by Reece Butler
“I’m here to protect ye, lad.”
The door swung wide open. The jail faced north, but the sun was bright enough that light streamed in. Gillis, dressed in full Highland splendor, swept in.
“Christ, did you have to wear the bonnet as well?”
Gil, grinning like a cat in an ocean of cream, held up one arm, fingers pinched as if to do a sword dance, and made a slow circle. Ross groaned again. MacDougal tartan from bonnet to socks. There was no bell heather anywhere near, but he’d found a small, red flower to tuck in his clan badge instead.
“They willnae kill ye with me here.” Gillis lifted the sword like an avenging angel.
Ross held back a laugh. “They were shot, Gil. Bullets reach father than the end of your blade.”
“That’s what this is for.” He turned his right hip toward Ross and pointed to his holster. It didn’t match the outfit, but Gil was the practical sort.
“About time you got here. I’m hungry,” growled Frank. It took him a minute to shake out his bones and stand.
“I don’t need someone to protect me,” said Ross.
Gillis gave an exaggerated look of surprise. “I’m not here for you, lad. I’m escapin’ all those aunties and uncles of yours. While my lovely wee lass is growin’ well, and I’m glad to have her back, I dinna want to put up with the whole Tribe.”
Gil nodded at Frank as he hobbled by. He left the door open behind him.
Ross sat on the bed. The edge poked into his thighs, so he pushed back and sat cross-legged inside the box. Once, he’d silently begged for them to come and take him home. He’d seen one or two relatives over the years and Auntie for the last while, but not the lot of them. They didn’t want to be reminded of how he’d gotten their child killed.
“They fair love yer wife,” continued Gillis. “Auntie took over the kitchen again since Amelia cannot stand.”
“Why not?”
“She twisted her wee ankle when she ran from the fire. Didn’t the lass tell ye?”
Ross didn’t want to admit he’d not only missed on protecting her, he’d run in shame from her explanation. He couldn’t take her look of condemnation. He’d seen enough of them as a child.
“Ah, that’s right,” continued Gillis in an ominously quiet voice. “Ye scurried away like a wee mousie from the cat.”
Gil slammed the door to the street and turned to face Ross. His kilt swung as he strode forward, face red and beard bristling. Ross didn’t bother to stand or protest. When Gil got his back up, he’d spew out what he wanted before he ran out of words.
Gil ranted for some time about what a great job Amelia had done. How Daniel was a “wee warrior” who deserved to become a MacDougal. How Ross’s ravens had done marvelous things. And how Ross had failed them all by running away from his wife when she needed him most.
Finally, he could take it no longer. He stood up, grabbed the bars, and told his Chief to shut the hell up.
Gil narrowed his eyes and glared back. Gil was dressed as a Highland warrior. Ross wore dirty, wrinkled clothes that smelled from the last few days. He was tired, hungry, and thirsty but would never admit it.
“She doesn’t want me, Gil. She said when we first met that she didn’t want a man who would kill just because someone looked at her. Well, I wanted to rip them apart with my bare hands for daring to touch her. I saw the bruise on her face where one slapped her.” He swallowed.
“Did they do to her what they did to—” He shook his head, unable to mention his cousin’s name. “I was too late again. She doesn’t want me. I saw her turn away in disgust. She needs someone who can protect her. Who—”
“Are ye finished yer sob story now?”
“What?”
Gil sneered down at him.
“I said, are ye finished cryin’ into yer beer? Oh, me puir wife,” Gillis placed his hand over his heart and turned his head away. He cried out. “The wee lass burned herself escaping from a prison. Alas, she should have waited for her mon to rescue her.”
He put the back of his hand to his forehead and near-swooned. “’Tis so sad, she lives with nae but a few burns. A mon touched her skin but once. Ah, ye puir mon. Ye hae the shame of yer wee wife survivin’ without rescue by her mon!”
He dropped the act.
“Ye make me want to puke, feelin’ sorry for yerself and runnin’ away. Ye should hae taken her in yer arms and thanked the Gods she was safe! But nae! Ye ran away like a wee boy, pissin’ his pants in fear.”
