“Too late for that,” he said. “Unless...”
“Unless what?” Mary Rose looked up at him, eyes wet and luminous in the light of the lamp on Jubilee’s desk. She didn’t know it, but she had never looked more attractive in all her young life.
“Unless you marry me, of course. We could inherit everything. And I’ve heard wives can’t be made to testify against their husbands in court.” He relaxed his hold on her back a little, his fingers following her back up under the cloak until they reached the nape of her neck. “I’m sure you’d make a very enjoyable wife.”
Mary Rose willed herself to relax and stop trying to pull away from him. “Do you mean that?”
“I’m certain of it.”
“Do you mean you’d let us both live if I...” She closed her eyes. “If I married you?” She tried to sound like she would consider such a thing. If he would let go of her, she was so close to the desk—couldn’t she grab something from it to stab him with, hit him with, somehow injure him enough to get away?
“I could be persuaded to.”
Mary Rose opened her eyes. “But wouldn’t people talk? Wouldn’t they wonder why I married you so quickly? I’m only sixteen—what about my parents?”
“By the time they get the good news, we’ll be man and wife, all legal and proper.” His hand relaxed around hers, though he still held her close against himself. “We’ll have your grandmother’s consent, after all.”
“I… I don’t know. Marry you... it sounds so permanent.”
Linden laughed softly. “So does death.”
Mary Rose moved her head and shoulders backward, pretending she was trying to see him better. “I want your word on it. Your word that you won’t harm me or my grandmother.”
His grip slackened a fraction, allowing her to pull away a little. “If you agree to marry me first thing tomorrow, I give you my word I will not harm either of you tonight. You’ll both have to stay here in the office with me—no running off to tell someone all about it.” He smirked, satisfied with how well his plan was working. “I don’t know but this isn’t the best plan after all. I get the ranch, the money, and a pretty little wife.” He let go of her hands and embraced her with both arms.
“Please don’t.” Mary Rose tried not to sound disgusted, merely young and innocent. “We’re not married yet. And my grandmother—she shouldn’t have to witness your attentions.”
He looked down at her, his eyes half closed. “All right.” He let her pull away from him.
Mary Rose moved slowly, praying he wouldn’t realize she was lying about her willingness to marry him. With his hands still on her waist, she looked around at Jubilee. “I’m sorry, Grandmother.” She twisted her body to face her grandmother and, more importantly, the desk. The heavy cloak swished between her and Mr. Linden, making him release her. “I’m sorry,” Mary Rose repeated. “It’s the only way. You see that, don’t you?” She held her hands out to her grandmother, pleading now. “I can’t let him hurt you. I can’t bear it.”
Mary Rose took one small step toward the desk. Mr. Linden didn’t stop her, but he did take a step forward himself to stay near her. Jubilee shook her head and tried to speak through her gag, though she said nothing intelligible.
“It could be worse, don’t you think?” Mary Rose took another step forward, which put her within reach of the big kerosene lamp that stood on the corner of Jubilee’s desk. “At least we’ll be alive, Grandmother.” Mary Rose grabbed the lamp with both hands and whirled around, lifting it high.
She had intended to smash the lamp against Mr. Linden’s head and shove him away, maybe even knock him unconscious. But she had not accounted for how heavy the lamp would be or how tall Mr. Linden was. Instead of smashing the heavy metal body of the lamp against his head, she pressed the glass chimney against his face.
That chimney was hot, for the lamp had been burning for quite some time. The glass seared his face, filling the room with an acrid smell. Mr. Linden roared with pain and staggered backward, trying to push away the lamp.
Mary Rose rushed forward, holding the lamp before her like a shield. In a few steps, she was at the door. Mr. Linden held one hand over half his face. “You wretch!” he howled as he lunged at her.
Mary Rose threw the lamp at him with all her might. She did not wait to see whether it struck him. She flew down the hall toward the back door and her escape.
Behind her, she could hear Mr. Linden’s cries of rage, then his footsteps. Mary Rose wrenched open the door and fled into the moonlight.
