The Maverick's Bride. Catherine Palmer

Pickering strode across the room and flung open the wardrobe doors. “Adam King was here—at the consulate. We know that.”

      “He did send a note,” Cissy ran on. “He wanted to speak with Emma, but she refused him.”

      Pickering glowered at Emma. She brushed a hand over her swollen cheek. “Cissy is telling the truth, Father.”

      “Emmaline, if I learn you have lied to me, you will never know the end of my anger.” Her father pulled a derringer from his coat pocket before calling out again. “If you’re in here, King, I shall see you dead before I rest.”

      As their father stormed out of the room, both girls turned to the window. The gravel road was empty, only a faint cloud of dust in a thin trail above it.

      “You should have gone with him, Emma.” Cissy’s arm stole around her sister’s shoulder. “He swore to protect you and he has an ill friend in great need of your help.”

      Remembering the letter she had read the day before, Emma wondered who this friend could be. A woman? A mistress? Surely not. Or could that be the sort of evil Nicholas Bond had been referring to?

      Adam had told her he was not married. But Nicholas had branded him a liar. Which man had spoken the truth?

      Emma closed her eyes and breathed out a sigh. As she inhaled, she drank in the morning—the fresh air and the lingering scent of leather.

      Chapter Four

      Emma leaned her head against the railcar window and gazed out at the placid blue ocean. The train had pulled out of the station not long ago, and now it chugged across the three-quarter-mile Salisbury Bridge. Cissy sat on the seat across from Emma, a French novel lying unattended in her lap as she stared down at her hands. No doubt her sister was dwelling on Dirk, Emma supposed.

      As the train rolled onto the mainland from Mombasa island, Emma drew her focus from her sister. At last—the protectorate in all its raw majesty. The train’s twelve-mile-an-hour pace provided a constantly changing panorama. It pulled away from the palm trees and mango and banana groves. Into view came huge gray baobabs, lush green acacias and verdant underbrush.

      Emma scanned the terrain for signs of wild game. Although her gaze was fixed on the landscape, she could not help overhearing an urgent conversation in the berth behind her.

      “Patterson had been at Tsavo only two or three days when the first coolie was dragged off.” Nicholas Bond was making an effort to whisper, but he was forced to speak loudly enough to be heard above the rattle of the car.

      “How long ago was this?” Emma’s father asked, his voice tense.

      “Two months, sir. Since that time the killings have escalated. Patterson’s been after the lions nearly every night, but so far they’ve eluded him.”

      “And how many lions are there?”

      “Two. That’s for certain—only two. One would think we could bag them, but they are clever. And of course the workers’ camps are spread so far along the rail line that the lions have quite a feeding ground, so to speak.”

      “Has Patterson tried poison?”

      Nicholas hesitated a moment. “The lions have acquired a taste for human flesh, sir. They much prefer a live coolie to a poisoned dead donkey.”

      At this Godfrey Pickering gave a loud snort. “This is unconscionable, man. Can the workers not build fences?”

      “They’ve erected large hedges of dry thorn brush around the tents, but the lions are able to jump over or go through every barrier. These two beasts are incredibly large and crafty, sir. The coolies call them shaitani—devils.”

      A knot of fear twisted in the pit of Emma’s stomach. She shifted the heavy white pith helmet in her lap. Adam’s gun lay hidden in the cloth chatelaine bag beside her. It comforted her…not so much for the protection it offered, but for memories it stirred of the man who had held her with such tenderness.

      Thankful her path would never cross Adam King’s again on this vast continent, Emma repented her thoughts about him. Married or not, the American was certainly not part of God’s plan for her life. She had heard His voice and seen her path of service stretch out before her. Nowhere had she glimpsed a handsome cowboy on a black horse.

      Forcing her thoughts away from Adam, she wondered where she and Cissy would sleep. Would they be safe from the marauding lions? Emma had never fired a weapon in her life and she could not imagine defending herself against a hungry beast.

      Eager to stretch her legs, she stood and lifted the glass window. A gust of clean, cool breeze blew into the stuffy car and tugged a lock of hair from her chignon. Golden in the late morning sunlight, the wisp danced about her chin as she propped her hands on the sill and leaned out the window.

      There! Beneath an enormous baobab tree in the far distance stood a great red-gray elephant. With tiny eyes it squinted at the train, then lifted a long wrinkled trunk to test the air. Emma drew in a deep breath, but as she took in the scenery, an unexpected sight startled her into a loud gasp. Could it be?

      Leaning farther out, she saw spurred boots, one crossed casually over the other, protruding from a window several cars forward. Her fingers tightened on the sill and she let out a small cry as she drew in her head.

      “What is it?” Cissy rose. “Do you see a lion? Let me have a look.” She pushed her sister to one side and peered out. In an instant she was back in the railcar and pulling Emma onto the berth beside her.

      “It’s your cowboy!” she whispered. Her eyes were wide with excitement. “He followed you onto the train, Emma. You must go and speak with him.”

      “I can’t talk to Adam King. Think what would happen if I were discovered.”

      Cissy’s eyes darted to her sister’s bruised cheek and puffy lip. Then she shook her head. “He needs you. He told you that. And he promised to protect you, Emma. I’m certain he will. He’s that sort of man. Like Dirk.”

      Emma looked out the window at the tangle of shrubbery brushing past. Adam King did seem that sort of man. But why should she trust someone she knew so little about? Nicholas had vilified him. His behavior had hardly proven him a gentleman. Yet there was something about him…

      Her thoughts slipped back to her first view of the man. He had been no more than a dark form on a black horse, yet he had cradled a child so gently.

      “If opportunity presents itself, I shall speak to him,” Emma said with quiet determination. “Yet I’m certain he is not on this train because of me. He didn’t even know I’d be here.”

      “But he did! I heard you tell him we were leaving on the eight o’clock train. Emma, he’s following you, protecting you even without your permission. He saw what Father did.”

      Cissy glanced over the back of the berth to where her father and Nicholas Bond were still deep in conversation. Then she tucked her arm through her sister’s.

      “I know men,” Cissy whispered, “and I can see that the cowboy has taken a fancy to you.”

      “You know far less than you claim, believe me.” Annoyed, Emma shoved the wisp of hair back into her chignon. Even though he had denied it, he must be married. Emma had seen the letter. She felt sure that somewhere in America his wife was preparing for a governor’s inauguration—and waiting for the husband who would accompany her. If Adam wanted to talk with Emma, it was only because she was a nurse. His ill friend must need one badly.

      Her cheeks hot, Emma leaned back on the leather seat and shut her eyes. To imagine that there could be any hope for true love with such a man was impossible. Yet without success, she tried to resist the unbidden memory of his arms holding her close as they danced around the ballroom.

      Rising suddenly, she grabbed the iron handles and slammed the window shut.

      

      Lunch arrived