by Amy Sandas
He had seen courage like that before. When he’d been a boy.
He crouched down to offer the steaming cup, and she took it from him with both hands still bound. “Hungry?”
She nodded again.
Gabriel returned to the fire for the leftover salt pork and fetched some dried fruit from his pack. After setting the food beside her, he went about cleaning up camp and readying his horse.
He was tamping down the last of the coals when he heard her speak. “Excuse me.” The polite words were not altogether unexpected. The woman’s gentility was abundantly evident in every inch of her appearance. What did surprise him was how the tone of her voice—the almost crystalline quality—resonated through him.
He turned to look at her and noticed the color in her cheeks. She had set aside the cup and plate, having finished the limited breakfast, and for the first time, her gaze was slightly averted.
“I need a moment of privacy,” she said.
He should have thought of that.
Gabriel approached her slowly. Still, her entire body tensed.
Intentionally avoiding a glance at her face, he lifted the blanket to her knees and then raised the hem of her skirts so he could get at the rope around her ankles. Once it loosened and fell away, he reached for her hands.
Her fingers were chilled, and her skin was soft beneath the callused brush of his fingers. Though the rope hadn’t been tight, its rough fibers had still rubbed her skin to an angry red.
She sat unnaturally still as he completed his task, but the layer of tension beneath her silent demeanor was obvious. Despite the cheery morning sunshine, he’d bet anything that if he took a look into her eyes, he’d see shadows there.
If he had to guess, he’d say the darkness sitting silent inside her had nothing to do with her current circumstances. This woman’s distress went too deep.
Keeping his gaze averted, he leaned over her to grasp her arms just above her elbows, then lifted her easily and swiftly to her feet. She was a small woman, light and slim. But Gabriel realized his mistake instantly.
The gasp that slid from her lips was more than surprise at the swift change in position. The way her body stiffened beneath his hands and the sudden intense burst of energy he felt through her was indicative of only one thing. The woman was terrified.
Her stoic manner had completely disguised the truth of how frightened she actually was.
Gabriel accepted her resistance and softened his grip on her arms, but he couldn’t release her. In her current panic, she could do something stupid—run off and get hurt. It was important she understand the situation. For her own safety. “Relax,” he said quietly.
Her fierce tension slid away almost immediately. As though she had only momentarily forgotten herself. The rush of panic was replaced once again by the calm, controlled regard.
Her wide blue gaze collided with his, causing that fierce tightness to twist harder inside him. The faint scent of roses clung to her, mixing with the smell of the earth she’d slept on and the bitter aroma of campfire coffee. He could see the effort it took to remain still while his hands held her. The shadows swirled quietly in her gaze while she stood strong in front of him.
Fear and courage were a stark contradiction inside her. Stark, yet silent.
“I’ll give you a few minutes,” he stated. “Don’t run.”
“I won’t run,” she said. The clear, melodic tone of her voice flowed like a song through his blood. “I have nowhere to go.”
“If you take too long, I will come for you.” He hoped the warning would be sufficient to prevent that possibility. The flicker in her soft blue eyes suggested she would hurry. But there was a spark of rebellion there as well. Hidden deep, barely acknowledged, perhaps even by her.
She nodded, and Gabriel released her. Stepping back, she put some distance between them before she turned her back to him and walked sedately toward the nearest cluster of trees.
* * *
“That’s far enough,” her captor called after she’d gone several paces. Evelyn stopped and turned to look back and caught only a glimpse of the clearing she’d left behind.
If she defied his dictate and continued farther into the wilderness, she had no doubt he’d come after her. She had no desire for that to happen.
It took some creative maneuvering to take care of her needs. She’d never had any practice with having to do such a thing in the middle of nature and hadn’t exactly dressed for it. In the end, she managed the deed, though with a distinct lack of efficiency and grace.
Once her skirts were smoothed back into place, she took a few moments to breathe. His warning about not taking too long rang in her ears, but she could not resist the need to center herself.
Pressing a hand flat to her chest, she closed her eyes and tipped her chin up to feel the scattered drops of sunlight that filtered through the trees. With a straight spine, she took lung-filling inhalations. The expansive movement of her chest aggravated the tight burning across her back, but it was worth it.
The air felt exceptionally free out here. Less contained—fresher, wilder—than the air back in Boston. It filled her up and chased away the last foggy remnants of sleep.
In a silent inner discourse, she reminded herself that she had endured a great deal in the last year, and this new challenge would not be enough to break her. She might no longer have her money, but she had her wits and her determination.
If, for now, she had to take her chances with these outlaws, so be it. She might be their temporary captive, but she was still far freer than she had been in a long time. She intended to hold on to that freedom with all her strength.
Her body tensed with a swift flash of awareness as she realized she was no longer alone.
She did not hear anything beyond the movement of the wind and the birds in the trees, but she knew with a certainty that came from deep in her bones that he had come to fetch her.
