The Surrender of Lacy Morgan

by Suzanne Ferrell

  What was he saying? Good night? That they could rest easy and he’d protect them? Did he use that same gentle voice he’d used on her at the river today when he tried to reassure her?

  Quinn and Dakota were quite a pair. One carried his anger like a shield—strong, powerful, completely in control. The other, strong in his own right, yet with a voice used to calm those around him. How was she supposed to fight the two of them?

  When she opened her eyes again, Dakota had disappeared. She squinted into the darkness beyond the firelight to find him hunkered down near the trees, watching her intently, his rifle laid across his lap.

  He held her gaze for a moment, then nodded before turning to scan the surrounding area once more.

  The heat from Quinn’s body seeped through her clothes. Cocooned beneath the blanket with him, the day’s long journey and her own emotions finally took their toll.

  These two marshals might be her captors, but they offered her something she’d never had—safety.

  * * * * *

  Sunlight beat down on Lacy, warming her despite the cool mountain air as she followed the men farther up the trail the next morning. Just like yesterday, she’d gone to bed in the arms of one man, only to awaken in the arms of his partner.

  Once again they’d released her long enough to take care of her needs and eat breakfast, then bound her hands before letting her mount her horse. Today she didn’t try to protest. Not because she’d accepted being their prisoner. No, she still planned to escape if she got the chance, but she knew her pleas for a little freedom would fall on deaf ears. Quinn wanted her bound and he wouldn’t brook any discussion.

  “Pay attention.” Quinn gave the horse’s reins a tug to bring her closer to him.

  She threw an angry look at him but gripped the pommel tighter between her hands to keep from toppling off the horse. He’d done that on purpose, she’d just bet on it.

  “Spring run-off’s making the trail slick in spots,” he yelled at Dakota, who’d taken the lead again today.

  “Yeah and the creek’s rising on the south side. There’s a few mudslides up ahead. Watch your step.”

  She glanced over the embankment. The creek waters ran furiously over the rocks, eating at the soil and tumbling down the mountainside. A log slammed against a large river stone, turned end over end and shattered into two pieces before hurtling past.

  Okay, maybe Quinn hadn’t jerked her horse to irritate her.

  She kneed her mount farther away from the trail’s edge. The horse nudged the stallion’s flank as he moved. Quinn glanced back, then nodded when he saw she’d narrowed the space between them.

  What? No sardonic comment? No further orders? She’d finally done something to please him?

  She concentrated on the path ahead for the next hundred feet or so, all the time marveling at the harsh beauty of the wilderness around them. Best she could tell, they were headed southwest into the National Park.

  A shadow fell over her for the briefest of moments. She glanced up into the tree-covered mountains. Nothing moved.

  The sensation of being watched crawled up her spine like a spider scurrying across its web. She stared up into the mountainside once more. Still nothing moved.

  Up ahead, Dakota disappeared around a bend in the trail. A moment later, Quinn rode around the bend, leading her horse by its reins.

  The eerie sensation grew sharper.

  The paint skittered toward the edge of the path.

  “Dammit, don’t let him get close to that edge.” Quinn yelled, pulling the reins harder.

  “I’m trying.” Lacy shook off the odd feeling and tried to knee the horse back into the safety of the mountain side of the path.

  At that moment the loud, shrill screech of a mountain lion sounded above her. The horse whinnied and lifted off her forelegs to pull loose of Quinn’s grip. Lacy looked up to see the blur of the huge cat leaping toward her.

  Chapter Five

  Lacy’s reins pulled on Quinn’s saddle as all hell broke loose behind him—the horse whinnied, Lacy screamed and a cougar screeched. He turned to see the terrified horse rear up on its hind legs with Lacy dangling precariously by her leather-bound hands to the pommel, just as the huge cat leapt at the pair.

  Lacy leaned over the horse’s neck. Trying to dodge the cougar or protecting her mount, he wasn’t sure which. The ground beneath the horse’s hooves gave way and the trio slid down the muddy embankment toward the raging river.

