Allie looked at him blankly.
"Care for some wine, my dear?" He moved the glass across the desk to put it directly in front of Allie.
"N-No sir. Thank you."
The smile faded from his features. "I didn't think so," he muttered. Leaning forward, he steepled his fingers under his chin. "I'll get right to the point. What do you see as your role in our – ah – family, Allison?"
Allie tensed, desperately hoping to answer correctly. "I want to be a good daughter—"
"That's what I thought." He sighed in disappointment.
Allie shook her head. "I don't understand. Is that wrong?"
When he looked into her eyes again, his face was a mask of malevolent fury. "Yes, that's wrong, you stupid chit." He brought himself under control, his lips tightening.
Allie cowered across from him, making herself as small as she could. His sudden fury reminded her of someone she'd sworn to escape – Reverend Tolliver.
"I have something else in mind for you, dear Allison," he purred. Rising from the plush dark leather, he walked around the end of the desk, stopping in front of her. Reaching out, he slipped a cool finger under her chin and raised her head, forcing her to look at him.
Icy fingers of terror wrapped around her insides. Her breathing came in rapid pants as she tried to calm her fear. Surely, surely she misunderstood.
He regarded her steadily, his brows drawn together in consternation. He pursed his lips. The thin purple veins of his days as a heavy drinker stood out across his large nose.
Allie's heart flipped in her chest at the cruelty slithering through his glassy blue eyes. She had never been this near to him, and the smell of the pine-scented aftershave was cloying in the close confines. In her innocence, she had never realized what certain kinds of men might do to indulge their carnal desires. That she would be the object of a man's lust was foreign to her, and so unexpected, in this case, that she couldn't stop the air from rushing out of her body as she recognized his intent. Breathless with fear and disgust at what was plainly written on her father's stony face, she returned his stare, managing not to look away.
His thin lips turned up at the corners in a feral smile. "I can see we understand one another. I don't have to go into a tedious explanation, and for that, I'm relieved. Perhaps you understand more than I thought, in the beginning."
He put his hand under her elbow, urging her to stand. Dutifully, she came to her feet, mere inches between them. The flabby folds of his skin fell over the cravat he wore, and she noted the way his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed. He didn't touch her immediately, and she wondered once again if she had misunderstood everything. Surely, he hadn't meant…what it had sounded like.
"From now on, you will call me Hiram," he murmured thickly. "And you will do whatever I ask…whenever I ask."
Allie stepped to the side, away from the nearness of him, out of the overwhelming pine-filled evil aura that encompassed them. She took a deep, faltering breath when he followed suit. Quickly, she turned away from him in an act of shyness that made him chuckle.
She lowered her eyes, unwilling to risk him seeing the disbelief, the betrayal, and the raw desperation she felt. Her stomach churned, and she fought back the nausea.
How could he? Although he'd never been much of a true father figure to her, he'd never been incorrect with his affection. He'd never been out of line in his remarks or comments. And she could never remember seeing the naked lust in his face that she'd beheld moments earlier.
Her thoughts twisted and turned. The very idea of what he was insinuating was so repugnant to her that when he laid a beefy hand on her shoulder, she gave a short cry of alarm.
"Come to me, my pet. I've waited over two long years for this. Gave you time to grow up a little. But I knew when I saw you in that orphan's home you were the one I'd have." He chuckled low, his grasp tightening to turn her to him. "You're sixteen now. Old enough to make a woman of you. And I've had my fill of waiting." He licked his lips. "Been a long time since I've had a virgin."
"Oh, please—"
He turned her around completely to face him, ignoring the stiffness of her body, the fear she knew was written across her face. His hand slipped to her breast and cupped it. She stepped back hurriedly, but he held her, pulling her closer to him again, a frown on his face.
"You don't understand, my dear. You have no choice in this. You will not fight me—" He lowered his head to her, his breath fanning her face as he slanted his mouth over hers.