White heat shot through Ross at the insult. “I didn’t run away. I went after her attackers!”
“Did ye now. And when ye found them in the jail, did ye then go back to yer wife?” Gil sucked his teeth. He shook his angry, red mane. “Nae. Ye went to a whorehouse for the night.”
“I spent the night in Rosa’s kitchen!”
“That’s yer story, is it?” Gil examined his fingernails. “I believe ye. Nev and Trace believes ye. Amelia and Beth, now? That’s sommat different.”
He used a nail on his left hand to clean under his right. He stabbed Ross with a glare.
“Them that want te hang ye will think what they will. They’re already wild te hang ye for marryin’ the woman. That ye tossed her aside so quick?” He tsked and shook his head. “That doesnae make friends, laddie.”
After a long look, he brightened and slapped his hands as if to free them of dirt.
“But ye’ll soon be hangin’ high, and she’ll be free to marry. Big Joe says he wants her since Trace took the last Bride. He’ll give us the baby after it’s weaned, ye ken. But he wants Amelia all to hisself.”
Ross forced a hollow laugh. “Don’t try to threaten me with that. If I die, Amelia will stay on the MD Connected and marry Nevin. She’ll keep both of you happy.”
Gillis placed his fists on his hips. He shook his head, slow and easy.
“The lady says she cannae stay after the way ye treated her. She says ye dinna love her or ye’d have listened without judging. She’ll live with Beth until the baby’s weaned. She agrees to let us raise the child since no man here would want your brown babe. She’ll marry a man who doesnae look on her in disgust because another touched her. Joe says he’ll nae beat her. Much.”
Ross gripped the bars so hard he could almost feel them bend.
“Think on that a wee while, laddie.” Gil sniffed. “I dinnae like the stench of yer foul thoughts.”
Gil turned so fast his kilt rose up and almost showed his red, furry ass. He stomped to the door.
“Gillis! Damn you, you’re wrong! That’s not what I think!”
Gil slammed the door shut behind him. The log walls absorbed the noise. Because there was only one house past the jail, and that belonged to Doc, this end of the town was quiet. Though Miss Lily’s Parlor was across the street, she had a very discreet business. Most clients entered through the back lane. Mrs. Dawes had her dress shop next to Lily’s. That business was even quieter.
The silence rang so loud it hurt his ears.
Damn Gillis! He twisted everything to suit himself. It was laughable to think that an intelligent, sensual woman like Amelia would have anything to do with a brute like Big Joe Sheldrake. Gil was pulling straws with that one.
Would she want someone like Smythe, though? The man was rich, though arrogant and likely demanding. Damn Gil for getting his brain all steamed up!
Frank would find out the truth and tell them all. Ross MacDougal had spent the night sleeping on Rosa’s floor. The light was on late as he didn’t want to drink in the dark.
His gun hadn’t been fired in a week and had flour dust in the barrel. That would be interesting to explain. He’d helped Rosa make cinnamon buns? He snorted at the idea. Everyone knew Rosa didn’t allow anyone near her baking.
He paced back and forth. Six steps one way. Turn. Six steps back. He stopped.
Gil said Amelia’s skin had been touched once by a man. That meant she hadn’t been raped. He slumped on the bed then lay back, his muscles unable to hold him
up.
She wasn’t dead.
She wasn’t raped.
She was burned but not as badly as the previous time.
What else had Gil said during his rant? Ross sat up. Gil knew how to say things that made him crazy. He seemed to enjoy pushing him.
When he was small, he’d attack Gil, going at him with every trick his Indian cousins had taught him. A few years younger and scrawny in comparison, he always lost. By the time their fight was over, his anger was gone. If they were near the water, Gil would throw him in then jump in as well. They’d have a big water fight. When they came out, Gil would act as if nothing had happened. In the winter, he tossed Ross into a pile of snow with the same result. Ross would feel calm for weeks until the anger built inside him once more.