  “Shit.” In one swift motion he hurled himself from the saddle and grabbed his rifle. With a deep breath, he focused on the moving cougar and took aim. He squeezed the trigger. The bullet knocked the clawing cat backward and off Lacy and the horse—who were still sinking down into the mud—into the wild waters below.

  “Dakota! Get back here.”

  He leaned over the mountain ledge to see the horse’s haunches sinking deeper into the muddy embankment, water pulling at Lacy’s legs as she struggled to climb back up. Her arms extended over her head where the leather binding her hands was hooked over the pommel, trapping her between the horse, the rising water and a boulder protruding from the mountainside.

  If he didn’t do something quick, she’d either drown or be crushed between horse and rock. “Hold on, Lacy!”

  “Can’t get loose.” Her wide frightened eyes filled her pale face.

  A rope fell past his shoulder. He looked back to see Dakota anchoring one end around the thick trunk of an evergreen on the mountainside. Quinn grabbed the rope only to have Dakota’s hand land on his shoulder.

  “Let me quiet the horse before it kills her.”

  He knew Dakota was right. His special way of calming animals was the only way to prevent further injury to Lacy. Steadying the rope as his brother slipped and slid his way down to the frantic horse, Quinn kept his eyes trained on the frightened woman hanging precariously from the saddle.

  His heart lurched into his throat, his lungs heavy.

  It was his fault she was in danger.

  He never should’ve bound her this morning. When he told her to hold out her hands, she’d complied without complaint. The act had actually pleased him at the time, thinking how useful her submissiveness was in subduing her. He’d even wondered if she’d liked the helplessness.

  What an ass.

  Her safety on the trail should’ve been more important than his need to control her. The more she surrendered to him, the more his responsibility to protect her grew.

  Blood soaked the shredded right sleeve and shoulder of her shirt where the cat had clawed her.

  The horse whinnied again, lurching sideways with huge crazed eyes and crashing Lacy into the rock.

  “Ahh,” she moaned, her head hanging limp, eyes closed.

  “Dammit, Dakota! He’ll kill her.”

  “Just hold the rope still.” Dakota inched closer until he had the horse’s bridle in his hand. Holding it steady, he planted one foot and braced the other near the horse’s midsection. His lips moved and Quinn knew from watching him break wild horses that he was whispering soft words to calm the beast.

  A minute later, the horse calm and still in the mud, Dakota motioned him to come down the embankment. One hand on the rope, he half slid, half climbed down to where Lacy hung limply between the boulder and the horse. “Lacy.”

  Half-glazed emerald eyes opened to stare up at him. “Hurt.”

  “We know. Give us a minute and we’ll get you loose.” He wiggled between the boulder and her, sliding his arm around her body to secure her against his. “I’ve got you.”

  He tied the rope around her body. With one arm still holding her close, he pulled his knife from the leather scabbard on his belt. He sliced through the leather binding her hands to the pommel and took her sagging weight against his body.

  “Ungh,” she moaned, her arms dropping loosely at her sides, eyes closing again.

  “Don’t give up now, darlin’.” He brushed the copper curls from her face and lightly patted her cheeks until she
blinked open her eyes once more. “I can’t carry you up this hill. You have to walk.”

  “Can’t.”

  “Put one foot in front of the other.” His order sounded angry even to his own ears.

  “Yes sir,” she muttered and slid a narrowed gaze at him, but obeyed him nonetheless.

  Good. She still has some spunk. Hopefully enough to get her up out of this mudslide. With a quick glance at Dakota—still holding the horse by the head and whispering into its ears—he grabbed the rope, half hauling, half helping Lacy through the mud to where the other horses stood waiting.

  Once they reached the mountain trail again, Lacy’s legs gave out. Quinn scooped her shaking body into his arms and carried her to the trail’s farthest edge.

  “You’re okay, darlin’.” Sitting on the wet grass with her in his lap, he rubbed his hands over her back, trying to stop the trembling. “I need to see to this wound on your shoulder.”