She turned her head, the desperation and anger finally winning out over all the roiling emotions inside her. "I will!" she spat. "I will!" She hadn't realized she'd spoken her defiance until she felt him stiffen and stop his efforts to force his kiss on her. "I will fight—"
"Then you shall be punished, dear Allison." He released her and took a step back. "A dutiful daughter," he smiled, slowly unbuckling his belt, "doesn't disobey. Your rebelliousness is unseemly. It must be dealt with." He carefully worked the belt loose from the loops, his eyes never leaving hers. "Punishment is something I…very much enjoy."
He folded the leather in half, giving it a snap. "Come kiss me, daughter, before I mete out your punishment. You are very disobedient. I won't tolerate it."
Allie lowered her gaze, hoping that just this once, she could fool him. With any luck, once would be all she'd need.
"I'm so sorry, H-Hiram." Her voice shook. She took a step near him, still not looking up. He raised the belt and held it poised, stretched taut between his thick fingers.
Allie reached up quickly, pushing him backward. He stumbled on the carpet, his initial surprise at her audacity twisting his face into a mask of rage. He lost his balance as the hearth rug slipped under his feet. He fell heavily, unable to catch his bulky frame. His head struck the raised corner of the sandstone hearth with a dull thud. His body shifted, his waistcoat falling open to reveal the ornate silver money clip he wore at his side.
Allie stumbled back, repulsed at the thought of what had almost transpired there in the study and horrified at what she'd just done. There was no one to save her from this man. He could do whatever he wanted to her…with her. And she was as much his prisoner as if he'd held her in chains.
Her breath was quick and raspy. Dear God, I've committed murder! And I don't care.
Blood trickled across the sandstone from his temple, seeping into the light porous surface of the native rock that had been meticulously cut and fitted.
Hiram Nielson didn't move, didn't breathe. The silver money clip gleamed in the waning afternoon light. Allie reached for it, hesitating a moment before she touched it. What would robbery matter, in the face of murder? She'd need the money to get away.
She snatched the clip from his trousers. Hurriedly, she stepped away from him, an odd feeling of exultation filling her. A deep breath steadied her nerves.
She would need clothes – just a few. Maybe a gun to protect herself. But she must get away as quickly as possible.
Murder.
She backed toward the study door, feeling for the handle. Quickly, she wrenched it, pulling the door open and stepping into the gleaming tile floor of the high-arched entryway. She shut the door behind her, then hurried up the spiral staircase to her room.
No, no...first, the gun.
Veering from her own bedroom doorway, she ran down the hallway to the end and threw open the chamber door to the private quarters that were Hiram Nielson's alone. They were furnished with the best. Unusual trinkets from his travels and rich carpeting from his time in the eastern hemisphere as an ambassador filled the chamber. Luxurious bedding in jewel-toned colors bedecked his bed – the bed he had intended Allie to share.
She swallowed, her gorge rising. She could do this. There was no choice! She walked purposefully to the gun cabinet he kept on the west wall. The door opened with no use of a key, and Allie's gaze traveled quickly over the larger firearms of which she'd no need. A smaller pistol would do. One she could keep in her carpetbag.
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br /> The pepperbox derringer caught her eye – small and silver; ornamental, but deadly, all the same. Too delicate for a man like Hiram Nielson. It must have been Mrs. Nielson's at one time. Allie picked it up from the deep hunter green velvet where it lay, then took the box of shells that lay just beside it. She hurriedly closed the cabinet doors, then peeked out the bedroom chamber entrance into the hallway.
She made her way swiftly to her own chamber, hastily grabbing two serviceable dresses from her closet and tucking them into her bag along with some of her undergarments, her hair brush, the gun and ammunition – and, of course, the money and silver clip. Fingers shaking, she changed into her blue riding habit.
Then, she had gone down the servants' stairway, depositing her bag behind a garden bed of barrel cactus and desert roses near the back entrance. She confidently headed for the barn without a backward glance. The groom gave her a puzzled look when she asked him to saddle Reya, but he did as she asked.