She lowered her chin and opened her eyes.
He stood several paces away.
Though his distance and physical stance were neutral and unthreatening, the sight of him caused an intense and sudden…expansion. It was like taking a full, deep breath with her whole body. It was life spreading outward from a point in her center in a sudden rush.
It was…alarming and confusing.
Strange that his simple, quiet presence—his silent, focused attention—could affect her so completely. Especially since he seemed so totally unaffected himself. Though his gaze was direct, it never revealed his thoughts. His expression revealed even less.
“Time to go,” he said.
The low, earthy quality of his voice had a distinctly grounding effect on her as it reverberated through her center and out to her fingers and toes.
She nodded and stepped forward to follow him.
Rather than leading the way, he turned to the side so she could go ahead of him.
As she passed him and noted the incongruity in their size and strength, she couldn’t help but acknowledge her physical vulnerability. She was alone with this stranger in the wilderness, completely at his mercy. Her safety, her dignity—her everything—rested entirely in his hands.
And yet the idea didn’t completely terrify her.
He was intimidating in his size and strength and his quiet, assessing manner. And though her awareness of him in a physical sense was intense and flowed straight from the core of her being, it did not carry that icy-cold sense of fear she had gotten so familiar with in her marriage.
Rather…it was warm, hot even; the way her senses—her body—reacted to him.
In her brief absence, the camp had been completely dismantled. If she hadn’t known they’d just passed the night in the small clearing, she never would have suspected anything had disturbed the spot. Even the remains of the campfire had been effectively reclaimed by the earth.
&
nbsp; The outlaw nodded his head in the direction of his horse, which stood patiently waiting without needing to be tied. He was a large animal with withers nearly at Evelyn’s eye level, solid muscle tone beneath his dusty-gray coat, and a long, curling mane and tail. He was beautiful in a raw, untamed way. Daunting in his size and power—much like the man who rode him.
Evelyn had never spent much time around horses. She possessed a basic knowledge of riding but had most often walked or took the carriage when getting from one place to another in the city.
She was likely about to endure something quite beyond a simple pleasure ride through the park.
Her escort swung up onto the horse’s back in one fluid motion, and it was only then that she realized there was no saddle. None at all. Just a wool blanket and a sheep hide secured to the horse by thin leather straps. Yet he sat confident and proud, one hand holding thin reins and the other extended toward her as he waited for her put her hand in his.
Evelyn held her breath and looked into his broad, strong features. He showed no emotion, no impatience, no clear intention. His complete neutrality was unsettling, but Evelyn had to take a chance.
“Let me go,” she said softly. Nothing changed in his expression, nor did he lower his hand, but she knew he’d heard her. “I understand I was taken off the train by mistake,” she continued. “You could just return me to the nearest town and ride away.”
He was silent for a long moment with his hand still outstretched. Then he said simply, “No. You will come with me.” His words were solid, his tone unbendable. Final.
“Where are you taking me?”
“An unmapped valley protected by the mountains.”
“Why?”
His brows furrowed over that question, just slightly, and his head tilted a notch to one side. “Your questions will be answered when we arrive. You will not be harmed.”
Feeling defeated, she allowed a tremor of frustration to enter her voice as she replied, “I should believe you?”
“Yes.”
The assurance in his voice and the steady way he looked down at her with his hand still waiting to take hers struck a deep chord. She was desperate to believe that in going with him, she was not being led into something worse than what she’d left behind in Boston.
Although she’d discovered in the months since her marriage that she could endure a great deal, she was not so stupid as to think she could survive on her own in the wilderness. Even if she could somehow manage to escape him, she had no idea how far or in what direction she’d find the nearest town.
She met his dark gaze, wondering if there was anything she could say that might sway him. For a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of subtle emotion in his dark eyes. Her breath caught and held before she realized she must have been mistaken.
“Come,” he said. One word. Filled with assurance and command.
She had little choice.
Taking a step forward, she lifted her hand. There was a moment of breathlessness when she slid her palm against the outlaw’s much larger one. She had only a second to acknowledge the warmth of his skin, the encompassing strength of his grip, before she was lifted off the ground and set down in front of him on the horse. Giving her no time to adjust her seating, he set the horse in motion, heading straight toward the mountains at a swift lope.
Seven
They rode in silence for several hours of tedious discomfort.
At first, Evelyn was focused on trying to keep as much distance between herself and the man seated behind her as possible. But it quickly became far more important to keep from getting bounced off the horse. She sat with both legs and the bulk of her skirts draped to one side. Since there was no saddle, all she had to hold on to was the thick mane of the horse—and she did, at times quite desperately, as they flew steadily across uneven terrain.
Horse and man seemed barely bothered by her added presence, while Evelyn couldn’t seem to figure out how to maintain straight posture and proper physical distance from the man behind her while also retaining her seat and her sanity. Every time his chest bumped against her back, or his thigh pressed firmly beneath hers, she tensed.
