“Sit that horse, girl,” her uncle ordered as he mercilessly threw her into a saddle. It was awkward to straddle the back of the animal in her nightdress, but Fallon righted herself as her uncle mounted behind her. “Hang on to that horn. I don’t want ya fallin’ off and slowin’ us down,” he growled. He slapped the mare on her hindquarters, instantly sending her forward.
The men rode around to the side of the house, stopping before the window of the room where Trader still slept. “Wake that ugly dog up, Simmons,” Charles ordered.
Fallon winced when the glass shattered as a large rock was thrown into the window. Fallon shook her head helplessly when Trader appeared at the window.
“Fallon!” he shouted.
She noticed one of his hands beginning to bleed when he planted it firmly on the windowsill covered with broken glass. Hoisting his imposing body upward, Trader leaped through the glassless opening and instinctively lunged forward.
Charles drew a knife from its sheath at his belt. Pushing the tip of the blade firmly against the softness of Fallon’s cheek, he warned, “Not another step, Donavon. I got yer sweet, ripe peach here. Ya make a move to stop me, I’ll slit her throat!”
Trader stopped abruptly. Fallon watched as his chest rose and fell with heavy, frustrated breaths.
“Let her down, Ashby,” Trader growled.
Charles chuckled and looked to each of his men in turn. “Ya hear that, boys? He still thinks he’s givin’ the orders ’round here!” The men made scoffing sounds. Charles looked back to Trader. “I’ll send one of my men with instructions, Donavon. Ya do what they say—to the letter, ya hear? My boys liked the way this sweet peach tasted when they got hold of her before. And if ya don’t do what I say, I’ll turn Mrs. Donavon here right over to them. And if ya try to follow us, I’ll kill her. So ya stand right there, ya hooded monster. And ya wait. Ya hear me? Ya wait!”
“You’ll die, Ashby. In pain the like you’ve never imagined,” Trader shouted as Charles and his henchmen turned and rode away. Fallon looked at her husband, desperate to form a perfect picture of him in her mind. He stood helpless to act. She knew he wouldn’t. Ever her protector, he would do whatever they ordered. Again Charles slapped his mare. Fallon felt greater fear and anxiety than she had ever known erupting within her.
After having ridden for some time, the riders stopped, and Charles shoved Fallon violently from the horse. The painful impact of hitting the ground stole the breath from her lungs for several long moments.
As she lay there gasping for breath, one of the vile men who had dared to touch her in the store walked over to her. Fallon recognized him instantly as the loathsome leader of the men and felt an odd satisfaction rise within her as she noted his nose, misshapen from Trader’s beating. He reached down and took Fallon’s chin tightly in one hand, forcing her to look up at him. Smiling grossly, he chuckled, “Ya ready yourself, peach. I reckon I’ll enjoy havin’ another taste of ya!”
Although her hands were bound, Fallon managed to grab hold of the man’s ankle and pull hard to send him falling backwards, landing solidly on his rear-end.
The other men laughed. Charles ordered, “Leave her be, Simmons. She’s my bait. Ya can have her when I’ve taken care of Donavon.”
Glaring hatefully at Fallon, the man called Simmons stood and dusted off the seat of his pants. “Ya’ll pay for that, girl. Mark my words! Ya’ll pay dearly for that.”
“Shut up, Simmons, and get me them papers,” Ashby ordered as he dismounted. Fallon sat up as her uncle pulled the handkerchief from her face. Immediately Fallon spit at his feet. Even though the sting of his slap was meant to reprimand her, she glared at him defiantly.
“You can’t win,” she said, smiling. “Nobody beats him.”
Charles slapped her again and then said, “Oh, I’ll win, Fallon. ’Cause I’ve found his only weakness, his Achilles’ heel, as they say. And that would be you.”
“You’re wrong,” she spat.
“No. I’m not. That little incident in the store before—that was just a test. I suspected he wanted you all along. It don’t make no sense for a man like that—rich, powerful—to be bullied into marryin’ with a nobody. A worthless orphan. It weren’t no bit of fear of scandal that made him agree to marry ya. No, sir. He wanted ya all along. Once I figured that out, well, I got him right where I want him.”
