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Laurent stared down at her, then burst out laughing. “I cannot do that, mademoiselle. You are much too valuable for that.”
Evelyn shot him a look of pure contempt, then turned her head and closed her eyes. Tears of despair squeezed through between her closed eyelids, and rolled down her cheeks. Glad for the fever that ravaged her body, making her mind nearly numb with delirium, she leaned back against the branches of the willow. She’d barely closed her eyes when a sharp tap on her shoulder startled her awake.
“It is time, mademoiselle,” Laurent whispered in her ear.
“What?” Evelyn croaked. She forced her eyes open. Men stood all around her, eager and hungry looks in their eyes. She’d just closed her eyes. Was the hour up already?
Laurent helped her to her feet, and she stood facing dozens of rough and unkempt-looking mountain men. A shiver ran down her spine. Sabin stood at the front of the group. Evelyn tried to lift her chin and square her shoulders, but it was too much of an effort. She tuned out Laurent’s voice as he asked for someone to make him an offer. The voices became louder and more boisterous, and Evelyn shut out the noise as best as she could.
A sudden loud uproar from the men made her lift her head to see what the renewed commotion was all about. Men stepped aside, and Evelyn’s gaze locked on a man pushing his way to the front. Broad-shouldered but of average height, he carried himself with a certain confidence that seemed to be lacking in most of these other men. He was just as unkempt as the rest of them, his long thick black hair falling nearly to his shoulders, and most of his face obscured by a bushy beard.
“What did you say?” Laurent exclaimed next to her.
“I’ll give you half a year’s beaver pelts for her,” the man said in a deep and resonating voice. The roar of the men around him increased. He didn’t look at her, but instead glared at Laurent as if he intended to kill the man with his stare alone.
“You can’t barter pelts for her. They belong to the Rocky Mountain Fur Company.” Sabin sneered and tried to block the other man’s way. “B’sides, since when have you ever wanted to trade for a woman?”
“Since I decided I want this one,” the dark man answered gruffly. “And my pelts are mine to do with as I choose.”
He stepped forward and grabbed Evelyn’s arm, pulling her away from the half-circle of men. He stopped and turned toward Laurent.
“I’ll settle up with you in a little while.” His tone implied more than paying for what he had just bought.
Evelyn darted a frantic glance at Laurent, whose mustache twitched as he smiled triumphantly. She tried to pull away from the menacing man’s grip, but he held firm. She had no strength left in her. Her head pounded, and her world began to spin. Her legs felt like bread pudding, but she forced one foot in front of the other as he dragged her away from the crowd
Evelyn didn’t care anymore what happened to her. Her mind was too tired, and her body weak from the fever that had plagued her for two days. She simply wished she could curl up and die. Her legs suddenly gave out, and she stumbled. Before she hit the ground, the gruff mountain man who now owned her scooped her in his arms. For a moment, Evelyn stared up into the trapper’s deep blue eyes, which were partly obstructed by thick strands of black hair. His dense black beard covered most of his facial features.
Evelyn blinked, trying to keep him in focus, but his face suddenly became a blur.
“Alex,” she whispered, just before her world went dark.
Chapter 4
“What the hell were you thinking, bringing her here?” Alex roared and charged at the man who stood next to his horse, unwrapping the leather girth straps from around the animal’s belly. Laurent Berard spun around on his heels. Before he could react, Alex grabbed the Frenchman by the front of his shirt, his momentum sending both of them against the horse. The animal sidestepped nervously, and Laurent nearly lost his balance. Alex grimaced, his face inches from his wide-eyed opponent. His fists dug into the slightly shorter man’s collarbones. Laurent stared back at Alex.
“I had no choice, Walker,” he said between gritted teeth, and grabbed hold of Alex’s wrists in an attempt to loosen the grip.
Locked in a duel of strength, Alex refused to back away. He leaned toward Laurent in an attempt to unbalance him, but the Frenchman had squared his legs in a way that made it impossible to budge him. The slow smirk on Laurent’s face only served to infuriate Alex more.
He was tired as hell, and had been looking forward to a nice long nap. Two nights ago, he had successfully stolen back all the horses that the Blackfeet had stolen from him and his six traveling companions. He’d ended up with a few extra animals that he planned to trade at rendezvous. The party of Blackfeet was too small to dare an attack on this large gathering, so he wasn’t worried about being followed. Hundreds of trappers from all over the Rockies were already congregated here, along with countless Indians from various tribes. Alex hadn’t much cared to find out who had already arrived. He would look for acquaintances later. He especially wanted to seek out Aimee Osborne, and ask her to remove the buckshot from his chest.