He was in his late teens when they went to Texas, all but Trace, Simon and Jack Elliott and the oldest three MacDougals. He missed Gil, but without Fin and Hugh to hate him, it wasn’t so bad. Because he was now the oldest MacDougal son in Texas, his father finally treated him with some respect.
Jessamine Elliott was only a year younger than he, closer to a brother than a sister. Benjamin and Ranger Elliott and Nevin were a trio. Patrick Elliott tagged along with them. Malcolm, his youngest brother, was their father’s favorite and didn’t get along with anyone.
As soon as he heard Fin and Hugh were moving down, he and Nev knew they had to leave. The Elliotts wanted to come north as well, but Father wanted the rest working for him. Ben escaped to law school, but Ranger had to stay. He finally got his inheritance and put it into the RB ranch next door. He and Patrick were already bringing their cattle north to Montana Territory.
Since he was moping already, he might as well admit he missed them. It would be good to have Ranger, Patrick, and Ben here.
Most of all, he missed Amelia.
He’d missed her every moment while they were away. Did she know how much he cared? She should have realized by the way he held her. The flowers he brought her each morning. He’d see them on the table at dinner and supper. Surely, she knew what that meant.
What if Gil was right?
What if she didn’t know how he felt?
Did she really look away in disgust at him, or had she seen something on his face that made her turn away?
And how the hell could he find out from a jail cell?
The more he thought of it, the more he realized she might have mistaken what he was thinking. He couldn’t really remember what happened. Amelia lying in bed, burned and scratched. Beth talking. Then he was halfway across the yard, telling Daniel to take care of her.
Damn, his head hurt!
When Gil came back, he’d ask him to bring Amelia. They could talk.
Chapter Forty-One
Ross contemplated his next move. Should he take Trace’s man or move the other checker forward to get kinged? He looked up when the door opened. An old man walked, tall and proud, across the room. Four eagle feathers rose from his hair. No haltering step suggested his age.
“Grandfather!”
The three-legged stool scraped against the floor when Ross stood. Trace moved aside the table containing the hard-fought checkers game. He nodded in respect and left the jail, pulling the door shut behind him.
Ross watched his grandfather look around the jail. His eyes skipped past the few posters decorating the walls. He frowned at the battered desk where a large metal ring with one key had been tossed. Finally, he looked at the metal bars in the corner and the man who watched him.
“Why are you in a cage, Raven?”
“They say I shot two of the men who killed Antelope Girl.”
“Someone took those deaths from you, bringing anger.”
Ross didn’t move his eyes or his body.
“And you have anger with me.”
“No, Grandfather. You were right to send me away.”
The old man didn’t seem to move, but Ross picked up his surprise.
“Send you away?”
Sunbird’s father looked at Ross for many minutes. He walked forward and took Trace’s place on the stool, gesturing for Ross to sit as well.
“We asked your mother to send you to us when you were five summers old. You were a warrior living with jackals. You needed training so you would not become one as well.” He gave a regal nod. “You learned well.”
Ross felt as if he was a boy again, facing the wrath of the tribe. Only he’d not had a chance to speak back then. They sent him away without a word. He kept still, his face blank, his body unmoving.
“She died because of me.”
“Do not take that from her,” scolded the Bannock Chief. “She died a warrior. You were a boy, yet you avenged her that day.”
“Three escaped.” He choked out his shame. “Two are now dead, but not by my hand. I will not go home until I kill the last.”
The old man sighed. “I hoped you would be free of this demon who rides you.”
“I won’t be free until I kill the last demon.”
“The demon is not a man. It is the need for revenge that harms you.”
“I don’t understand. You sent me away because I failed—”
“You were sent home to grieve, to honor her death and look once more to life. We did not know your father’s jackal sons would attack you. Sunbird knew one of you would kill the other. She gave you to the Elliotts to protect you from killing your half-brothers.”
