Chapter 45

Jack dropped his hands to his hips and eyed Nora critically as he walked slowly around the clearing they had stopped in. She caught her breath and recovered faster than she had when they’d first set out on this journey. Competent already when they’d met, he had been impressed by her skills. She could wield a knife with skill, an intimate weapon that suited her well. But he would not ask himself why he was so desperate that she master the skills of stealth and hand-to-hand combat. She was feisty, no real fighter yet, but he would turn her into one. By God, he would know that if they were separated for any reason, she would not go down without at least putting up a good fight. He would see to it.

He had plans for her. Once they worked on her endurance, they would improve her skill. He would get her a sword, a larger knife, test her skill with them and make her better. They still had the weapons from the British soldiers—one of which she carried for her own. He would teach her how to use all the weapons he could get his hands on between here and Boston quickly and effectively. They would practice drawing each weapon from its sheath until she was as fast on the draw as she could be. They would continue to practice until her muscles screamed in protest, and then they would practice longer. An opponent waited for you to show signs of fatigue. He would teach her not to show any. He would teach her everything he knew. And when they were finished with all of that, he would find new things to teach her. They would train in daylight and in the moonlight. He would pull her out of bed and make her run miles in the pitch black. They would train in the rain, the snow, the cold, the water, the mud, and never mind that there was no way to teach her all that before reaching Boston.

But maybe, just maybe, in all that activity, he would forget the way she smelled. How her eyes lit up and sparkled like stars, how her skin felt, the sound of her laugh. She haunted his dreams, waking and asleep.

“We’re done for the day,” Jack said, refocusing. “Let’s return to the camp and get you more food and water.”

Nora pushed away from the tree, but Jack held up a hand to stop her movement. Frozen in place at his command, she looked around the area intently. Rushing to her side, Jack pulled Nora behind him. Her hands automatically drew the knife she always carried. He could hear the rustling of the leaves and brush—at least two men, but based on what he was hearing, he thought not more than five.

Three men bounded from the woods wielding weapons. Jack wasn’t happy they were here, but he was also itching for a fight, and they would be the perfect targets. He knew he could handle three men, and he reluctantly admitted Nora could handle one or two on her own. Two men went immediately for Nora, and the other engaged Jack. They must have been Rogan’s men, but these weren’t in uniform.

The man fighting him chose hand-to-hand combat over a weapon, and Jack was happy to oblige him. Enraged that these men had attacked, pounding the soldier with Jack’s own two hands would be more satisfying than quickly dispatching him with a weapon. As he fought, he tried to keep one eye on Nora. She seemed to be doing well until she got tangled up in her skirts and fell. That wasn’t good. When she came back up, she still held her knife in her hand. Good girl.

When Jack’s opponent landed a solid jab to his chin, Jack knew he had to stop worrying about Nora and give his full attention to his fight. He couldn’t afford to become any more injured than he already was. His ribs and back already protested mightily with each movement, and each blow sent pain streaking through him. Perhaps hand-to-hand hadn’t been such a good idea.

All of a sudden Jack heard Nora scream and knew she must have been hurt. Landing a solid kick to the other man’s chest, he used the opportunity to remove his knife from his boot. Sparing no time, he launched it at his attacker. The knife landed in the man’s chest, and he fell to his knees.

Jack didn’t bother to check to see if the man was dead yet. He was down, and that was all he needed to get to Nora. One of her attackers staggered away from her with her knife in his stomach, and Jack took the other one down with a shot from his gun.

Jack heard a shout from the trees. The man with the knife to the gut had struggled to his feet and charged at Jack, knife raised. Caught off guard and unprepared to ward off the attack, Jack thought his end just might be near. He would never know Nora’s secrets, never be able to tell her about his growing feelings for her, and never resolve the turmoil within about where he belonged.

An arrow suddenly protruded from the man’s chest through his back, and he stumbled to a stop just before Jack. When he fell, Jack saw Running Bull behind him. Jack looked to his brother across the clearing as he emerged from the tree line, still holding his bow. Evidently, Running Bull had changed his mind about returning to the tribe just yet.

When Jack looked to Nora, she was sitting on the ground, leaning up against a tree clutching her upper arm. Blood spilled through her fingers. Leaving Running Bull to check the men and retrieve their weapons, Jack immediately dropped to his knees before her, gently pulling away her hand to check the severity of her injury. The blood gushed out and she grit her teeth. A feeling of minor panic settled over him. If this had been an injured brave before him, he would have handled it with the impassivity needed, but it wasn’t. It was Nora, and she was hurt. His heart raced, but he forced himself to remain as calm as possible. He would question his physical reaction to her pain later. Silent tears spilled from her eyes, but she didn’t cry out. She didn’t so much as whimper.

Immediately, Jack ripped off part of her skirts for bandages.

“Take it to the stream and wet it,” Nora said through clenched teeth.

“I know how to treat a wound,” he snapped, but he did as directed. When he returned, he cleaned the wound, applied a poultice Running Bull handed him, and bound it with a dry strip. “It needs to be stitched.”

“It’s fine. We need to move on,” she said. “You know we need to be away from here. We’re leaving a long trail of bodies behind us.” She staggered to her feet and hissed. “You take care of them. I’m going back to the horses to change out of this damn dress, and if you think to argue with me, Jack Justice, you’ll be the next one with a knife wound.”

He raised his eyebrows at her decree and watched her walk slowly back in the direction of the horses. She had been right all along—the dress hindered her too much in a fight. Somehow, he’d just have to deal with seeing her sweet derriere in the breeches.

He looked to Running Bull now, who slung the bow back over his shoulder. “You changed your mind.”

“I changed my heart. I needed to know if you were to board the ship for England. If I’m never to see you again, I’d like as much time as the gods allow,” Running Bull said. He walked over to Jack and patted his cheek. “You’re welcome, White Bear, or should I say Mr. Justice? I will accompany you to Boston. I will see you and the girl safely to the ship.”

“Do you not have faith in my skills to adequately protect her?” Jack challenged.

“I have always had full faith in you, brother,” Running Bull replied. “I will protect you while you are protecting her and see my injured brother safe, covering your back as you do mine.”

Jack swallowed around a suddenly tight throat and didn’t argue. How could he, when he’d have done the same for Running Bull if their positions were reversed?

When they made it to the horses, Nora was clad in the damn breeches. She mounted the horse with a little effort but seemed to be managing fine with her injury. He would watch her closely, keep an eye on the wound. If it became infected, she could take ill, and there was nowhere safe for them to wait out an illness.