“How? How could my father have loved you so much?” Fallon asked bluntly.
Charles Ashby was silent for a moment, and Fallon did not miss the expression of regret apparent in his eyes, if only for a moment. “Bind your tongue, girl. Bind your tongue. Else I’ll shove that hanky down your purty little throat!”
Going to his saddlebag, Simmons produced several folded papers and handed them to Charles. Charles proceeded to inspect the papers, mumbling his approval when he had finished.
“All right. Let’s prove to the man that we mean business,” Charles bellowed, drawing his knife from its sheath once more. Going to Fallon, he hunkered down before her and said, “Don’t ya move.” Using the knife, he cut the rope binding her wrists. Glaring at him defiantly, she rubbed the chafed flesh on her wrists. “He’s gonna know I’m serious now,” Charles said, and with no evidence of regret in his eyes, the villain took hold of Fallon’s left wrist and squeezed it painfully. “Move an inch and I might miss my mark and slit your throat instead, girl,” he warned. And then, as Fallon watched in unbelieving horror, her own uncle cut the palm of her hand with his knife. She cried out at the pain of it and then could only stare at the blood pooling in her palm as her uncle slightly loosened his grasp on her wrist.
“Let it bleed for a minute,” Charles commanded her. “Don’t look so worried, Fallon. That cut ain’t more than an inch long and just deep enough for a good bleedin’.”
Looking up at him in complete astonishment, Fallon whispered, “You’re an animal. How could you do this to me? I’m your own niece!”
“Ya cost me my farm, Fallon. Now, ya make a fist there and make sure your hand and fingers is covered complete with that blood,” he said, wiping beads of perspiration from his forehead with his arm.
Fallon looked at her wounded hand, in which a large, red puddle of blood was pooling. She looked to her uncle, who held the paper before her. “I won’t do it. I won’t,” she said and began struggling wildly.
Slapping her hard across the cheek again, Charles shouted, “Do it! Ya do it, or I’ll hand ya over to Simmons right now!”
Clenching her teeth tightly with determination, Fallon repeated, “I won’t. I won’t help you to lure him here.”
The back of her uncle’s hand met with her face violently. “You’ll do it!”
Glaring hatefully at her vile relative, Fallon squeezed her fingers into a fist, wincing at the further pain the action inflicted to her hand. As the blood seeped between her fingers and began dripping onto the skirt of her nightdress, she shook her head, unable to fathom a man could treat anyone so brutally.
“Now open that hand up and put your print on this here paper,” Charles ordered, holding a blank sheet of paper out to her.
Angrily, Fallon snatched the paper from his grasp and tossed it aside. Retrieving the paper, Charles took hold of Fallon’s wrist and squeezed it so tightly that Fallon gasped at the pain. The intense pressure caused Fallon’s hand to open. Her uncle forced her hand firmly against the paper, leaving a gruesome impression. Then as he released her wrist, Fallon violently slapped his face, leaving the blood-inked handprint across his features as well.
“You won’t live to see another day, Uncle Charles,” she spat at him.
Charles chuckled, wiping at the blood on his cheek, and said, “My dear niece, you’ve just assured my well-deserved wealth. You three,” he said, pointing to the three men who stood looking on. “Ya’ll be takin’ this along to Donavon.” He handed one of them the papers, including the one with the bloodstain. Wielding his knife once more, Charles added, “One more thing.” He cut a long strand of Fallon
’s hair and handed it to the same man. “Tell the man to run his fingers through that!”
Fallon glared at the man called Simmons, remembering his foul breath as he licked her face in the store. “He’ll break you into pieces this time,” she threatened. “All of you.” She felt a small wave of triumph swell within her as the expressions on the face of each man momentarily changed to that of concern.
“He can’t,” Charles stated. “If those boys don’t come back within the hour, you’re dead.” Standing and dusting off his trousers, he said to the man holding the papers, “Ride out there and tell him the terms. He’s to come alone. You two hold up somewhere and watch him. Pick off anyone who tries to follow him. He does what I say, and I’ll let her go. I will. Ya tell him that. It’s him I want.”
The man with the papers in hand nodded and mounted his horse. “I’ll be back in an hour,” he said, grinning repulsively at Fallon. “Then I can spend some time with you, girl.” He rode off at a confident gallop.