Aside from his earlier declaration that she wouldn’t be harmed, he did nothing further to try to put her at ease. In fact, he didn’t say a single thing to her once they left the camp. Even the commands he gave his horse were done without words as he used the pressure of his knees or an occasional clicking sound made with his tongue. He didn’t use a proper bridle, having only a leather halter to guide the horse’s head. That he was able to control the animal with barely any sound and the strength of his will alone was unsettling.
She’d never met anyone like this man.
Or was it just that she had grown so accustomed to Matthew’s manner that anything else seemed unnatural?
In public, Matthew was effusive in his charm and flattery. In private, he could strip Evelyn of her confidence and self-worth with a few choice words. Every conversation had been a practice in discerning the crooked, twisting path he loved to lay for her with the intention of undermining her every thought and belief. The longer she was away from him, the more she realized just how great his influence had been, down to even the smallest detail of her life. He had manipulated her to the point where she no longer trusted her own judgment.
But that was all she had now.
Around midday, they finally stopped to rest.
The outlaw dropped to the ground first, then turned to reach both hands up to her. His expression was neutral, his eyes direct and unreadable. She got the sense he did that without even really thinking about it—closed his thoughts off from her view.
Did he do it with everyone?
Though she would have preferred to avoid direct physical contact, she couldn’t dismount from the tall horse on her own. Holding herself rigid despite her exhaustion, she leaned forward and placed her hands on his shoulders. The hard, curved muscle bunched beneath her palms as he grasped her waist and lifted her from the horse’s back.
An odd feeling flew through her as he lowered her carefully to the ground: a moment of breathlessness, a flash of heat, a strange tightening inside her. She tried desperately to conceal her reaction as her eyes met his. But there was something similar flickering in his gaze—a spark quickly doused as he released her and turned away.
She stared at his broad back as he walked to the edge of the creek they’d stopped beside. His horse followed him without urging. Both man and animal bent to drink from the clear water. She didn’t know what had just happened, but it left her unbalanced and flushed. As though a warm wind had just passed through her.
Perhaps her overwhelming exhaustion and uncertainty were causing the disorienting reactions in her body.
Evelyn walked unsteadily to a large rock and took a seat. Her back felt as if it had gone up in flames, her rear end was surely bruised, and her legs felt watery and weak. The chance to rest was a welcome relief.
A few minutes later, the outlaw walked toward her to offer the canteen he had just refilled in the creek. After only a brief hesitation, she took it and eased her thirst with the cold water. It had a mineral taste but was infinitely refreshing. When she would have passed the canteen back to him, he gave a short nod indicating she was to keep it. Then he pulled a dry piece of bread from his shoulder bag and offered that as well.
“Hardtack.”
The bread was as hard as it looked and as lacking in flavor, but it satisfied the ache in her stomach. While she ate, he retreated a few paces to lean his shoulders back against a nearby tree and silently waited. Rather than pretend he wasn’t there, she deliberately turned to meet his steady, impenetrable gaze.
After a few moments, he lowered his chin and spoke. “You are not Sarah Cummings. What is your real name?”
Evelyn stiffened. The subtle movement pulled at the wounds on her back, forcing her to clench h
er teeth to keep from grimacing. Nothing would convince her to give him her name, not when it would afford them the means to ransom her back into her husband’s keeping.
“If not your true name,” he said in a rich, lowered tone, “is there something I can call you?”
How had he so easily seen into her thoughts? It was disturbing and tilted her off axis. But she found herself grateful for the minor reprieve. She could give him any name now, and he wouldn’t be certain if it was true or false.
Her closest friends called her Evie. But she couldn’t bring herself to give this stranger such intimacy.
“I am known as Gabriel,” he offered into the lengthening silence.
It was not at all what she’d expected him to say. She had heard the others refer to him as Gabe. That he was actually named for God’s messenger angel surprised her and ignited a spark of inspiration.
“You may call me Eve.”
He tilted his head as he replied. “Why did you claim to be Sarah Cummings on the train?” he asked, and his voice was low and calm, suggesting infinite patience, while his eyes stared bold and direct into hers.
Feeling increasingly vulnerable, Evelyn—Eve—replied, “If I had known it would get me kidnapped, I wouldn’t have done so.”
His brows lowered fractionally as he crossed his arms over his wide chest and gave a short nod. “Yes. Then why did you?”
She didn’t answer. There was nothing she could say that wouldn’t put her at greater risk.
An image of Matthew flashed through her mind. His face drawn tight and flushed with exertion as sweat rolled down from his temples. And there—crouching within in his refined features as he gazed at the destruction he’d wrought upon her naked back—pleasure.
A shudder passed through her at her recollection of that moment. But directly on its heels came a steely spear of determination. Because she had gotten away.
And nothing in the world would ever bring her back.
She returned the outlaw’s—Gabriel’s—questioning stare with a rebellious one of her own.