  She nodded, then turned her face into the crook of his shoulder.

  Something wet dripped down his neck.

  Her tears.

  A tightness centered in his chest. “This is going to hurt.”

  “Already does,” she muttered, making him smile. The cougar may have drowned, but his kitten was still baring her claws.

  Carefully, he peeled the shredded, blood-soaked fabric back from her arm and shoulder.

  A muffled hiss sounded against his shoulder but she didn’t flinch. Two deep gashes raked from her collarbone over her shoulder toward her back, a third ran down her upper arm. Thick, dark blood oozed from all three.

  Good. Dark blood meant the bleeding had eased.

  Quinn glanced over to see Dakota cleaning and examining the paint’s legs. He’d managed to get the animal free of the mud and up the embankment, hopefully with little damage to its legs or hooves. The last thing they needed was to put down one of their mounts this far out in the wilderness.

  “How is she?” Dakota asked, tying Lacy’s horse’s reins to his saddle.

  “Not sure. Damn cat got her good.”

  “Cougar went for her and not the horse.”

  “Leaned into it.” Lacy lifted her head.

  “Why would you do a damn fool thing like that?” Quinn stared down at her, not sure whether to hug her or throttle her.

  She laid her head back against his neck. “Couldn’t let it get my horse.”

  “Here.” Dakota handed him an open canteen. “Clean any dirt away. I’ll go look for some slippery elm for a poultice.”

  He climbed up into the mountainside.

  A shudder shook Lacy’s body. Releasing his hold on her, Quinn grasped the material and pulled hard, rending it down one side to reveal her injuries.

  “My shirt,” she started to protest, lifting her head from his shoulder and trying to grab at the bloody mess.

  “Is nothing but a useless rag.”

  “It’s the only one I have.” She batted at his hands.

  “Stop it. You’ll only make the bleeding start again.” Grabbing her hand, he stilled her movements. He stared deep into her tear-brimmed eyes, willing her to stop.

  Anger flashed across her features, followed quickly by pain. He admired her spirit. Nothing they had done to her so far, nor today’s near tragedy, had stolen that fire from her.

  “We’ll get you another one.” Why the hell was he promising that?

  She blinked twice, one tear spilling down her cheek.

  Uncomfortable at her nearly unshed tears, he pushed her head back down just to comfort her, certainly not to fill the ache in his own chest. “I need to clean these wounds before Dakota gets back with his herbs.”

  Opening the canteen with one hand, he sloshed water onto the rag, then rubbed at the blood caked on her arm, starting farthest from the wounds. When another hiss sounded against his shoulder, he stopped. “Sorry, darlin’.”

  With a gentler hand, he dabbed at the edges of the wound, careful not to start the bleeding again. Her other hand clutched at his shirt each time he worked too near the cuts themselves, otherwise she didn’t complain, which disturbed him even more.

  A whimper escaped her as he started to swab at her back wounds, which he couldn’t really see as he held her. Her stoicism hit him hard. Gently rocking her against his body, he stopped his ministrations. Damn it, he’d already caused her enough pain. Dakota would just have to finish cleaning her back.

  Weren’t women supposed to bitch and moan?

  From the time he came to live with the Captain, his association with women had been limited to Juanita, Cap’s wife, and then the females who’d graced his bed. Juanita used to complain about everything—at least he assumed all that Spanish she hurled at the Captain and his boys were complaints.

  And his bedmates? Many of them had whined when he’d climb out of bed and dressed to leave. Well, not the well-paid whores, but the ones who’d expected something more.

  A rustling sounded above them. With one movement he dropped the bloody rag and pulled his knife from its sheath.

  “Gonna gut me with that before or after I fix those wounds?” Dakota asked, climbing down onto the path beside them.

  “Never know when a wild animal’s gonna attack.”

  “Or Irish-Indians bearing aspen bark and shepherd’s purse.” Dakota put the bark into a saddlebag and drew out some strips of the white cloth he always carried with him.

