by Linda Ford
Brand stared at his bound hands. Although the ropes were weather stained in spots, the jute strands were firm, the twists ready to defy any hope of escape. He kept his hands still, his head lowered, hiding his face as much as he could. His cheeks stung as if he’d leaned too close to open flames. What must they think of him? A Duggan. Branded with the same condemnation as his pa and brother. He expected no sympathy. No understanding of his situation. He couldn’t claim innocence, so he wouldn’t try.
He lifted his head a fraction, unable to deprive himself of a glance at Sybil’s face. Would she be angry? Disappointed? But he couldn’t tell from her expression. Seemed she didn’t want him to guess at her feelings, because her face revealed nothing but disinterest. Despite understanding he had no right to speak and would likely be cut short, he let his gaze connect with hers. He schooled himself to reveal none of the regret churning his insides at the thought that this was how she would remember him—bound and headed to jail.
“Glad to see you’re okay,” he said to her, keeping his voice low and impersonal, while inside raged a loud protest. I’m innocent. But he’d made a decision and didn’t intend to cry about the consequences. He had agreed to help the gang in exchange for her life. Not for a moment would he regret it. “Would you look after Dawg for me?”
A fleeting emotion flicked across her eyes. Too fast, too uncertain for him to guess what it was.
What did it matter?
She nodded. “Dawg will be safe with me.”
Her words whispered across his thoughts. If only all his concerns could be so easily dealt with.
* * *
Sybil’s heart hurt with every beat. Seeing Brand tied up, on his way to trial... She crossed her arms over her stomach and gripped her elbows with tense fingers. Jail or worse awaited him. She had told herself over and over to forget about those few days they had shared when she felt drawn to him. It had all been deception. Yes, she’d known he ran from something, but never in ten thousand guesses would she have suspected he was part of the infamous Duggan gang.
“Get down,” Constable Allen said, holding a rope that kept Brand from considering flight.
Sybil averted her eyes, unable to bear the sight of Brand’s humiliation.
Dawg leaped to his master, placed his paws on his waist and whined.
From the corner of her eyes, she saw Brand pat Dawg’s head with hands bound so tightly she knew they must hurt.
She turned to the Mountie, about to ask him to loosen the ropes holding Brand, but bit back the words before she opened her mouth. Of course he must be secured. He was a common outlaw. She squeezed her hands tighter, knowing she’d have bruises on both arms.
“Down, Dawg,” he murmured, and the dog dropped to all fours.
“Your father is upstairs,” the Mountie said. “The Gardiners have been generous enough to allow you to visit him.”
“Thank you,” Brand said, his voice as flat as a thousand acres of prairie.
“Eddie will see that you are guarded until I return to take you to the fort. I intend to find your brother and the man with him.”
Sybil noted the slight shudder that twitched Brand’s shoulders, but he stood tall, revealing nothing but determination. Guess he’d known this day would come sometime.
But she found no pleasure in the justice that he would face. It was easier to be angry at his deception when she couldn’t see him or feel anguish at how he was bound.
The Mountie handed the rope to Eddie. “I’ll be back when I’m done with this business.”
He’d said Cyrus and another man had escaped. Sybil prayed the constable would find them and bring them to justice. Her face burned at the memory of Cyrus manhandling her. How could Brand and Cyrus be brothers? One so cruel? The other—
She stopped the word that sprang to her mind. He wasn’t gentle; he was a deceiver. His name should be Jacob.
The Mountie rode away.
Linette stepped aside, indicating they should follow her indoors. “Your father is upstairs.”
When Brand hesitated, Eddie tugged the rope. “Come along.”
As Sybil recalled how Brand had played the innocent, convinced her that he was a worthy man, she was able to hold back any sympathy at his situation.
Brand stepped over the threshold.
Dawg sat on his haunches and waited.
Sybil hated to shut the door against him. “You wait here. I’ll come feed you in a bit.” She kept her back to the room, staring out the nearby window as Eddie and Linette led Brand upstairs to his pa.