The hour seemed to go on forever. As Fallon waited, she wiped her wounded hand thoroughly on her clothing, then tore the ruffle from the hem of her nightdress and used it as a bandage. The sun rose higher in the sky, and Fallon wondered why the air felt differently in the presence of these vile men. Simmons and her uncle sat close to a small fire they had built, laughing and congratulating each other on their successful venture. As time passed slowly, Fallon sat on the hard ground, hugging her knees to her chest and resting her head on them as she waited. Her attention was arrested when their subject of conversation changed.
“Ya ain’t meanin’ it, are you, Ashby?” Simmons asked. “Lettin’ her go, I mean. Ya promised me—”
“What do ya think?” Charles interrupted. “I said ya could have her, didn’t I? Just as soon as Donavon is bleedin’ his life out on the ground, ya can do whatever ya want with the girl. But he has to think he’s got a chance at savin’ her purty little hide.”
“Well,” Simmons began, “I want me a taste now. I’ll take me a taste and save the rest for later.”
Fallon looked to her uncle in astonished disbelief. “Uncle Charles,” she stammered, “surely…please…”
But the man she called uncle only looked at her, an evil smile spreading across his nauseating face. Looking to Simmons then, Charles said, “I see your point. Have your little taste of honey. But that’s all. Ya can have yer Thanksgivin’ feast when I’ve had Donavon’s blood.”
“No!” Fallon screamed as both men began to chuckle, and Simmons walked to her, pulling her roughly to her feet.
“Tie them hands up again,” Charles suggested, tossing a fresh length of rope to Simmons as Fallon began to beat his head and chest with her fists.
Simmons slapped Fallon soundly, causing a pause in her defense long enough for him to bind her wrists together once more. Then as he dragged her to a nearby tree, she began fighting him again until the back of his hand across her face sent her falling against the trunk.
“Stand up!” he shouted as he pulled her to her feet and pushed her against the tree’s solid trunk. His last blow had finally weakened her, and she could only endure the horrid wrenching in her stomach as Simmons ran his soiled hands up her arms and along her shoulders. Fallon’s senses continued to twist violently as his head descended to the softness of her flesh, his slimy mouth kissing her neck. Then, as he had once before, he grabbed hold of her hair and yanked her head back, laughing lecherously, and Fallon’s eyes closed tightly as she felt him run his foul tongue the length of her cheek.
Tears of despair escaped her eyes as he began toying at her neck. When his mouth forced a repulsive, slobbering kiss on her mouth, her mind fought to hold on to the vision of Trader and the feel of his rapturous kisses. It was, of course, in vain, for the man before her was real flesh and blood, and Trader seemed a lovely, intangible dream.
The drumming of a horse’s hooves blessedly distracted Simmons, and he released his wicked hold on Fallon as he turned to watch the rider approach. It was the man Charles had sent to deliver the message to Trader. When he reached them and dismounted abruptly, Fallon was instantly aware his countenance had changed drastically. His hands trembled, and his face was void of color.
“Did he agree?” Charles asked, approaching the man.
“I ain’t stayin’ here, Ashby,” he firmly stated.
Charles grabbed hold of the man’s shirt, which was stained on the front with patches of drying blood, and growled, “Did he agree?”
“He did,” came the answer. “And I ’spect he’ll be here straight away. But I won’t. I won’t have no more to do with that man!”
“What are ya runnin’ from, boy?” Charles asked. “Ya scared of one man when there’s three of us?”
“That man I am,” he confirmed. Charles released him, and he continued, “He near broke my neck, Ashby. Only thing that stopped him was knowin’ ya had the little missus there.”
Charles glared at Fallon as he spoke to the man. “What did he say?”