She led the horse from the stables at a leisurely pace, toward the house. Drawing a deep, ragged breath, she reached behind the cactus for her bag. She tied it to the pommel and mounted, her legs nearly giving way beneath her as she swung into the saddle.
The road rose up, shimmering in the late afternoon sunlight, beckoning to her with the promise of freedom. She rode out of the gate, not knowing where she was bound.
The hacienda had never been a home. The people who had adopted her had never been real parents – she had been a servant – and an unsuspecting victim of Hiram Nielson's lustful fantasies. Tears filled her eyes at all the dreams she'd been forced to abandon. Her family, two sisters and her parents, had been massacred by the Apache. Her years at the orphanage had been hard and brittle as glass. When Brandon had left, the only spark of kinship she'd known had gone from her existence. Her adoption had proved a sham, and though she had enjoyed having such amenities as her own private bedchamber and expensive clothing, she understood, now, why those things had been provided. Not out of love for her; it was a debt she would be expected to repay in the most unimaginable way.
She had been nothing more than a servant for nearly three years; a personal nurse to her adopted mother. And now, her father had his own demands. She shook her head. She did not belong to the Nielsons, just because they'd adopted her.
Murder. She had done murder. Yet, as she remembered the glittering evil in Hiram Nielson's eyes, she could not find it within herself to feel sorrow for what she'd done, and the guilt was fast disappearing from her conscience the more miles she put between her and the garishly opulent study where it had all transpired.
It was hard to believe all the events that had taken place in the past twenty-four hours – burying her adopted mother, and with that, the relief of the many constant duties that had filled her days and nights. The funeral had been taxing, and the sordid proposition that followed in the study had been unbelievable. Evil. Killing Hiram Nielson had not been Allie's intent. She'd only wanted to get away from him.
What would she have done? Run…where? If he'd only lost his balance momentarily, he would have followed her by only a few steps. Right now, he'd be riding behind her, if she'd even been able to make it to the stables and get a horse before he caught her. No one could have stopped him.
No one would have stopped him.
No one but her. She'd done it alone. And instead of feeling guilty, she began to take a kind of pride in herself that she'd never had before. She had taken control of her own life. Finally.
Her destiny and her dreams were her own, to see to a fruitful end. Never before had she felt that kind of power. But with power also came responsibility for herself that she'd never had.
Before she even knew it was a conscious thought, she found herself riding eastward, toward the badlands of Indian Territory. Toward the orphanage she'd called 'home' before being adopted. No, she would not go back to the orphanage – she couldn't. There was no help to be found there, and the one person she'd been close to had left years before.
She thought of Brandon Gabriel as she rode on toward the end of the harrowing day. Where was he now? What was he doing? Did he ever spare a thought for her?
The last time she'd seen him, she'd taken the blue ribbon from her hair and pressed it into his hand shyly. The look he'd given her had been odd, unreadable. That had been more than four years ago. What had she been thinking, giving a boy a hair ribbon? No wonder he'd looked at her so strangely.
She turned her thoughts from Brandon to her destination. She'd have to pick one. She knew there were some smaller settlements close to the orphanage. She wasn't truly familiar with the area, since the inhabitants of 'The Benevolent Christian Home for Infants and Waifs' weren't ever allowed to go into town.
But that might work to her advantage. No one in those places would know her. And she'd be close to the orphanage in case…in case a certain wild-blooded half-Comanche boy ever came looking for her again.
She knew it was crazy, but somehow, it made a kind of sense. Her heart thundered in time with the horse's hooves. Whatever came, it would be of her own choosing.
She was ready for anything.
Chapter 9
Brandon lay unmoving, Allie's words creating vivid pictures in his mind.
She had been braver than he ever imagined. But she'd been faced with a living nightmare there was no escape from – except the way she'd chosen. The right way. His mangled fingers started to clench, and he quickly forced them to relax. The only way. He took a cautious breath, as far as his cracked ribs would allow.
Everything depended on his reaction, he knew. He couldn't let Allie see how much what she'd told him affected him. It might change everything between them.
