Comanche Haven (The Loflin Legacy: Book 1) Read online

“Mr. Charles, Ms. Rose sent me straight away.” The boy’s breath was coming in hitches.

  “Roy? What…is something wrong? Are the Jones all right?” Charles managed to open the door without the aid of his glasses. The boy stood hunched and trembling slightly.

  “Yes, sir, they’re fine. I have a message.” Roy extended a shaky hand with a note in it.

  It was then Charles snatched his glasses on and read. “Charles, I need your help. Please hurry!” The note was signed Casey Loflin.

  ***

  The heavily rancid smell of death and decay wafted in and out of the pit with each gentle breeze that blew. The stench of the body that rested at the other end of his makeshift cell made Seth shift, trying for an elusive calm. He was meant for a similar fate if he didn’t get away soon. The ditch was dark now with the onset of nightfall. Resting against the earthen wall stretching straight up ten feet, he heard the soft rustle of field mice. He did his best to block thoughts of what they were after. The damn hole was a mass gravesite.

  Ty and the others would be looking for him by now. Surely, his time wouldn’t run out before they found him. Damn, he should have been more careful while he was tracking. A kid in knee pants could’ve done better, he mused. His mind clouded with concern for Celia and the distraction proved fruitless.

  Seth vibrated with temper when he thought of what he’d overheard as two of Brannon’s henchmen relieved themselves near the pit. Celia was here! She’d disobeyed again! Closing his eyes, he tried to stem the swell of anger that wanted to cloud his mind. Damn her! Of course, she’d fallen unwittingly into Brannon’s hands. Now he would use her as bait to catch Red Bear and worse. Those, who came to relieve themselves near the hole, mentioned skirmishes they’d recently had with the Comanche and the success of the massacre of Lone Eagle and the People. The bastards joked about efforts to corral fleeing women and children and the occasional target practice on those who tried to run. It sickened him to listen to their banter.

  He would do everything in his power to get her out of this mess, even if it meant his life. Slowly, the hours passed like molasses on a January morning. Seth came to make his peace with himself during the wee hours of the bleak darkness. The silence of the night echoed through his tomb and he could hear Brannon all but mocking him. He vowed to see the Ranger in Hell.

  ***

  “Get up you piece of shit. The Captain wants a word with you.”

  Seth awoke fast. Something poked painfully in his side. Instinct told him to ready for an attack. Seeing as how his opponent was a long pole attached to a man holding a gun pointed directly at his head, he tried to regroup. The guard, who prodded him persistently with the menacing pole, spit tobacco juice into the hole just missing Seth’s most recent resting place. “Grab hold, we’re gonna hoist you out.” It took two of them to pull him out of the simmering hellhole.

  Seth’s eyes adjusted slowly to the bright light of the sun as the brilliant yellow orb came up over the horizon. The tobacco chewing antagonist grabbed his arms up in a tether behind his back. Seth sneered, bearing his teeth at his tormentor. His grip on control waned.

  Suddenly, a booted foot rammed into his ribs and he got the other boot against his head on the way to the dirt.. “Get on up there. We ain’t got all day.” The tobacco chewer used the pole repeatedly to edge Seth in the direction of a fire.

  Will was all he had to control the seething anger ripping through him. Rather than allow his jailer the satisfaction of winning, Seth went inside his head and focused on his surroundings.. As he limped toward the center of the encampment, he could see two guards and two more on the opposite side of the tents in front of them. He searched further out of the one eye that wasn’t swelled shut, but saw nothing more than the squaws Brannon had captured tending the fires.

  Within seconds, he sprawled face first in the dirt. The smell of burning hair permeated his nostrils and Seth realized his hair was on fire. Another self-induced wallow in the dirt and the scent dissipated. The red-hot gleam of an iron poker rested in the midst of the flames. Rolling out of the reach of the fire, he briefly considered what he would do if he got his hands on the weapon. His fingers itched to take the cocky son-of-bitch Brannon and ram the poker deep into his gut. He wanted the man to suffer. Struggling with the burning fury that bubbled up in his throat, he watched the object of his anger saunter into view.

