A Bride For Brynmor (Songbird Junction Book 1)

by Jacqui Nelson

  He seized the block of timber and swung it over his shoulder like the upward stroke of an axe.

  Whatever he hit was solid. The impact reverberated down his arm and up his neck.

  The stranglehold loosened. Air returned. He gulped it in. His throat burned, but his vision cleared enough for him to lurch to his feet and spin in search of his adversaries. He found Lark and Robyn—with Gus sandwiched between them still holding Barnum and Bailey—bracing their backs against the door. A wallop on the other side jolted the portal and them.

  Ulysses and his men would soon push through. Unless he added his weight to halt them. He stumbled on his first step, shaken by the sway of the speeding train and the now crystal-clear view before him.

  Lark aimed a tiny gun at him. Ulysses’ derringer. She hadn’t thrown it in the snowbank like she’d said. She’d also said, He’ll fall for anything if he’s properly discombobulated.

  The word described how he felt. Until he felt something else. Someone’s blasted hot breath on his neck again.

  “Get down!” Lark yelled.

  Once more, his knees jarred the landing. The crack of the gun echoed off the overhang above him while a man fell beside him, howling and clutching his bloody shoulder.

  The barrel of Lark’s derringer darted sideways to point at his first attacker, identified by his wood-battered face, standing behind him with the rope. The pounding on the portal grew louder. Lark, Robyn, and Gus bounced against it as if it were the saddle of a bucking bronc.

  “My finger isn’t steady on the trigger. So lie down,” Lark snapped. “Before you go down with a bullet.”

  When her target obeyed, Brynmor took his rope and tied him before he could challenge Lark’s bluff. Unless she’d found more ammunition, the double-barrel derringer was empty, having fired its first bullet in the cabin yesterday.

  The man she’d shot today didn’t get up, but he swore murderous revenge. There wasn’t enough rope to bind both men. He’d have to use the strings from his sister’s snowshoes. And hurry.

  From inside the car, the next blow struck like a blast of dynamite. The door flew open. The trio, who’d held it as long as they could, flew as well. Gus held on to the lambs. Lark and Robyn held on to him. They made it easy for Brynmor to catch all of them by seizing one thing. Gus’ coat.

  The arc of the door tossed them sideways. They crashed into the man Lark had shot. He skidded dangerously close to the edge of the landing. So did they.

  “Don’t let go of Gus,” Brynmor yelled to Lark and Robyn as he grabbed the nearest handrail.

  The man beside him clenched a groove in the floor. Slick with snow churned up from the wheels, his fingers slipped on the metal. His eyes widened with disbelief then horror as he realized his mistake. He flailed his arms. Reaching for the handrail.

  Instead he caught the web of Robyn’s snowshoes strapped to her back. In a gut-wrenching whoosh, his weight yanked her over the edge with him. Gone into the white abyss.

  “Rob!” Brynmor roared.

  A boot kicked his side. The pain turned his anguish to fury. Keeping hold of Gus’ coat, he scooped up a block of wood and surged to his feet. Lark rose with him. She kept her derringer pointed at the men while he swung his club. They pressed forward together and pushed the men back into the railcar.

  The wall of retreating bodies kept Ulysses from setting one foot on the landing.

  “Cowards,” he hollered. “She can’t shoot you. That’s my gun, and it isn’t—”

  Brynmor slammed the door on his revelation and set all of his weight against it. He couldn’t move until the train reached Denver. He couldn’t leap after Robyn or even look to see where she fell. Despair buckled his legs. Still holding on to Gus, who still held on to their lambs, he sat with his back braced against the door. “I’ll never see her again.”

  “You will.” Lark knelt beside him and leaned toward the edge. “I’ll be your eyes.”

  He used his free hand to grab her skirt. “Be careful!”

  She strained to peer back along the track.

  “Did she—?” His throat constricted, hurting worse than when he was being strangled. He couldn’t ask if his sister had gone under the wheels.

  “She’s lying on the snow beside the track.”

  She’d been wearing similar colored clothing to the man who’d fallen. “How do you know it’s her?”

  “It’s her hair.”

  Hair as red as blood. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force the thought from his mind.