Chapter Fourteen
Mary Rose skimmed the three steps from the porch to the ground. Mr. Linden’s boots thudded on the wooden porch. The door slammed behind him, but Mary Rose concentrated on not stumbling while she crossed the muddy ground so many feet had trampled at the party the night before. There was no need to look back to see if he was pursuing her—she could hear his boots thunk down the steps.
The heavy red cloak slowed her down, and her fingers fumbled at the metal clasp, desperate to unhook it. The pasture stretched open and inviting beyond the fence. But the sound of Linden’s boots came nearer. If only she could free herself from that cloak! Her fingers felt as though they belonged to someone else. Why couldn’t she remember which way to turn which side?
Then she had it. Mary Rose felt the clasp slide apart. At the same time, Mr. Linden reached her. He seized her cloak once again and yanked. The cloak jerked free from her shoulders, and Linden stumbled from the unexpected lack of resistance.
Mary Rose was at the fence. No time to climb it now. She ducked low, slid between the bottom two rails, hiked up her skirts, and ran.
Mary Rose ran as she had never run before. There was no joy, no exhilarating freedom. Her one thought was to reach Hauer. His name pounded in her head with each step, an unconscious prayer that she would reach him. She didn’t listen for Linden’s footsteps behind her, didn’t look to see if he was gaining on her. She simply ran.
When the far pasture fence loomed before her, she scrambled through its rails too. The dark wall of the forest confronted her. She plunged in, and the moonlight disappeared, shut out by the trees.
Mary Rose knew danger dwelt in those woods. From the safety of the ranch house at night, she had listened to wolves howl. Even Hauer had said he wouldn’t walk back to the ranch after dark for fear of meeting them. But the man chasing her terrified her more. What were wolves compared to Mr. Linden? She ran on up the rutted dirt road. Now and then she tripped over the uneven ground. Even after her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see little. A deeper blackness on either side of the road marked where her path did not lie and kept her going the right direction.
When Mary Rose could run no more—and by then she was more limping along in a half-trot than anything—she saw moonlight brighten the road ahead. The clearing must be near. That thought gave her a burst of energy, and she pushed herself faster again. At last, there was the cabin with a curtained window shining a soft welcome.
Mary Rose threw herself against the door. She was breathing too hard to call out, but she banged weakly against the wooden door.
The curtain twitched aside, then the door opened, and Mary Rose fell into Hauer’s arms.
“What’s happened?” He pulled her inside and closed the door, then guided her to a chair.
Between gulps of air, Mary Rose explained, “Mr. Linden. He tied up. Grandmother. Said he’d kill. Both of us.” Her lungs burned, and the thought reminded her of the smell of the lamp chimney against Linden’s skin. Her stomach churned at the memory, and she put a hand over her mouth. She felt hot all over, sweat trickling down her back, yet her palm was cold against her lips.
“I didn’t expect him to try anything yet.” Hauer knelt in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders. “I’m sorry—I should have been there. I didn’t think he’d make a move yet. I’m sorry.”
Mary Rose pushed his hands away. “We have to go back. There’s no telling what he’ll do now.” Fear for her
grandmother gave her renewed energy.
“We’ll go back, don’t worry. Did he follow you out here?” Hauer stood up and moved to one of the other rooms. He reappeared a moment later with his gun belt.
“Part of the way. I… I don’t know how far. I couldn’t stop to look.”
“But he knew you came this direction.”
“Yes.”
Hauer buckled on his gun belt. He pulled his pistol out and made sure it was loaded. Then he stuck a tomahawk in the left side of his belt. From the mantel he took down the tomahawk he’d told Mary Rose needed repairing. He wiggled the head a bit, shrugged, and stuck it in the back of his belt. “Can you walk?” he asked kindly.
Mary Rose got shakily to her feet. “Yes.” Whether she could or not, she had to, and that was all there was to it.
“Then let’s go. Quietly. He might be waiting out there.” Hauer blew out his kerosene lamp and waited a moment for their eyes to adjust before walking to the door. “I wish I had a rifle,” he muttered to himself. “No matter.”
Mary Rose followed him out the door. He closed and latched it, then stopped at the stump nearby. “Why not?” He grabbed the axe embedded in the stump and pulled it out. Then he set off with Mary Rose right behind.