Mercy grabbed Sybil’s arm and dragged her to the sitting room, where she pushed her into a chair and sat facing her. “An outlaw in the house. How exciting is that?”
Sybil shuddered. “Mercy, it’s not exciting at all. It’s awkward and horrible. His pa is shot and lies in one of Linette’s beds.” Linette took in anyone in need of care. “How will she manage? Do you think it is safe for her in her condition?”
“Do you think he’d hurt her?”
“I doubt Eddie is going to leave him alone with her.” Sybil shook her head. All those hours she’d spent unaccompanied with Brand, feeling safe and—she shuddered—longing to touch him, feel his lips on hers. How could she have been so mistaken about him?
When she let emotions rule, danger followed. She’d known it all the while. Only she’d never imagined this sort of thing.
Linette entered the sitting room. “Eddie said he’d sit with Brand and his father for a bit. Then Slim will spell him off. There’ll be someone guarding him day and night so we can feel safe in our beds.” She sighed deeply. “I still can’t believe I could be so mistaken about a man. Eddie is upset that he was, as well. He prides himself on being a good judge of people.” With another sigh, she headed to the kitchen with a basin of bloodstained rags to soak.
Sybil followed. Unlike Mercy, she didn’t want to speculate or rejoice in the excitement of having two outlaws upstairs.
“You must be tired,” she said to Linette. “Can I help?”
Her friend brushed aside a tendril of hair. “I find it very hard to see the pair of them. And feel the tension in the air. There’s something between them that isn’t quite right, and I can’t put my finger on it.”
Sybil wrapped an arm about her. “Could it simply be that they are common criminals and don’t like being captured?”
“Maybe.”
But she knew Linette wasn’t convinced.
“I can’t get Mr. Duggan’s bleeding to stop.”
The worry in her voice caught Sybil’s attention. “Do you think some organ has been hit?”
Linette shook her head. “I simply don’t know. The man is thin except for a pronounced potbelly, and his skin has a distinct yellowish hue.”
“You mean jaundice?”
“I fear so.”
Jaundice! She’d heard of it. Always spoken in dark tones. A slow, certain death. Often the sufferer would bleed to death or lose his or her mind, dying in confusion. “Does Brand know?”
“I doubt it.”
“I guess it doesn’t make much difference, does it?” Sybil forced indifference into her voice. “They’ll either hang or rot in jail. Dying in a clean bed might be a mercy. An undeserved one.”
Linette dried her hands and turned to her. “Do any of us deserve mercy? From God or man?”
“If we live a good life we don’t need mercy from man, and if we seek God’s forgiveness He offers His mercy.”
“But it’s so undeserved. And I fear none of us can claim we have not offended another.”
Sybil tried to protest, but then thought of her secret. Wasn’t she being untruthful in her own way by hiding behind a pseudonym? In talking to Brand with a view to gleaning information for a story without telling him her intention?
Li
nette turned to meal preparation, and Sybil helped. A little later, Slim came in to relieve Eddie, and Linette served the meal. They ate in silence, as if each of them was struggling to believe the recent events.
Grady studied the sober faces around him. “Is it true? Is Brand a bad man?”
Linette and Eddie exchanged glances, while Mercy and Sybil waited for their answer.
Silent communication passed between the couple. How Sybil envied their love and security. Would she ever enjoy something similar? To her disgrace, she allowed herself to admit she’d given a few thoughts to Brand being like Eddie. How wrong she’d been.
Eddie took Grady’s hands. “It would seem he is part of an outlaw gang.”
Grady looked around the table, saw the same message in the nod each person gave him. He shook his head. “You’re wrong. He’s not a bad man. He can’t be. Not when Dawg likes him so much.”
No one could argue with that.
Grady’s lips quivered. “Why are you all being so mean to him?”
The boy dashed out the back door.
