. “Red’s back, sound as ever. She’s covered half the protectorate in the past few days.”

  “Hey there, Red.” Soapy stroked the horse Emma had ridden. “Who’s your lady friend, boss? She looks as limp as a worn-out fiddle string.”

  “Soapy, this is Emma.” Adam set his hand on her back. “Emma, meet Soapy Potts. He’s my right-hand man.”

  “I’m the ranch cook. Ain’t nobody can make a batch of sourdough biscuits like me. Secret’s in the starter dough.”

  As they shook hands, Emma could not help but return his smile. “So pleased to meet you, Mr. Potts.”

  “You ever ate anything the boss here cooked? Meat so tough you got to sharpen your knife just to cut the gravy.”

  A wry grin creased Adam’s face. “Don’t listen to Soapy. His coffee’s thick enough to eat with a fork. How about getting these horses fed and watered, Soap? We’re taking the first train back to the coast.”

  “One moment, Mr. King,” Nicholas cut in. “I should like to know what’s going on here.”

  “Please, sir.” Emma laid her hand on the Englishman’s arm. “I can explain everything. But first I beg your escort to a drawing room where I might sit down and take a cup of tea. I have little time to spare and must make the most of it.”

  “But of course.” Nicholas cupped his palm around her elbow. “My office is as comfortable as any drawing room.”

  As he started to lead her away, Emma turned back to Adam. “Will you join us, sir? There will be maps in the office, and we must chart our course.”

  Adam’s gaze swept over her face, then locked briefly on her lips before coming to rest on her eyes. “Thanks but I need to see to the horses.” He turned to his companion. “Soapy, my friend, we have to get our hands on another nag for you to ride. Emma and old Red have hit it off pretty well.”

  “Now, wait just a minute, boss!” Soapy protested.

  “I’ll be back for you, Emma,” Adam said. “And I’ll have your trunks carried to the train.”

  “Thank you.” Emma ached to say more. She felt a pang of regret that their time alone with each other had ended.

  Then Adam turned on his spurred heel and strode across the station yard. Soapy’s wide gray eyes ran up and down her once before he hurried after Adam. Emma watched them go, strange replicas of one another in their boots and denims. Soapy stood only as tall as Adam’s shoulder, even in his hat.

  Remembering, Emma studied Adam’s black felt hat in her hand. She wondered how she must look with her hair astray and her skin ruddy from the sun.

  “We must see that you have a proper helmet, Miss Pickering,” Nicholas said.

  “This one served me well, actually.” She tucked the hat under her arm. She had no doubt her hair was a fright, but nothing could be done with it at the moment. “Now, sir. Do show me to your office.”

  Inside the whitewashed station building, Emma stepped into Nicholas Bond’s office and took in the scrubbed wooden floor and bare walls. Heat radiated through the tin roof. Sparsely furnished with a wooden desk, two chairs and a settee, the office was stacked with imported goods. It smelled of ink, burlap and rust.

  “A cushion,” Emma said as she spread her skirts and settled on the settee. “Lovely.”

  Nicholas clasped his hands behind his back as he paced before the single window. “I can scarcely believe whose company you have been forced to endure, dear lady. But you must have been exhausted when he found you.”

  “Mr. King treated me well,” Emma assured him. Nicholas’s words bespoke tenderness and concern, but his tone revealed irritation. She felt the need to clarify. “I wanted to return to Tsavo station, but Mr. King would not hear of going before I had rested the night. Now I must begin to search in earnest for Cissy.”

  “You cannot be serious.” Nicholas unclasped his hands and sat in the chair nearest his desk. “You expect to journey out once more on such a hopeless quest?”

  She held her tongue when a young man stepped into the room bearing a tray of tea and a loaf of bread. He poured out two cups, and bowed low as he left. Emma gratefully lifted the sweet liquid to her lips.

  “Miss Pickering…Emmaline,” Nicholas said. “You have not asked me about your father.”

  “Mr. King told me everything.” Her hand suddenly trembling, she set the cup on the saucer. “Is his grave nearby?”

  “Behind the station—with the other workers who…”

  “The lions’ victims,” she said. “Yes, I know.”

  She closed her eyes, searching for words to explain emotions she could hardly decipher. Her father was dead. Such relief she felt…and such sorrow.

  She thought how others would respond to the news of his death. Those who had lost their lives to the lions would remain anonymous, but her father’s death would be widely reported in England. The London papers would call him a martyr for the empire.

  Emma stopped her thoughts. She must reconcile herself to her loss, to her father’s passing, to the part she had played in it.

  “I shall visit his grave before I go,” she told Nicholas. “You must understand, sir. Had he lived, my father would have insisted on searching for his younger daughter. Now it is my responsibility to find her.”

  “I see you will not be dissuaded.” He set his cup on the tray. “I sent search parties to look for you and your sister. The men returned not long before you did. To the best of our knowledge, Miss Priscilla is nowhere in the vicinity of the railhead. But I must caution you that the railway cannot afford to spare the men for long. A week at the most.”

  “A week is not enough.” Emma ran her fingers over the brim of the hat in her lap. “I mean to search for Cissy until I find her. I shall transfer a portion of my funds to a bank in Mombasa, which will allow me to outfit an expedition. Mr. King has agreed to lead the mission.”

  “Mr. King?”

  “We shall travel to the border first,” Emma continued. “I hope to interview the German soldier who courted my sister. Better yet, I may learn that he is missing and doubtless in her company. From there, I shall search the country until Cissy is found. Mr. King is a capable guide.”

  “I daresay he is not.” Nicholas stood. “Emmaline, have you any r
eal knowledge of that man? Do you know his history, his associations, his dealings in the protectorate?”

  “I understand all I need to about Adam King. He is well-traveled. He knows the tribal people. He speaks their language and can engage their support. Most important, he has agreed to take on the job.”

  “For a large fee, no doubt.”

  “He will be compensated.”

  “Have you such ready funds?”

  “My inheritance.” She picked up her teacup and took a sip for fortification. “Mr. King and I have an understanding, you see. According to my father’s instructions, I must be married before I can receive my inheritance. I proposed such a partnership to the American, and he accepted. Having taken a husband, I can now collect my inheritance and pay for everything I need to find my sister.”

  Nicholas appeared fit to burst. “Are you joking, madam?” he sputtered. “You have actually agreed to marry Adam King?”

  Emma shrank from his vehemence. “We are wed. A Maasai elder performed the ceremony last night. It is an odd contrivance, I admit, but I am assured the pact is legally binding.”

  “A pact? A contrivance? Madam, have you any idea what sort of man you have attached yourself to?”

  Emma stood and crossed to the window, wishing she could escape. “I care nothing for my own comfort and well-being, Mr. Bond. My sister’s life is my only concern.”

  Nicholas’s voice was steely. “Adam King is a money-grubbing agitator—a mercenary. Miss Pickering, I must speak bluntly. The Crown has reason to believe that Adam King is collaborating with the Germans to foment unrest in the protectorate.”

  “Surely this cannot be!”

  “There is little doubt. Indeed, we seek only final proof before we expel him from the country.”

  “But what evidence do you have?”

  “King receives regular shipments to Mombasa harbor. Do you know the contents of those crates?”

  “No.” The word choked from her throat.

  “Guns. Ammunition.”

  “But—”

  “He claims the crates contain farming implements. He imports equipment for his ranch—or so he tells the port authority when he presents the bills of lading. But we are certain he is trading in arms. His true name, by the way, is not Adam King. He is Adam Koenig, and a German by descent. If you doubt me, Emmaline, ask the man yourself. Believe me, if your sister was abducted by Germans, you can be certain your so-called protector knows about it.”