Ross could barely breathe, much less swallow the bile that crept up his throat. Yes, his father was a jackal, and so were Fin and Hugh. They’d rip apart a carcass for the joy of destroying, not because of hunger. His mother hadn’t sent him away. She’d sent him to safety. The tight band across his heart eased.
“Until you let Antelope Girl go, you will not be whole. She is gone, her bones dust. A woman carrying your son needs you now. Take care of the living and let the other be at peace.”
“You would have me forget her?”
“I would have you act as a warrior. Not an angry child crying for what is forever lost!”
Ross’s heart pounded at the insult. Heat rushed up his face. He kept his mouth shut by force of will.
“You act like an injured bear,” scoffed his grandfather. “In pain and anger, lashing out at everyone.” He pointed a finger. “You want to be feared. It keeps others away and your heart cold. You have no fire in your heart, only the ashes of death.”
Ross dropped his eyes rather than reply. The man made to stand. Ross reached his strong arm through the bars so his grandfather wouldn’t have to touch the iron. Though the man was much shorter, bent in old age, he looked down on Ross.
“Will you send Daniel away because he did not stop two men from taking your wife?”
“No! He did everything he could.”
“Then why do you hate the boy who could not stop four men?”
Ross gulped. It wasn’t the same. Daniel was only a child, but he’d had years of warrior training by the time he was Daniel’s age.
“You have a good woman and children on the way. Will you cower in the dark like a frightened child clinging to the past? Or will you face the future like a warrior?”
Neither spoke for a few minutes. The old man finally nodded. “If you choose the future over the past, I will be at your son’s naming ceremony.”
Ross gulped. “And if I go after the last man?”
The Chief’s nostrils flared. His eyes became hooded. Ross watched his grandfather turn and shuffle from the room. He’d walked in tall and strong, but now, he moved as if their talk had added a dozen years.
He stopped just in front of the door. Without turning, he spoke.
“If you choose death over life, you are a jackal like your father and no grandson of mine.”
The door shut behind him, leaving Ross alone. He stood at the bars for a long time.
Could he get his life back? Would Amelia even want him now?
He would see her tomorrow. From what he heard, everyone from miles around was coming to see the
spectacle. Auntie would never bring Hope to town, but the rest of his family would be there.
The only one he cared about was Amelia.
Chapter Forty-Two
“We want a trial!”
Frank Chambers looked over the crowd from his vantage point. The porch of the Tanner’s Ford Hotel was six steps above the street. The heckler standing near the back of the crowd ducked and shuffled behind a taller man. Frank stuck his thumb under his leather vest and flashed the sheriff’s badge.
“Anytime you want to strap on this star and a gun and take my place, sonny, you let me know. Otherwise, keep your yap shut.”
“He’s got a point,” said John Tanner, off to one side. “There’s two men dead. Don’t we need a trial?”
“I won’t hold a trial without good reason. Charlie Newton said he saw someone tall and dark across the street.” Frank shook his head at the group of men in dark hats. “At least half of you’ve got dark, scruffy beards. Maybe the murderer is right here.”
Many looked at each other sideways and shuffled their feet.
“If you think that, why’s my brother in jail?” asked Nevin.
He stood in the street, thick arms crossed and an unusually belligerent look on his dark face. Considering all the riding the young man had done since yesterday morning, no wonder he scowled like he had a boil on his butt.
“You want this lot to get all fired up with drink and hang him?”
Nevin shrugged and looked away. Frank had other reasons for keeping Ross locked up. Most of them had to do with the people wanting to talk some sense into him.
“Some say you’re a mite friendly with the MacDougals, Sheriff.” Mayor Rivers smiled at the crowd. “Why don’t I go with you to make sure the truth gets out.”
“Only the truth about this crime needs to get out. People are allowed their secrets in my town.”
“Only trying to help, Sheriff.”
Frank thought the man as smooth as a church pew after six generations of fidgeting bottoms. His natty plaid suits were always pressed, his shirt ironed and boots polished. Even if he had witnesses to say he didn’t pull the trigger, it didn’t mean Rivers didn’t pay for it happening.