Linette pushed herself to her feet, then looked about at the dishes to be cleaned up. She glanced upward. “They need to be fed.”
Sybil made up her mind. “You go after Grady. I’ll feed the prisoners and then we’ll clean up.”
Mercy insisted on accompanying her upstairs, and Sybil didn’t mind. She couldn’t imagine facing Brand. Yet she knew she must in order to erase the false memories of the Brand she thought she had known.
She stepped into the room, Mercy on her heels. Slim sat at the doorway, leaning back in a wooden chair, a rifle across his knees. Mercy handed him a plate of food.
Slim dropped all four legs of the chair to the floor, snagged another chair and pulled it close.
Mercy sat at his side.
Slowly Sybil shifted her gaze, saw Brand’s father. At their campsite she had considered him big and menacing. She hadn’t taken note of the condition Linette had pointed out. Now, though, under the gray woolen blanket, he looked thin and sallow. Yellowish, just as Linette said.
“I brought dinner.” Sybil held a plate of food in each hand.
Brand took one plate, his wrists still bound with thick ropes, and set it on the nearby table. But he didn’t eat.
She felt his awkward waiting, but rather than relieve it, she turned to his father. “I brought you food.”
He regarded her unblinkingly. “Don’t think I’ll be needing food where I’m going.”
“I’m sure they’ll feed you adequately in jail.” She hated the judgmental tone of her voice, but she couldn’t help it. Brand had deceived her and this man had ordered her held captive. She had every right to judge him for that.
Mr. Duggan gave a faint laugh. “No doubt the food will be better than we deserve.”
She again offered him the plate.
He shifted, moaned. The blood drained from his face, leaving his skin even more yellow. He pulled the plate closer.
She stepped back to wait, and flicked her gaze to Brand. “I don’t know who you are.” Every word dripped with anger, frustration and a thousand drops of pain, disappointment and shame.
He raised his eyes and lowered them again almost before she could see them. But she got a glimpse, long enough to note the indifference. He didn’t even care. That was the bitterest thing of all.
“He’s a Duggan.” The elder man pushed away the plate, the food barely touched. “I’m done.”
“Then I’ll see to your dressing.” She removed the plate, setting it by the door, where Mercy watched, her eyes flashing with excitement.
Sybil lowered the gray blanket to reveal a wound in the man’s left side. His belly was indeed badly swollen. The dressings Linette had placed there a short time ago were blood soaked. Sybil removed them gingerly. Blood oozed from the round hole. She quickly placed pads of clean dressing on it and kept her hand firmly pressed to the area.
But warm moisture soon reached her palm.
“It’s not good, is it?” Mr. Duggan said.
Her face must have given away her distress.
When she didn’t answer, he asked another question. “How long do you think I have?” He turned to his son. “Brand?”
For the first time since he’d thanked her for the food she’d brought, Brand spoke. “Pa, you’re tough. A little gunshot ain’t going to finish you.”
Pa’s smile was regretful, knowing. “Boy, it ain’t the bullet that will do me in. It’s the rest.” He patted his distended stomach. “Like Cyrus says, we eat well ’nough. But still I lose weight. Haven’t hardly got energy enough to spit.” He closed his eyes as if too weary to continue.
Brand had been eating his food, both hands holding the fork and going from plate to mouth. Now he shoved away the plate. “Pa, you should stop this life.”
“Son, this life is gonna stop me.”
Brand leaned forward, ignoring the others in the room. “Pa, repent for your sins. Make your peace with God.”
“You figure God would forgive an old outlaw like me?”
“God’s no respecter of persons.”
Sybil observed the pair while pressing her hand to the wound in the hopes of stopping the bleeding. She didn’t want to give Mr. Duggan hope. But she knew God offered hope and mercy and forgiveness. The knowledge twisted through her. Sometimes she didn’t understand God’s mercy. It was so undeserved.
Then her heart smote her. She might not be an outlaw, but she didn’t deserve God’s mercy any more than they.