Hauer stayed in the trees and underbrush to the right of the road on the way back down, not on the road itself. He walked slowly, silently. Mary Rose did not, though she tried. Brush caught at her skirts with noisy fingers. Twigs snagged her hair, which had come free from its plait during her flight and hung about her shoulders. And she found that no matter how cautiously she set down her moccasin-clad feet, they made noise. Part of her chafed at the cautious pace. She wanted to get back to her grandmother before it was too late. But the rest of her welcomed the chance to let her heart and lungs return to their more normal rates. They made their way through the trees, Hauer pausing every few steps to look about them.
By the time they reached the edge of the woods, Mary Rose felt almost calm. Hauer crouched behind a bush and motioned for her to do the same. He peered out at the pasture before them. It was obviously empty. Below the sloping grass, she could see the roof of the house, but no more. If they crossed that pasture the way she had come, anyone below would see them instantly. But what other choice was there? Mary Rose knew the trees extended on either side of them, but the land around the house had been cleared decades earlier, and little cover remained anywhere close to the ranch buildings.
Mary Rose wanted to ask Hauer if he had a plan, but she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to speak or not. Her legs soon ached from crouching, and she dropped one knee to the cool ground. Hauer leaned close and whispered, “We’ll stick to the trees as long as we can. Then we’ll cut across the land on the other side of the pasture, outside the fence. That will give us a little cover, and maybe surprise him. Are you ready?”
Mary Rose nodded. “I’ll follow—”
A shout from the direction of the house interrupted her. “Hauer! Are you here yet, Hauer? I’m waiting for you—you and that little fiend.” Connor Linden’s patience had run low.
Mary Rose moved to get up, trying to see the house. Hauer pulled her back down. “Stay here,” he ordered. Then he sidled off to a pine with its lowest branches a few inches above his head. Hauer leaned his axe against the tree and swung nimbly upward.
Linden continued shouting. “I know she ran off to find you, Hauer. I’m betting you’re up there in the trees, trying to figure out how to rescue Jubilee. Well, you can’t. Surely you know that already.” His voice carried across the empty land with a clarity that would have surprised Mary Rose if she’d had time to think about it.
Mary Rose stifled a moan. Had he killed Jubilee, then? Killed her in who knows what horrible way as revenge against Mary Rose for burning his face and escaping? Mary Rose prayed that her grandmother was still alive, that Linden would be prevented from hurting her, that Hauer would find some way to rescue them both.
“Don’t worry, I haven’t killed her. Yet,” Linden yelled.
Mary Rose breathed a quiet prayer of thanks.
Linden added, “I’ll make you a deal. Come down here, and we’ll talk it over.”
Hauer dropped down out of the tree, grabbed his axe, and came back to Mary Rose. “It’s hard to see him,” he whispered. “He’s on the porch, and it looks to me like he has Jubilee with him.”
“What can we do?” Mary Rose asked.
Linden’s voice turned sing-song. “Oh, Miss Mary! Can you hear me? You’re causing me a lot of trouble.”
When he got no answer, he added, “You couldn’t fall off that horse when I spooked it, oh no. I’d hoped that even if you noticed your saddle was too loose, the chicken would set your horse to bucking. But my luck’s been worthless since I got here. Well, not anymore. You want to know if Jubilee is alive? I have her here. I’ll prove it.”
A short cry of pain rang through the moonlit night, quite obviously Jubilee’s voice.
That sound might have filled Mary Rose with fear. It might even have frozen her, body and mind alike. Or it might have caused her to faint. But Mary Rose O’Brien was an uncommon girl. She did not faint. She did not freeze. Instead, a great anger rose inside her. That same hot, strong, righteous anger that had filled her back in the study. She stood straight up and shouted, “Mr. Linden, you are a bully and a coward.”
Linden laughed with malicious triumph. “I knew you were there. Come down here, Mary. Come straight down to the house, and I swear to you I will let Jubilee go.”
“Truly?” she called back, stalling him.
Hauer said quietly, “He’ll shoot you the minute you step out into that pasture.”