“Well I rode up, and he came chargin’ out of the house like a bull gone mad. I shouted at him to keep his distance ’cause the girl would be hurt if I was. He kept acomin’ and pulled me from my own saddle. I warned him again, and I thought he had settled himself. Then he took hold of me by the neck and slammed my back up against the wall of his fancy house there. He asked me what we wanted. I handed him the papers and the hair. I couldn’t see his face, a course, as he looked at that paper with her blood on it. But I didn’t need to. I thought I was dead on that spot. He turned back toward me then, and I looked up into that black hood he wears and thought that was the end. He took me by the throat with one hand and lifted me clean off my feet, all the time holdin’ me against that wall. He said, ‘Where’d he cut her?’ And I told him on her hand. I reminded him I had to come back here or you’d kill her. Then he went to slamming his free fist against the wall, still holdin’ me off the ground. I ain’t never seen such strength in a man! His fist broke through them outer wallboards again and again and again, and all the time he was gruntin’ like some kind of wild animal! I ain’t waitin’ around here, Ashby. You’re a dead man either way, and that’s what I believe.”
“He ain’t gonna turn on us. We got him by the tail,” Charles said, still glaring at his niece.
“He put me down, let go of my neck, and took hold of my shirt here with the hand he’d been slammin’ against the wall. His knuckles were one big mass of chewed up flesh and blood, and he told me he would come. I’ve no doubt he will, but I won’t be here to see him,” the frightened man said, trying to mount his horse.
Fallon gasped as her uncle pulled a pistol from his hip and pointed it at the man. “You will be here. We’re all in this up to our necks. We were meant to be wealthy men, and this is how we’re gonna get our riches.”
Suddenly there came the drumming of a horse’s hooves approaching them. In the distance came a lone rider, black cloak beating the breeze around him as he rode.
“Trader,” Fallon breathed. She could feel hope bursting within her. Something told her Trader would triumph yet. She thought of the powerful anger and frustration that would have to be within a man to allow his physical body to wreak such havoc on the wooden planks. She knew Trader cared for her. As her mind reviewed his actions toward her, especially in the past few days, she knew that perhaps love was too strong a term, but he did care for her.
“We’ll finish this later,” Simmons mumbled, pulling Fallon toward her uncle then harshly pushing her to the ground.
Charles, distracted by the approaching rider, simply returned his pistol to its place at his hip, ignoring the frightened partner in crime, who mounted his horse and furiously rode off.
The black rider on a horse the color of night reined in before the men who held Fallon captive. The fierce-looking steed snorted heavily and savagely stomped his front legs on the ground.
“I’m gonna send you to rot in hell, Ashby,” Trader growled, still on the back o
f the mighty animal.
“Hold her, Simmons,” Charles ordered. Pulling Fallon to her feet, Simmons drew his knife and held it to her throat. “Dismount, Donavon,” Charles growled at Trader.
With an angry heaving in his chest, Trader jumped from his horse. “You move to harm me, and he’ll slit her throat.”
Fallon watched helplessly as Trader withdrew some papers from inside his shirt and tossed them on the ground at Charles’s feet. Charles bent confidently and picked up the papers. He began nodding as he inspected them.
“My lands, my herds, everything,” Trader confirmed. “Let her go. If she isn’t home soon, you’ll be hunted men.”
“Now don’t get pushy here, Donavon. We ain’t done with our business yet,” Charles chuckled. “You’re gonna get what you well deserve.” Ceremoniously cracking his knuckles, Charles circled Trader. “Ya raise a finger to me, Donavon, and Simmons will cut Fallon for every move you make against me.”
“No,” Fallon breathed as she saw Trader’s chest rise and fall with heavy, determined breaths. She helplessly screamed out as Charles delivered a terrible blow to Trader’s midsection. Though an exhale escaped him, Trader stood firm, straight, and impenetrable. Then, chuckling, Charles drew his gun from his hip, and taking it firmly by the barrel, he hit Trader violently on the back of the neck with the butt, causing Trader to crumple to the ground. Charles commenced kicking Trader about the rib cage and in the back, legs, and any other part of the powerful body that lay at his mercy.
“No! Please! No!” Fallon cried, as sobbing wracked her body. She knew Trader would not raise a hand against her vile kin. He would not endanger her. She knew she must escape for his sake! Glancing up, she saw that Simmons’s attention was occupied by gloating in the beating taking place before him. With all her might, she threw her small body against Simmons. It was enough to knock him off balance for a moment and allow her to dash away. The rocks and nettle plants that lay scattered on the ground dug into her bare feet. She did not go far when she stumbled and fell. Simmons was on her instantly, pulling her to her feet.
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