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Before the Dawn

Page 21

by Denise A. Agnew


  She could not bear it.

  Whatever happened to her, she could not allow Elijah to be harmed.

  “Hello there, girl.” The man’s voice held a hint of Ireland, and she knew in a flash his identity. “Scream and I’ll kill you right here.”

  Amos McKinnon.

  His icy green eyes, so much like Elijah’s, taunted her. Yet there was something vital missing from this man’s gaze. His grin held satisfaction, as if he had consumed a bellyful of the most gratifying meal. His hair was clipped shorter than Elijah’s and neater, his nose a little bigger and jaw a tad wider. His clothes were certainly finer. Yet the coldness in his eyes belied any hope that Amos possessed the capacity for morality and caring like his brother.

  Before she could react, he grabbed her around the waist and dragged her towards the door. She twisted in his grip. “Let me go. Let me go.”

  She stomped on his foot but caught the edge of his boot. He grunted but did not release her.

  “Bitch!” He cracked her across the face with his hand. “I’ll teach you to disobey me.”

  Pain lashed through her skin and reverberated in her skull. Pinpoints of light danced before her eyes. He pulled her relentlessly through the door and down the steps. Four horses stood beside Mrs. Connor’s old mare Matilda. Head still reeling, she stumbled and almost fell.

  She heard another sharp report, then another and another from behind the cabin and near the barn. Oh God. God, please protect Elijah. Please. Tears filled her eyes. She shook them off. She couldn’t afford to be weak. Not now.

  The man dragged her towards one horse. “Get on.”

  She stalled, glaring at him. “Damn you! Damn it all, let me go. How could you do this? How could you?”

  He released her long enough to stick the business end of the rifle against her stomach. “Get on or I pull the trigger.”

  White-hot fear replaced defiance. Her breath came in spurts, chest heaving as she tried to calm. She did as he commanded, swinging into the saddle with ease.

  “Well, aren’t you a little horsewoman? I wouldn’t have figured Elijah’s whore to know how to ride a horse.”

  Hate surged inside her, a harrowing emotion she had never experienced before. With difficulty, she held back a retort.

  Another man ran around the side of the house, his left side bloodied. He stumbled and almost fell. He motioned with one hand, the other clutching his rifle. “Go, go!”

  Amos glared at the other man. “What the hell—”

  “I done killed them both! Leastwise I’m pretty damned sure.” The wounded man swung onto his horse, a grimace marring his already ugly countenance. He snatched one packhorse’s reins. “Heyahhhhh!” He used the long reins and his spurs to urge his horse into flight.

  “Feckin’ hell,” her captor snarled the words as he swung up behind her and urged their horse into movement. He wrapped one arm around Mary Jane, practically bruising her ribcage. “Get up, you feckin’ horse!”

  He grabbed the reins of the other packhorse.

  As the animals carried her and the two men into the woods with reckless swiftness, she dared speak. “You are Amos.”

  He laughed, and the wicked sound sent chills over her. “That I am.” He directed his question to the man on the other horse. “You stupid bastard, I told you not to kill anyone until I gave the word.”

  The wounded man tossed them a wild-eyed glance, as if he’d lived in the woods for a century. He threw a big grin her way, eyes twinkling with a hideous amusement she could only guess at. “That old bitch was too good a shooter. Had to defend myself.”

  Grief and horror gripped Mary Jane, twisting in her stomach until sweat broke out on her skin and choked her with its strength. Nausea boiled in her stomach, and she pressed one hand to her mouth.

  Elijah. God, not Elijah.

  Oh, Elijah.

  “You goddamned arse.” Amos’s words fired at the other man. “I told you to hold them for me, not kill them. My brother was for me to kill.”

  Tears poured down her face. The hurt inside stabbed like a crippling lance, as hot as a poker thrust into her heart.

  She vowed she would kill these men herself. She did not care what happened to her after that.