  Lark’s hands shook him. Her strength and beauty filled his vision. Her face may have lost all color, but she didn’t shiver from cold or fear. She didn’t blink as she stared at him. “I have to go.”

  His panic doubled. “What else did you see?”

  “The man who pulled her off. He’s crawling toward her.”

  “No.” He shook his head violently. “He can’t—” He sealed his lips and kept shaking his head. “You can’t.” He couldn’t ask Lark to endanger herself to help his sister.

  “I have to go because you have to stay.” She captured his face between her palms and held him still. “Only you can hold this door and keep them from reaching Gus and the engine. Don’t let them reverse the train. If they climb over again, pull the pin and split the train in two. Wait till the last moment. Give me distance and time. My best odds are fighting the one man trying to reach Robyn, rather than the many men on this train.”

  He tugged her skirt, and her, closer to him. “I can’t ask you to do this.”

  She let her forehead rest against his. “You can’t stop me either.”

  “We promised we’d stay together.”

  Gus spoke for the first time since they’d been forced from the passenger car. “Then we all promised Robyn we’d fight in pairs.”

  He couldn’t breathe. Could only whisper one name. “Lark.”

  “Brynmor. Mor.” Tears glittered in her eyes. “My mor.” She hid her face against his chest. “I want to see you again.”

  “I’ll find you.” He hugged her tight for a heartbeat, then let go.

  If he used his strength to suppress hers, he might protect her in this moment but never again. She’d never trust being held and still being free.

  She didn’t move. “Will you meet me at the music shop?”

  “I will.” Or die trying. He sealed his vow with a kiss to her bent head. “We’ll gather your sisters and keep them safe with my family in Denver.”

  “If I were free to go anywhere, my feet would fly back to our time at our junction.” She pushed herself away from him and leapt off the train.

  Chapter 9

  Lark raced down the street. Her legs and lungs burned, begging her to stop. She sped up. They’d left the deep snow behind. The path beneath their boots had been packed by many wheels, hooves, and feet. Maybe even her sisters’. But not Brynmor’s. He and Ulysses would come from a different direction.

  The music shop was directly ahead, but the train station was on another edge of Denver. Behind her, Robyn cautioned her to slow down before they fell down.

  “Tell me when you can’t keep up,” Lark called over her shoulder, then cringed with guilt.

  Robyn’s ability to get up and keep up and also lead the way half of the time was the reason Lark had reached Denver so quickly.

  “Just did.” The brevity of Brynmor’s outspoken sister’s reply made Lark stumble.

  Robyn had said precious little since she’d regained consciousness from her fall, then stood up as spry as Gus from his, and instructed Lark on how to use the snowshoes. Taking turns with them had allowed them to outrun the man whose heavier bodyweight sunk him deeper in the snow as he chased them. The fact that he kept having to stop to tend to his bullet wound had worked in their favor as well.

  They’d lost sight of him around the time they’d reached Denver.

  A sudden wave of exhaustion made her halt. Robyn had to be even more shattered from snowshoeing two days in a row. They both needed to
rally their strength for whatever happened next.

  When Lark wrapped her arm around Robyn, Robyn did the same. They continued side-by-side at a brisk walk, only made possible by going forward together. Their breaths rasped in unison as well, like the ticking of a clock.

  She hadn’t had time to check her watch. She pulled it out now. If Brynmor’s train kept to its schedule, it would’ve arrived a while ago. She surveyed the streets surrounding the music shop. She didn’t dwell on the alley she’d hidden in two days earlier while hoping to see her sisters.

  Brynmor had said he’d find her. If he didn’t, she’d find him.

  No more waiting. No more if or even when. There was only right now.

  And the corner of the music shop was right in front of her. Pressing close to its wall, she crept the last few feet to peek in the window. Mrs. Fitzgerald’s commanding tones rose in conversation with a second voice she knew much better.

  Her heart leapt with joy. Oriole was inside. The glass distorted her sister’s figure but not the color of her dark-brown hair or the fern-green dress she’d been wearing when Lark last saw her.

  “Take it if you want it so much.” Oriole shoved something into the shop owner’s arms.

  Mrs. Fitzgerald’s stillness made the object unmistakable. A violin. Oriole’s violin. “I need the truth more.”