“I don’t think he wants to shoot me. That’s too quick. It’s not personal enough. I... I burned his face, Hauer. With the lamp. That’s how I got away. I think he wants to hurt me, not just shoot me.”
Hauer grunted. “You may be right.” He looked out across the pasture, then back at Mary Rose. He studied her for a few moments, assessing her like a tree to be felled. Finally he said, “I don’t like it. If he’s hurt and looking for revenge, there’s no telling what he’ll do.”
Linden yelled, “Either you come down here, or I shoot her.”
“I’m coming!” Mary Rose shouted back. She looked Hauer in the eye. “I have to.”
He nodded. “If you can keep him talking to you, keep him looking at you while you go straight toward him, maybe I can still cut around to the right. Get to where I can stop him.” He shifted the axe to his left hand and pulled the slim throwing knife from his boot. He held it out to her, handle first. “Hide this. Up a sleeve, maybe. You can’t go down there defenseless.”
Taking the knife awkwardly from Hauer, Mary Rose tried to slip it up her left sleeve blunt-end first, but nearly sliced her fingers on the thin blade. So she tried hiding the knife up her sleeve point-first instead. Happily, this worked much better, and she succeeded in sliding it all the way inside her sleeve without cutting her arm or poking more than three or four holes in the fabric. Her sleeves were tight, and so long as she didn’t point her arm straight down at the ground, the knife stayed flat along the inside of her forearm, reaching from her wrist up to the end of her elbow.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I’m waiting!” Linden hollered.
“Walk slowly. And good luck.” Hauer held out his hand.
Mary Rose ignored it. She put her arms around his deerskin-clad shoulders and gave him a fierce hug, careful not to stab either of them with the knife up her left sleeve. “Thank you,” she repeated. “Whatever happens, thank you.” Then, before she could stop and think better of it, before the anger and determination inside her could cool and weaken, she stepped out of the trees into the moonlight.
Chapter Fifteen
Mary Rose walked slowly to the wooden fence. Standing on the middle rail, she could see the house a bit better. Sure enough, there stood two people silhouetted on the porch to the right of the back door, which glowed fro
m the lamplight inside.
Linden called, “There you are! Good girl. Come down here and I’ll let Jubilee go.”
“All right.” Mary Rose clambered over the fence into the sloping pasture she had fled through so recently. She remembered Hauer’s words and walked as slowly as she could make herself. The moon above shed a cold, impersonal light that made everything look gray and old. The world had aged since sundown.
Old Joe had said a horse had the sense not to run toward danger. And that a lot of people didn’t. Mary Rose wondered if he would scold her for not having as much sense as a horse.
As she trudged forward, Mary Rose heard her father’s voice inside her head reciting his favorite Psalm the way he used to whenever she or one of her siblings was afraid in the night. Whether they feared darkness, a loud storm, or a bad dream, those words in his voice had always calmed and comforted them. One verse repeated in her mind now, over and over: Though I walk in the midst of trouble, thou wilt revive me: thou shalt stretch forth thine hand against the wrath of mine enemies, and thy right hand shall save me. Her mother always complained that verse was too militaristic for her to derive any comfort from it, but her father had recited it all the same.
It was strange, another part of Mary Rose’s mind recognized, how her parents’ words were coming back to her tonight, right when she needed them. She had spent so much time chafing under their mandates, disdaining what she had assumed their reasons were for sending her to meet her grandmother. And yet, she yearned for them more with each step she took toward the man who intended to kill her this night. She regretted her saucy words and ungrateful thoughts. She ached with the need to tell her mother and father one more time that she loved them, that she wanted to please them, that she wished they could all have understood one another better.
Mary Rose approached the house one slow, steady step at a time. She had failed to follow Hauer’s instructions to keep Linden talking to her, but she suspected his attention was riveted to her the same way she could not tear her gaze from the house. Thou shalt stretch forth thine hand against the wrath of mine enemies, and thy right hand shall save me. She climbed over the fence slowly, the same wooden rails where she had laughed with Deputy Small. She longed to know if he understood how much she had enjoyed dancing and talking with him. It was doubtful she would ever have a chance to tell him now.
Cloaked (Once Upon a Western Book 1) Page 11