  With her heart shattering into a thousand pieces, she finally understood Elijah’s need for vengeance.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Elijah awakened to a throbbing on the right side of his head that stung like all Billy Hell. He touched his forehead and groaned. Disoriented, he opened his eyes and blinked into the bright sun. That hurt worse, and he covered his eyes with his hand. His fingers came away bloody. Slowly and painfully, he rolled to his left side and tried to remember what had happened. Was he drunk? No. He’d only been drunk one time in his life and vowed never to do it again.

  He lay still and breathed deeply, riding through the ache in his skull and inability to recall a bloody thing beyond his own name. Wind rustled trees and birds sang happy songs. Too bad he couldn’t feel as jolly about the situation. He registered that a small shed lay not far away to his north and a watering trough south at his feet.

  Watering trough. He’d flipped backwards over it when—

  Seconds later he cursed as memories slammed into him. “Damned son-of-a-bitch, feckarse!”

  Swiftly he sat up and moaned as his head protested the movement. He squinted against the pain and took several deep breaths. Amos and Varney. Damned Varney was in on this. Like lightning the memories flashed in his head. He’d made it out the back door and found Mrs. Connor lying on the ground, blood spreading out over her left side. Before he could get off more than one shot at Varney, the prison jailer had shot him. He’d fallen straight over the trough because he’d been standing in front of it before Varney fired. The bullet must have grazed the right side of his skull. He reached for his weapon, which lay not far from his left side.

  Struggling to his feet, he staggered around the trough and saw Mrs. Connor where he’d left her. “Mrs. Connor?”

  He fell to his knees next to her, checked her pulse and found her breathing. Thank God. Through his scrambled thoughts, he remembered Mary Jane and terror gripped Elijah with cruel jaws.

  Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

  Mary Jane.

  He pushed past the pain and ran towards the back of the cabin, pistol set to fire. Half suspecting he’d encounter Amos and Varney in the house, he didn’t yell her name. He looked in the back windows. No sign of them in the bedrooms. He crept around the left side of the cabin. Step by step he checked the windows at the front, then came to the open front door. Elijah stepped in with his gun raised but saw no sign of Mary Jane or the culprits. Fear wrapped icy fingers around his throat, and he ran out the back door to tend Mrs. Connor. By this time, she’d come to her senses.

  When he ran towards Mrs. Connor, she sat up, clasped her left side and cursed louder than he had. “That cussed, flea-bitten, son-of-a-cur. He shot me.”

  He dropped onto his knees beside her. “Got me in the head.”

  Grimacing with pain, the old woman kept pressure on her wound. “You’re bleeding like a stuck pig, boy. We gotta get that taken care.”

  “No time. They have Mary Jane.” Nausea curled in his stomach. “I don’t know how long we’ve been out. They could be miles away.”

  Without asking for permission, he lifted the woman in his arms and headed for the back door.

  She wriggled. “Land sakes, boy, put me down. I can walk.”

  He ignored her. Once inside the cabin, he placed her on a couch and rushed to round up clean bandages. She fussed that his head was still bleeding, but it slowed to a trickle.

  She snatched the white cloths from his hands. “I can wrap this. It isn’t that bad. Damn bullet ricocheted off that trough. If it had hit me direct I’d probably be dead. That bastard your brother?”

  “Tobias Varney, one of the jailers I mentioned to you. My brother is with him.”

  Elijah ripped the side of her dress. “You’re right. This
isn’t too bad.”

  He started wrapping.

  “Damn it all to hell, I passed out from the pain. That’s a bruise to my pride, I don’t mind telling you. When my little finger got crushed—” she held up her right hand and the deformed finger, “—that should have hurt like blazes and made me pass out. But it didn’t.” Once he’d finished her side, she gestured at his bloodied head. “Slow down, boy. We’ve got to clean this out. Slow down.”

  “I cannot. They have my Mary Jane.” Fear slammed him like another rifle shot. He sank down on the couch next to her. “Every minute longer she gets another mile father away from me. I have to find her now.”

  The old woman’s gnarly hand pressed over his fingers where the blood dried. “I understand. But tarnation, if you get a fever you won’t be able to help Mary Jane or yourself. Get that waistcoat and shirt off while I find another one for you. Go rinse your head under the pump outside and get all that blood outta your hair and off your neck.”