  “I can’t give that to anyone.” Oriole’s voice broke on a despairing note.

  Lark yanked open the door and sprinted to her sister’s side. To defend her or console her, she wasn’t sure.

  Oriole seized her in a hug. “Where have you been?”

  “Hunting for you. Didn’t you receive the letter I left for you?” Lark glared over her sister’s shoulder at Mrs. Fitzgerald.

  The woman carefully set the violin on a counter, then ran her hand over her perfectly contained hair. Not a strand had dared to leave its bun. Whatever she felt she needed to compose was inside not out. “There wasn’t time. She just arrived.”

  Oriole held her at arm’s-length and searched the space behind her. “Where’s Wren?” When she found only Robyn, her eyes flared wide. Startled and startling.

  Lark was reminded how beautiful and different her sister’s eyes were. The blue ring circling the amber starburst made a vivid contrast.

  “Why is she following you?” Oriole demanded.

  Wren may have been intrigued by all of the Llewellyns, but Oriole, as usual, had been suspicious. She’d only been her sweet self when… Lark struggled to remember a time and couldn’t. Oriole had never been anything but tart around any of the Llewellyns. Why hadn’t she recognized it until now?

  “Robyn and her brothers are helping me.”

  “All of them?” Oriole shook her head. “That’s impossible.”

  “You have every right to question us.” Robyn’s sigh sounded a lot like Brynmor’s as she turned to close the door. “But even Heddwyn has promised he’ll—”

  “We can’t stay here.” Oriole pulled Lark past Robyn and out of the shop.

  “What about your violin?” Her sister leaving it behind was a sight she’d never seen before.

  “Forget about it.” Oriole’s pace quickened as she muttered, “I wish I could.” When Robyn and Mrs. Fitzgerald followed them out onto the porch, Oriole swung to face them and snarled, “Keep away from us.”

  Lark gasped in disbelief. “Oriole, look at them. They’re not a threat.”

  Robyn leaned against the shopfront. Mrs. Fitzgerald’s hand rested on Robyn’s shoulder, holding her steady. Or maybe it was the other way. The older woman swayed like a tree severed from its roots.

  Oriole backed away from them, dragging Lark with her. “Looks can be deceiving.” When she stepped off the walkway and out from under the porch, the sunlight made the amber in her eyes flash as orange as the bird her mother had named her after.

  The familiar sight made Lark’s heart ache. She loved her sister and all of her differences. But Oriole hated being different because it too often drew negative attention her way. The missionaries had called her Devil Eyes. Their audiences had called her worse. She’d been taught to be wary of anyone who stared at her for long. Since a stage performer was constantly looked at, she’d become continually and increasingly suspicious.

  “We can’t trust them.” Oriole kept retreating. “We don’t need them.”

  “What if they can help us find Wren?”

  “I nearly found her. All on my own.” Oriole raised her chin. “She left before I reached the gypsies.”

  “We’ll continue the search together, but first I need to go to the Llewellyns’ office. Ulysses attacked us on the train ride here. I must make sure Brynmor’s all right.”

  Oriole dropped Lark’s hand. “What happened to getting as far from Ulysses as possible?” She backed away from Lark now as well. “What about gaining our freedom?”

  Her stomach rolled as if tossed by a storm. The anchor of her sister had vanished. She tried to catch her hand.

  Oriole darted out of reach. “If you’re free to stay here, I’m free to leave.”

  “Wait!” Mrs. Fitzgerald rushed to the edge of the walkway. “I must tell you about your father.”

  A gunshot cracked. The porch roof above Mrs. Fitzgerald’s head splintered. Everyone ducked. Lark grabbed Oriole at the same time Oriole grabbed Lark. Robyn pulled the shop owner back inside as more bullets hit the porch and forced them in the opposite direction.

  Lark and Oriole scrambled into the nearest alley and took cover against the wall. Oriole’s hand now clasping hers comforted her more than the shelter or the halt of the gunfire. She still had her sister. They peered around the building as one.

  “Can’t see the shooter,” Oriole whispered. “But it’s probably Ulysses or one of his men.”