  “Well, Mr. Loflin, we meet again.” Brannon lips curled up at the corners in a sneer as he watched the rage come into Seth’s eyes. “You know, it’s a shame we don’t have more time for a hunt, I would so enjoy tracking you down. Such great sport,” he mused aloud. Smiling wickedly for his compadras on either side of Seth, Brannon flicked a glance at his captive’s enraged face. “From the look on your face, you aren’t surprised that I survived our first meeting. Are you now?” Brannon smirked callously. “I suppose, I should congratulate you on making it as well.” Ideally, he slapped the palm of his gloved hand with a quip. “It seems we’re cut from the same cloth, you and me. I find that very intriguing.” He paced in front of Seth slowly as he considered the idea. “You see, I see our meetings as part of our destinies. Do you believe in such things, Mr. Loflin?” Brannon stopped pacing and cocked a brow.

  Seth heard little of the man’s babbling. Instead, he imagined getting his hands around Brannon’s neck.

  “It would appear that the gods made us of sterner stuff than most men. It will take more than mere bullets to stop either of us now, won’t it?” Brannon turned and watched Seth patiently as he waited for an answer to his question.

  “You won’t get away with this, Brannon. The Army already suspects your part in the slaughter of innocent women and children. There are those who will testify to that in court. Even if you use the Rangers directive to get away with raiding Indian encampments, you’re gonna hang, you bastard.”

  The quip shot out and struck Seth across the face. Inwardly, Seth grinned. Apparently, the Ranger’s good humor had faltered.

  Brannon’s voice was cool and callous. “You aren’t in a position to challenge my authority in this matter, Mr. Loflin. I suggest you mind your manners or you’ll find yourself at the end of a rope sooner than I had planned.” He turned as he heard a commotion coming from the other side of the encampment

  Celia appeared from one of the tents, fighting and tugging at her jailers. Her long black hair hung loose and in disarray as she struggled with the two who held her in a vice-like grip. He noted she wore pants and a man’s shirt. Probably part of the disguise she used to slip away unnoticed by the guards he’d posted before he left town. Her face, though, taught and strained held those beautiful eyes. Sorrow and fear showed in their depths. Still, he saw her soft mouth remained set in a hard line and her head jutted in anger.

  “Ah, here she comes now. Isn’t she lovely, Mr. Loflin? I must say, it will be hard to let her go once I am done here, but since she can, as you say, testify against me, it grieves me that I have no choice.” Brannon stepped close to Celia as she struggled with the two who held her. “Now, now, my dear. There’s no use in exerting so much energy in such a fruitless endeavor.” Brannon bent slightly and took her jaw solidly in his gloved hand.

  She cut icy, green orbs at him, before attempting to jerk free.

  He held her fast.

  Seth’s blood churned in his body! The red haze began to move across the edges of his sight.

  “Tsk, tsk. Celia, my dear girl, you have so little time to be with your husband. I would think that you would yearn to spend what little time is left in endearing words of love and undying devotion, not waste your attentions on useless attempts at provoking me.” With that Brannon’s other hand came up and slapped her hard across the cheek sending Celia into the dirt.

  “I’m gonna kill you with my bare hands.” Seth reared up and had the men who held him planting their feet. Her pain was his, as if Brannon had hit him, instead. His heart lurched in his chest and his anger surged at the thought of the her pain. “Leave her out of this,�
� he growled, feral and deep. “I’ll help you find Red Bear. Don’t drag her into this mess, Brannon.” He knew it was useless. Still, he had to try to buy them some time as he struggled to loosen the leather thong at his wrists. Then, his eyes met hers across the fire. Tears pooled in those hypnotic green eyes of hers before she blinked them back. A dark red handprint welted on her lovely cheek and blood oozed from a tiny slash near her hairline. He could see purple marks along her neck and another along that regal jaw. Incensed, he lashed out with curses and threats. “You son-of-a-bitch! I’m gonna gut you from your neck to your dick and feed your bowls to the coyotes.”

  Brannon coolly ignored Seth’s outburst. Instead, he reached out and grabbed Celia by the arm. “Now, my dear, I am sorry for the conditions, but you must understand, I can’t have you leaving without the information I need.” Brannon ran a surprisingly elegant finger along her bruised jaw.

  She jerked away.

  Brannon snatched her chin back.