"Well?" she whispered hoarsely. "How does it feel to be tucked up in bed with a murderess?" Her voice was light, teasing, but Brandon could not mistake the pain that lurked in the forest pools of her eyes. And the question behind the question: What did he think of her now?
Once more, memories of the young girl he'd known all those years past, filled his thoughts; the changeable, fathomless depths of her eyes; the feel of her small arms around his waist on that summer day; the whip whistling through the air as it cut the material and skin alike at her back. She'd only wanted to protect him then, as she tried to do now.
At first, when he'd felt her cotton dress touch his shredded flesh, he'd almost cried out. But that contact had been nothing compared to the stroke of the blood-soaked whip – the one stroke that had fallen across Allie Taylor's back instead of his own. He'd been beyond shame – a girl, protecting him. A white girl, younger than he…But that brief reprieve had given him the seconds he'd needed to collect his endurance again.
The preacher and the girls' governess, Mrs. Lyle, had both rushed forward and pried Allie's arms from Brandon's waist.
"Now just see what you've done, you wicked girl!" Mrs. Lyle had exclaimed. "Ruined your dress, front and back." She gave Allie a hard shake. "It's beyond repair, and all for a no good half-breed boy!"
Allie's bleeding back had been of no concern.
She'd done the only thing she could to keep them from hurting him, though her own world had been filled with a multitude of unseen wounds. Allie had shown him the only kindness he'd known in that godforsaken 'home' they'd lived in…and he'd never truly been there to return the favor.
Not until now. And still, it seemed, there was nothing he could do.
He let a cavalier grin curve his lips, his fingers tracing idle patterns on her shoulder. His angel. First, his guardian; then, his avenger. Both times, she'd been telling him without a word spoken that she would sacrifice whatever it took for him.
"You saved me the trouble," he murmured. "If you hadn't killed Nielson I would have had to."
"I didn't mean to."
"Allie – no one would blame you even if you did, sweetheart. He deserved what he got – and more."
She looked away. "Nice girls don't kill people, you know. I was afraid you'd think – badly of me."
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"For not letting some lecherous bastard paw you?"
She shot him a glance. "I fear he had more in mind than a mere 'pawing'."
"No one has that right, Allie." Brandon was beginning to understand what Allie might not, even now. "Listen to me. The Nielsons adopted you for their own reasons. Mrs. Nielson needed a nurse, and Mr. Nielson wanted – your body."
The thought made his stomach roll. The idea of another man's hands on Allie's satin skin nearly made him blind with anger. To think she'd almost been despoiled by someone despicable enough to adopt her for that purpose – beyond belief. He moistened his lips. "You did the right thing."
"I stole money from him."
"The way I see it, he intended to steal a hell of a lot more than money from you," Brandon said tightly. "You worked as a servant for his wife for what? Two – three years? Consider it wages."
Allie nodded. "Yes. But what I took – it was – a lot more than that."
Brandon's eyes narrowed. "More than three years' worth of wages?"
"Yes," she said with a definitive nod. "Enough to buy this place and set up—"
A knock came at the door, and she broke off, disengaging herself gently from Brandon's side. The door swung open, and Doc Wilkins appeared, giving them a genial smile.
"How'd my patient fare during the night?" He stepped inside, leaving the door ajar.
Brandon looked up at him, and tried to return the smile, but he was afraid his frustration was showing through. Allie had been on the verge of telling him something that sounded suspiciously like yet another confession. What had it been? It would be awhile, now, before they'd have the chance to be alone again, and by then, she'd have had time to pull that damned cloak of reserve around her once more. He wanted nothing between them. Not the path of thoughtful steps she seemed to take in her conversation, not the shadows in her eyes of unspoken hardships and loneliness, not the years that had passed between them since their last meeting.
He sighed. Right now, there was nothing he could do about it. "I'm lots better, Doc," he said. He would do whatever it took to speed his healing, but Allie was his prime concern. He'd unwittingly brought chaos into her life once more.
Gabriel's Law Page 7