  “It’s him. Unless his railcar didn’t make it to Denver.” Her heart twisted with dread. What if Brynmor hadn’t made it either? What if he was fighting Ulysses far away and with only Gus for help?

  “Why would he want to harm Mrs. Fitzgerald?” Oriole asked.

  She hadn’t a clue. She only knew what she’d seen. “The shooting started when she made her final plea to stop you from leaving.”

  “He doesn’t want us to stay with her.” The breathlessness in Oriole’s usually controlled voice increased Lark’s bewilderment.

  “She mentioned your father.”

  “She’s mistaken,” Oriole snapped. “She doesn’t know him.”

  Lark strove to keep her tone calm as if they weren’t discussing a world-altering revelation. “She knows something. And we know Ulysses prefers we have no family but him.”

  Oriole huffed. “He doesn’t want to lose his title of uncle.”

  “His power is crumbling.”

  An exchange of bullets erupted across the street. The gunman hadn’t left. Who was he shooting at now? And who was firing back? If Ulysses was here, then so was—

  “Brynmor.” She’d never seen him holding a gun. Had he picked one up only to be shot down? “I have to help him.”

  Oriole yanked her back to her side. “You won’t do anyone any good by running into a fight blindly.”

  Across the street, a man hollered, “Ulysses Stone, this is the sheriff. I saw you shootin’ at those women. I gotta take you to jail.”

  “You can’t escape.” The unwavering baritone of Brynmor’s voice turned her legs to jelly as relief swept through her.

  He was here! He was alive and well.

  She looked to her sister to share her joy but was met with a frown.

  “We’ve got you boxed in. Throw down your rifle and come out with your hands up.” Heddwyn had said more words than his brother but—as was true to his nature—he managed to say them twice as fast.

  If Griffin was with them and the sheriff, they’d have the four sides to their box.

  In the building directly across from the music shop, a door opened a crack. Then flung wide. Ulysses barreled out, feet flying, arms pumping, one hand grasping a rifle. He sprinted
straight for her and Oriole.

  From the lanes flanking the building, two nearly identical auburn-haired giants gave chase. Brynmor and Heddwyn gained ground on Ulysses with each stride. She scanned her side of the street. Griffin wasn’t there. Ulysses had been wise to challenge the bluff about boxing him in.

  A stout man lumbered through the doorway that Ulysses had used. Probably coming from his post covering the back of the building. His voice confirmed his identity as the sheriff when he hollered, “We’ve got you!”

  He should’ve kept quiet. He should’ve let Brynmor and Heddwyn catch Ulysses before announcing his victory.

  “Look out!” she yelled as Ulysses swung around and raised his rifle.

  His first shot kicked up a dusting of snow close to Heddwyn’s feet. Brynmor tackled his brother as Ulysses fired again.

  She raced toward them. Oriole followed her until Ulysses resumed his charge toward them. Then she yanked Lark sideways, pulling her off the street and onto the walkway.

  “Let me go! I have to—”

  “Use her shotgun,” Oriole ordered as she dragged Lark toward Mrs. Fitzgerald struggling to load the weapon. “You’re a better shot than me.”

  She did as ordered. Ulysses fell a dozen strides from her, clutching his side and not his heart. She’d missed her target.

  Oriole removed the gun from her unsteady grasp and aimed it at Ulysses. Her hands trembled as well, but her voice was steady as she said, “Even I should be able to hit some part of him now if he tries to get up. You’re needed in the street. Take Robyn to her brothers.”

  Robyn sat on the walkway, breathing raggedly, eyes wide and wild.

  When Lark followed the direction of her gaze, her heart stopped, then started up all wrong. She couldn’t move or speak or think.

  Brynmor lay sprawled on the ground. Unmoving. A swelling circle of crimson stained his coat. Heddwyn knelt by his side. So did the sheriff.

  “Wake up, Lark!” Oriole’s command barely penetrated her stupor.

  Brynmor was dead. Because of her.

  “Change of plans!” Oriole kept shouting. “Mrs. Fitzgerald, take my sister to Heddwyn and the sheriff. Help them carry Brynmor into your shop. Hound them every step of the way to hurry. Make sure Robyn gets inside as well, then remind Heddwyn that he’s the fastest. He’d better run, quicker than he ever has, for the doctor.”