  Celia spat in his face.

  Seth swore low and long as her green eyes shot daggers of contempt at Brannon, while under her breath she cursed him in Comanche and prayed to the great one for his demise in a low, vicious string of chants.

  Brannon hauled off and backhanded her again.

  Celia’s world went black. Blood trickled down the corner of her mouth, before Celia again spat at Brannon and cursed him in Comanche.

  Coolly sauntering over to Seth as he spoke, Brannon took a linen handkerchief from his pocket and wiped Celia’s spit from his face. “I believe this Comanche woman means something to you, Mr. Loflin.” His tone was clipped and calculating.

  His lecherous perusal of her kicked Seth’s rage up a notch. He saw the gun butt out of the corner of his good eye only seconds before stars burst behind them. The last thing he heard was Celia’s scream.

  Brannon wheeled back to her. “You see, my dear, I know a great deal about you and Mr. Loflin. I know that you fancy him as your deliverance from your savage way of life. But you have a duty to your new life.” He paused in his stride to survey her. “You are duty bound to assist me in bringing this rouge cousin of yours to justice. Red Bear must be punished for his crimes against the white man.”

  Celia couldn’t say anything. The man wasn’t sane.

  “Oh, don’t look so despondent, my dear. You help me and I will do what I can to help you and Mr. Loflin here.” He turned then striding back to Seth. With a vicious backhand he connected once more with Seth’s jaw.

  Consciousness once more, Seth groaned in pain.

  She muffled a cry.

  Brannon’s cohort held fast until blood mixed with spit dripped from his mouth making an ugly puddle on the ground at Brannon’s feet. His jailers dropped him into the dirt where his breath made small whiffs of dust plum upward.

  “Please…please stop!” Her voice was nothing more than an agonized whisper. Her bottom lip trembled with the effort as her own breath came in labored gasps.

  “Yes, yes, of course, my dear, I will stop.” Brannon’s eyes were cold and empty as he bore down on her. He dug his fingers neatly into the flesh of her shoulder. Pain shot out in all directions.

  “You have but to utter the one simple word and I will cease the persuasion I am so forced to use. Simply say yes. The word was a soft whisper.

  Celia grew ill.

  “Yes, you will lay with me, yes, you will cooperate with me, and yes, and you will take me to Red Bear. In return, I will spare your precious Mr. Loflin.”

  The sickness in the bottom of her stomach escalated with each word and then Celia froze.

  Brannon’s gaze had shifted from her to Seth lying in the dirt and then to the poker in the fire.

  Recognizing where his plans centered, Celia screamed, “Noooooo”

  Slowly he turned and stooped to pick the red-hot iron up. Holding it high, he examined its smoldering red tip. Brannon paused as he considered, “Your work on my injured comrade was quite commendable. While I do not profess to possess the same gift that you do, I do think that I can draw the necessary response from Mr. Loflin with your improvised surgical tool.”

  Celia couldn’t breathe. She hadn’t realized he would be watching her work. Her concern for all wounded had taken over and she’d closed a man’s bleeding artery by cauterizing it with a hot poker. What could this monster be thinking? Her mind screamed the accusation at her.

  He strode toward Seth, yanking him up by the cuff of his collar.

  She saw the red welts swelling along his temple where the gun butt had landed. Blood mixed with dirt caked his face. His left eye was swollen shut, and his lip had a deep cut.

  Brannon welded the poker very close to Seth’s throat. “Where would you like the first brand, my dear?” His mouth set in a thin line when he glanced back at her.

  Panic seized her in its clutches. She could feel it’s cold fingers clawing at her skin. Groping for courage she wasn’t sure she possessed, Celia could only stare in horror.

  One of the men holding her grabbed her chin and held her face, “Watch now, missy. You might miss somethin’.”

  She jerked in the man’s grip. Tears streamed down her face as she looked helplessly into those deep, blue depths.

  Each muscle in Seth’s face and neck had gone rigid but he never took his eyes off her, never made a sound. The tip of the rod met flesh and Seth bucked under the restraining hands. All the color drained from his face before the crimson came flooding back. Teeth gritted, eyes shut, face grimaced, and he struggled with the pain, but still didn’t make a sound. Spittle ran uncontrolled down his chin while the stench of scorching flesh hung heavy in the air. When Brannon removed the poker, Seth slumped, like an unconscious drunk, in a heap on the ground.