Mr. Duggan shifted his gaze to her. “Is that right, miss? Do you think He’ll forgive me after all I done?”
Sybil wanted to say he would burn in hell, but didn’t God say He forgives all sins? Even the sinner on the cross beside Him? She had to answer Brand’s father honestly despite her reluctance.
“Mr. Duggan, I believe God forgives. Didn’t He say, ‘Father, forgive them?’ about the men who killed him?” Now, why had she added that?
Mr. Duggan closed his eyes. “I’ll think on it.”
“Pa!” Brand surged to his feet and leaned over the bed, bringing Slim crashing to his feet.
Brand darted a glance at the foreman, then concentrated on his father. “Pa, isn’t that what you always told Ma? And then you continued on with your outlawing. Don’t do it again.”
The older man shifted his gaze to Sybil. “Will God forgive my son, too?”
She allowed her gaze to rest on Brand, whose attention was riveted on his father, then she drew her attention back to his pa. “God is merciful.” More than she thought any of them deserved.
“You be sure and tell him.” The older man closed his eyes.
“Pa.” Brand shook him. “Don’t keep putting it off.”
But the old man did not open his eyes.
“He’s sleeping,” Sybil said.
Brand sank back in his chair, his hands hanging between his knees, his head bent. “He’s getting weaker. I fear...” He didn’t finish.
She applied a fresh dressing to the wound and pulled the blanket over Mr. Duggan, then gathered up the bandages and dishes and headed for the door. Mercy joined her as she left the room.
Sybil had hoped for an excuse from Brand for his behavior, an explanation...something that made sense. She hadn’t found it. Perhaps because there wasn’t one.
Like his pa said, Brand was a Duggan. The man she’d thought she saw a few days ago was nothing but a figment of her overactive imagination.
Time to face reality and bring herself in line with the rules of conduct she’d lived by all her years.
Chapter Twelve
Brand watched Sybil and Mercy leave the room, listening to Mercy’s voice as they descended the stairs. He gave Slim a silent stare, then settled back in his chair.
&
nbsp; It was the first time he’d been in a house in a very long time and it was a fine house. Pa lay on a real mattress, covered with real bedding. Likely he hadn’t enjoyed such since before Ma died.
Nor had Brand enjoyed such since Ma’s death. He’d been always on the run. Always hoping to stay ahead of Pa and Cyrus. Hoping no one would discover he was a Duggan.
But as Pa said to Sybil, he was a Duggan.
Although he’d gone along with the gang only to protect Sybil. He hadn’t even held a gun during the attempted robbery. Not that he expected anyone to believe him.
There was only one more thing he wanted before he went to his short future—to see Pa accept God’s forgiveness before he died.
Brand would also like to see Sybil believe his innocence. But he’d sacrificed that two days ago.
The patient stirred and Brand leaned forward to touch his arm. “Pa?” he whispered, ignoring eagle-eyed Slim’s watchfulness.
Pa mumbled something Brand couldn’t make out.
Brand watched his chest rise and fall, his own breathing matching the movement. So long as Pa drew breath he still had the opportunity to seek forgiveness.
Brand kept a careful vigil, waiting for him to waken.
And praying. That surprised him. His neglected, forgotten faith had been right there all the time. He only had to stop and listen to the call in his heart.
The rise and fall of Pa’s chest marked off the passing minutes.
Despite his concentration, Brand knew the exact second Sybil stepped into the room. He felt her with every nerve ending that responded in eager welcome. It took every ounce of self-control to keep his gaze on his father.
She was alone, and Slim rose to accompany her to the bed, guarding her.
“The dressings will need changing again.”
Pa stirred as she lifted the covers. He opened his eyes.
Brand would not let Slim and his rifle, nor Sybil and her alluring presence, stop him. He leaned over his father. “Please, Pa, before it’s too late.”
“Brand, stop fretting.” His thin hand patted Brand’s. “I done made my peace with God. Like you said, He’s forgiven me.”