  He settled in beside Lacy. Dakota silently finished cleaning the wounds, without questioning why Quinn had stopped. Using his hand as a cup, he crushed the leaves and flowers from the shepherd’s purse plant in his hand. Next he added small bits of water until he’d formed a paste.

  “This’ll sting, pet,” he said, just before smoothing it over the oozing cuts.

  Lacy hissed as she sucked in her breath.

  Quinn ran his hand through her hair. He felt helpless to take the pain from her. Dakota had used the same poultice on him more than once and he’d cursed a blue streak.

  Once all the wounds were covered in the muck, Dakota proceeded to wrap her arm in the white cloth. When he started to wrap her shoulder too, he froze. His eyes narrowed and his jaw locked in that quiet way he had of controlling his anger. “Where did these come from?”

  “Cougar, remember?” What the hell had Dakota so angry?

  “Not those, you ass.” Dakota peeled back the tattered remains of Lacy’s shirt from her other shoulder and arm, exposing her entire back. “These.”

  Her body went rigid in Quinn’s arms.

  “Easy, darlin’. Let us look at it.”

  Pain haunted her emerald eyes when she looked at him. “Please don’t.”

  “Trust us.”

  It took a moment for her to reach her decision. She gave a slight nod, then tucked her face back against his neck, her body still stiff as a board.

  Keeping his hold on her steady, he leaned to the side and looked closer at her back. Thin scars crisscrossed her flesh. Flat, old scars. Whipping marks. He’d seen them on slaves. On Northern sympathizers when he was a child during the war. On his father’s back before he’d died.

  White. Hot. Blood-boiling anger shot through him.

  Her soft flesh had been torn open, over and over again.

  Bile rose in his throat.

  Swallowing down the bitter taste, he forced the rage into the deepest corners of his heart, reserved for when he needed it. When they found their quarry.

  No wonder she’d been so disturbed by Dakota’s scars at the river yesterday. She’d known every bit of pain he’d suffered—knew it firsthand.

  This had been done to her months ago, so the physical pain was gone, but her stillness conveyed more than screaming ever could. She’d endured torture at Devil’s hands. Punishment or coercion?

  Now was not the time to find out.

  “You want me to take her?” Dakota asked.

  His blood brother knew him too well, could read the anger and the control fighting inside him. His need to smash his fist into something or
distance himself from her pain. As he’d done their whole lives.

  This time was different. The need to comfort and care for the woman in his arms—an emotion he didn’t plan to look at too closely—won out over everything else.

  “No, I’ve got her.”

  His gaze met Dakota’s over Lacy’s shoulder in a silent pact.

  Later.

  They’d coax the details from her when the time was right. The monster would pay for this crime as well as the murders and robberies.

  * * * * *

  When would the humiliation end? Lacy clenched her eyes shut.

  The zinging sound cut through the air, followed by several more. Seconds later her back was on fire. The world rocked around her. Her vision went black.

  Laughter.

  Dangling from the post, she could hear Devil’s men laughing at her in their drunken revelry.

  “No one leaves my gang!” Devil yelled.

  The whip sang again and another strip of fire danced across her back.

  Eyes clenched once more, she fought to stay conscious. No matter what, she wouldn’t let him break her.

  Firm hands rubbed her back, gently working the muscles. Another set held her steady, one hand cupping her hip, the other running through her hair, caressing her scalp.

  Soothing.

  Quinn and Dakota.

  The pain was gone. Disappeared with the dark memories.

  All that remained was the tender throbbing in her shoulder, back and arm.

  “Easy, darlin’.” Quinn’s deep voice rumbled against the ear she had pressed to his chest. “No one’s going to hurt you. You’re safe.”

  Safe. Odd.

  She should hate them as she hated Santos for using her, but she didn’t. In her whole life she’d never felt as protected as she did with Quinn and Dakota.

  Even when they used her body, they didn’t just take. They gave. Dear Lord, how they gave. Heat of another kind flushed her body. The kind that made her crave more of their sexual torture.