  Celia bucked, kicked and jerked in the fists that held her like steel. Surely, this lunatic wasn’t going to go through with yet another burn. In shock, she watched as Brannon bent to the fire. Shoving the poker into the hot embers, he raised his head and peered at her with his cold, lifeless eyes. Something went numb inside her. Realizing this madman would do whatever was necessary to achieve his goal, Celia died a little inside. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the man she loved. Her heart was breaking. If she could have removed it and given it to the cowboy for safekeeping, she would have. After all, she wouldn’t need it anymore. “Yes…yes…I’ll help you. Just please stop…stop.” she heard herself sob, but it sounded like someone else uttering the words.

  “Nooooo!” Seth groaned. The one agonizing word echoing around them. “Celia, for God’s sake, don’t.”

  Brannon rose slowly. The triumphant look on his disgusting face made her want to vomit.

  Handing Seth off to his men, Brannon gave the order, “Throw him back in the pit. She may try and resist.” Turning calmly, he strode to her side of the fire. “Well, my dear, I do admire your devotion. It would seem you possess a truly selfless soul. My compliments to the lady,” He bowed deeply, his smile dripping with sarcasm. Those cold, lifeless eyes of his held her gaze. He twisted the tip of his mustache while he appeared to consider.

  She could smell his cologne mixed with the smoke from the fire. The combination made the bile rise higher. Celia turned before losing her stomach on the boot of one of the guards.

  Cursing her, the one so violated, shoved her into the other man, who slapped her, sending her reeling toward the ground. There were worst things than dying, Celia knew. She glared at Brannon with hatred born of years of dealing with men of his caliber. Wiping her mouth, Celia stood without saying another word. She just stared at the hated Ranger. When she found the means, she would end her life rather than pleasure this bastard in any way. She didn’t look at Seth because she knew she couldn’t go through with what she had to do, if she did. That didn’t mean, she didn’t hear every time he yelled at her and pleaded with her to come back.

  “Take her to my tent.” Brannon directed his men curtly as he threw the poker back into the campfire.

  “Celia, don’t do this,
please, don’t…”

  Seth’s voice held such despair and anguish it tore at her very soul. She closed her eyes tight against the pain. He continued to call out to her even as the guards drug him out of sight.

  “She goes to save you. How courageous? Wouldn’t you agree?” Brannon’s laugh filled the air.

  Blindly, she marched ahead of Brannon’s men toward the canvas tent. Her heart was dying with each step. Was that Seth still pleading with her to stop? Surely, her mind played a cruel hoax.

  Chapter 13

  For Love

  Biting off the urge to scream, Seth paced the pit. With his heart pounding in his chest, he went over the possibilities. He hadn’t seen it coming - how Brannon had gotten Celia to agree to his demands. She’d done it for him – for him, damn it! Seth raked one hand through his blood-matted hair before fisting both in an anguished attempt to remove the visions of what the bastard could be doing to her at that very moment. The darkness brought nothing but more misery. Standing in the middle of the giant grave, Seth glanced around without seeing. He wanted to tear the man apart and roast his corpse over a fire. Field mice scurried for cover as he kicked at the bones and body parts before wheeling and pacing in the opposite direction. His mind raced over a way out. He had to find a way out!

  Grapping hold of a root exposed on the wall, Seth struggled up, but without another root, his efforts ended in a heap on the filthy earthen floor. Snarling at the emptiness surrounding him, Seth growled out Celia’s name. Never before in his life had he loved someone as deeply as he loved her. Never before had he had someone offer themselves to save his worthless ass. It tore at his insides. He hadn’t been able to protect her after all his vows to the contrary. No, it was she who’d protected him, maybe with her life. If Brannon had his way, Seth would never even have the chance to tell her what she meant to him.

  Out of the darkness enveloping everything, a keen whistle pierced the air.

  Seth went on alert. No one except Charles used that call. Scrambling to his feet, Seth returned the call. Soon a rope sailed over the side into the vermin infested den. Seth didn’t need to be told what was happening. He was getting out of hell!