  Wanting to curse the heavens, he worked quickly to remove the waistcoat and shirt. His trousers had blood on them, but he didn’t care. Once outside, he made haste to the pump and splashed icy water over his head. He gasped as cold and pain pierced him, but by the time he finished, he felt more clear-headed and the nausea roiling in his stomach disappeared. He hurried back into the house and found Mrs. Connor sitting on the couch with poultice and bandages.

  “Here, young man. There’s the new shirt. Don’t have a waistcoat for you, but there’s a big coat that used to belong to my husband. It’ll take care of you in bad weather.”

  Realizing it would be foolhardy to leave without her dressing his wound, Elijah settled on the couch. Working fast, she applied the smelly poultice to the side of his head and assured him the smell meant it worked mighty fine. “Old Allegheny recipe. Keeps infection away. Leave it as long as you can. We’ll pack more poultice and bandages for you.”

  After she finished tending to his wound, he asked, “What about you?”

  “I can wash it later, and it’s already stopped bleeding. Right now we need to get you on your way and find your wife.” She stalked to one corner and picked up her rifle. “Here, you take this.”

  “What about your protection?”

  “Don’t you worry none. There’s more where that came from stored in a space below the floorboards of this cabin.”

  While he donned another shirt and threw on her husband’s big, brown leather coat, she collected more bandages and poultices. In record time, he jumped into the saddle of her old mare, saddlebags packed with fresh ammunition, a rifle, more food, water and Mrs. Connor’s blessing.

  She stood nearby, her eyes glistening with pain, tears, or maybe both. “God speed, Elijah. You come on back now, you hear?” Mrs. Connor’s voice cracked. “You both come on back someday so I know you made it all right.”

  He nodded, his throat tight with a grief that surpassed what he’d felt when he found Maureen lying in her own blood. He once thought he understood pain and sorrow and desperation, but this ran far deeper.

  Voice hoarse with emotion, he managed to grind out a few words. “I will, Mrs. Connor.”

  To see Mary Jane again, to have her in his arms again was worth any sacrifice. Any cost.

  “I’ll bring her back.” His voice sounded worn to his own ears. “I’ll bring her back or die trying.”

  As he rode away, desperation threatened to swallow him in fear. What if he couldn’t find her? What if she was already dead? Dread twisted his stomach and nausea threatened to double him up. He pressed one hand to his midsection and prayed for strength, for whatever it would take to see this through. He wouldn’t fail Mary Jane. Once before he’d made a vow based on a pure hate and need for revenge.

  Now he vowed to find Amos based on another emotion he thought he would never feel again.

  Love.

  If he could hold Mary Jane in his arms once more, he could live with anything that might happen next.

  In less time than he imagined, he rode into the forest as if the devil chased him out of hell.

  Mary Jane sucked in a pained breath as Amos McKinnon kept one powerful arm around her waist. They had ridden for several miles, though she had no idea where they headed. She could not think, her mind and heart consumed by a grief so profound she wished she could die.

  Elijah is dead, and the sun will never shine for me again.

  If she must kill Amos to escape, to show him one bit of the pain he caused Elijah, she would do it. Such a thought a few days ago would have horrified her.

  No more.

  “You shouldn’t have taken the wench.” Varney’s voice was choked with his anger and perhaps physical pain. “She’s dead weight. You should’ve killed her.”

  She stiffened. Amos tightened his grip around her waist again, and it hurt. At this rate he would break her ribs.

  “She’s mine to do with what I want,” Amos said. “I had his other woman, and I aim to do the same with this one.”

  Mary Ann shuddered with revulsion. She knew Amos felt her reaction. He aimed to have her? Pure horror threatened to overtake her anger, but she clung to her rage.

  “Oh, yeah. You have a powerful hunger you ain’t filled in a while, eh?” Varney asked.

  Amos said nothing, though she could almost hear his mind running through appalling possibilities.

  She glanced over at the man Amos called Varney—the bastard overseer at Eastern State Penitentiary. Varney’s weather worn face blanched, and he grimaced. Crimson soaked clean through his coat. As far as evil men went—or what she assumed evil men must look like—he seemed almost too ordinary. She tried to keep her gaze away from him, half convinced if she refused to acknowledge him, he could not exist.

  Amos, now, he was another danger all together. He drew a profound picture in her mind of depravity. Now that she had seen him, she understood that he was not a mere caricature but the man who ruined hopes and dreams for Elijah.

  Elijah would never have the chance to fulfill those dreams because of his brother. For that alone she wanted to kill Amos.

  “What’s a matter with you, little girl?” Amos’s voice, a deep, uncannily rich tone, sounded too beautiful to belong to a killer.

  How many women had he seduced with that voice? How many lies had he told?

  He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “You’re too quiet, missy. What’s your name?”

  “Mary Jane Mc—” She gulped. “Lawson.”

  “What did you almost say?” Amos asked.

  “I do not know what you mean.”

  “You almost said a different name.”

  “My last name is Lawson.”

  “You married?”

  “No.”

  “Why do you wear a ring on your left hand, then? Trying to keep men away? Well, it won’t do you any good. Because we found you.”

  He laughed, and if Mary Jane closed her eyes she could almost hear Elijah’s laugh overlying Amos’s. Oh, what she wouldn’t give for Elijah to hold her again, to laugh until the sound echoed through the forest.

  She decided silence would work far better than arguing with a lunatic.

  Varney coughed violently, and when she glanced over, she saw the blood staining his chin. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

  “We gotta stop soon.” Varney’s voice turned raspy, harder to hear. “I gotta wrap this wound.”

  “You stop if you want. We’re going as far as we can tonight. Catch up when you can,” Amos’s cold voice said.

  Varney coughed again. “We stop here, or I shoot you and leave you for dead.”

  Amos’s pulled back on the reins, and she looked over at Varney’s rifle pointed straight at them. Alarm stiffened her spine. Varney’s eyes went glassy, and before he could make good on the threat, he tumbled from his saddle and fell on his side. He lay still. Amos stared at the fallen man.

  Part of her not yet lost to hatred almost insisted they help the man. Before she could speak, Amos left the horse. For an ins
tant she considered riding off. Instinct warned her not to try. He would either shoot her or catch her. She must concoct a plan to make him feel confident that he could trust her. Her stomach roiled. She knew he planned rape at the very least. What could she do to prevent it? Would such a fate prove worse than death?

  She thought of Elijah and wished they had consummated their relationship. She would have that small peace to hold close to her heart. Oh, Elijah.

  Amos leaned over Varney and checked his pulse in his neck. A dark smile crossed his face. His gaze flicked upward to her. “Get off the horse.”

  Her stomach dropped. “Why?”

  “Don’t question me. Get off the horse.” She eased from the horse’s back, and he gestured for her to come forward. “You’ll ride his horse from now on.”

  “He’s dead?”

  “As a train rail, honey.”

  He grunted as he searched through the man’s pockets, retrieved a pistol and money. A large wad of money. Amos grabbed the man’s rifle from the saddle and anchored it to his own saddle. “He won’t be needing this anymore.”

  She waited, unwilling to make any move he might consider threatening. Eventually he looked up, his icy glare sending new chills through her heart. “What you waiting for? Get on the horse.”

  She struggled to mount the smaller mare. At least she would not suffer Amos’s touch riding this horse. Once seated, she trained her gaze away from Amos and the dead man.

  Amos’s grin held condescension. “Damn, but you’re a pretty girl. I can see why my brother wanted you. Did he break you in for me?”

  She refused to answer.

  He laughed. “Well, I’ll find out, won’t I?”

  Not if I can stop you. Once more her stomach pitched, and for a few seconds nausea threatened.

  “I know a place we can stop for the night, girl. We’ll camp there. It’s real cozy.” He remounted his horse and rode over to her. He grabbed the reins and led the way. “You try and run from me, girl, and you’ll regret it.”

 

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