by Reece Butler
Something blocked his path. He kicked out, using the leverage of the men holding him. Someone grabbed his knees, holding him still. He raged, fighting to be free. To kill.
He couldn’t move. A red haze blurred his eyes, and a thousand bees filled his ears. He tried to shake the hands off, to see his victims scream in terror.
The red haze in front of him came into focus.
Red hair. Red face. Red beard. Bright blue eyes, staring him down. Searing into his soul.
He knew those eyes. The buzzing in his ears faded.
“I am The MacDougal!”
“No!” He shook his head as violently as he fought to escape the hands holding him.
“I am The MacDougal!”
The voice roared past his ears. The boy in him heard his father’s roar, knew it meant pain. But there’d be even more if he fought. He could stand pain, but the beast had learned to beat his little brother if Ross disobeyed.
“Ross! Do ye hear me!”
He fought the need to kill, to rend. His birds would peck their eyeballs out. Brother Bear would slash their bellies open with his claws. Later. He would be still, for now. In time, he would rejoice in their slow, agonizing deaths.
He trembled, still fighting his body’s need to explode. He refused to bow down, no matter what the man did to him. He met the bright blue eyes head on. He blinked. Why didn’t he see his father’s big chest in front of him?
“Ross? It’s Gillis.”
He blinked again. He met the blue eyes with his own. A grin split the face. His father never smiled. He swallowed, realizing his throat hurt.
“Gil?”
“Thank God!” Gillis heaved a sigh. “Dinna let him loose, boys. He’s got knives everywhere.”
Ross tried to see around his brother’s wide head.
“I’m too old for this, dammit!”
Ross looked down. The sheriff lay on the floor. Trace held out his free arm. Frank Chambers hauled on it to get to his feet.
“I swear, boy, whatever’s been riding you had better be gone, or I’ll lock you up as well.” Frank brushed his pants off, glaring.
Ross finally managed to look past Gillis. Four hands gripped his arms as he flexed his fists. He looked at his enemies with the eyes of a six-foot-two warrior. They cowered against the back wall, eyeing him in fear.
Cowards. Attacking a small child didn’t make them men. Taking his wife, touching her, would made them dead.
“Hand over yer knives, and I’ll tell the lads to let you go.”
“They need to die.”
“Not by your hand,” said Frank. “They’re not worth dying for. If you kill them, you’ll hang.”
“After what they did to my wife?” He roared at the sheriff, but the sound came out hoarse.
“You’re a good man, but you’re not white.” Frank stepped until they were eye to eye. “The scum in that cell are white, and so’s your wife. You know they’ll shoot an Indian for just looking at a white woman. You married one. Worse, she looks at you like you make her very happy.”
Ross swallowed bile. Frank stared him down.
“I don’t like it, either. But there’s enough men around who’d find you guilty of any damn thing they wanted. Don’t do it, son.”
Ross relaxed his muscles. Nevin the peacemaker quickly let go, but Trace held on a moment longer as a warning. Ross met his eyes and nodded his thanks. Trace snorted and flexed his fingers.
“Cramp, old man?” said Ross.
“Nothing I can’t handle, sonny,” replied Trace. “Hand them over.”
Trace held out his palm. When Ross didn’t immediately move, he lifted an eyebrow. Shortly after he was returned to his father, he was sent to live with the Elliotts. Three years older, Trace took Ross under his wing. Without the Elliotts, Ross would never have changed from the ball of bitter fury and rage his father dumped on them.
Ross nodded. He reached behind his back and pulled out the knife he’d shown Daniel. He stared at his foes as he turned the blade. They tensed when he hefted it, but he placed it in Trace’s hand. It wasn’t his best throwing knife anyway.
He stretched his arm up and moved as if to scratch his neck. He slowly pulled a long, slender blade from the scabbard between his shoulder blades. He tossed it idly in the air, easily catching the hilt on each revolution. It felt good in his hand. If he threw it, the blade would easily slide through a neck. Place it right and he’d bleed himself out within minutes.
Much too fast. Not nearly painful enough.
Ross handed it, hilt first, to Nevin.
He watched the men’s faces the entire time he retrieved his knives from the places he stashed them on his body. With his eyes, he promised them what would happen if there were no bars between them, no brothers to hold him back. After he handed over seven knives, Frank, Trace and Nevin relaxed. They moved away, leaving him staring at the two glaring at him from the cage. The blond laughed as if he’d gotten away with something. Ross stood still, hands resting quietly at his thighs.
Trace and Nevin lined up his knives on Frank’s desk.
“Don’t try it,” said Frank quietly behind him.
“I won’t kill them,” he replied as if talking about the weather. “I was thinking more of a quick gelding.” He swiveled his right hand in a smooth figure eight. “A few slices and we’d have a couple pair of mountain oysters. John Tanner’s old dog could use a treat.”
“I’d do the same if I was you. But I’m the sheriff, and I’ll not have you injure my prisoners.”
“What if I don’t injure them? Not touch their skin at all?”
“Gil took seven knives off you.”
“I can count.”
Frank gave a quiet chuckle. “I’m going to turn my back and check on what’s going on outside the door. I’d better not see anything.”
Ross inhaled, holding his breath a moment before a quiet exhale. The men, knowing something was up, gulped.
“Don’t. Move.”
His hands flew. So did the blades. When Trace and Nevin grabbed his arms again, he laughed. “Damn, that felt good.”
Gillis growled and gave him a shake before releasing him. Gil stomped over to the cell. He took the key off the nail on the wall and hauled the door open. The whole time, the men didn’t move. He stood in front of them and looked down. He spoke over his shoulder. “Not bad, laddie.” He looked from one set of wide eyes to the other. “I suggest ye not move afore I pull these out, or ye might geld yerselves.”
He reached both hands forward, bending down to their hip level. He grasped the long handles. They were stuck so deep into the log walls that he had to crank them up and down to pull them loose. He made sure he wasn’t too careful. The brown-haired one squeaked when the blade grazed him.
Gil sauntered from the cell with two long knives in his hand. He slammed the door shut behind him. Only then did the men move, collapsing onto knees pressed tightly together. They curled forward, too late to have saved their family jewels had Ross decided to take them.
“You carry nine knives?” Trace shook his head and snorted.
“We went to a meeting with Smythe and Jennet,” replied Ross calmly.
Trace’s raw, croaking laugh followed Ross over to Frank’s desk. He lifted his foot and added the knife from his other boot and the short spike from behind his belt.
“This is what ye learned from Sunbird’s people?” Gillis shook his head mournfully as he carefully packed them in a wooden box.
“Some of it.”
“Let’s hope the lot of ’em like Amelia’s cooking, then. They won’t hurt her, but I dinna want my hide full o’ holes.” Gillis picked up the full box of knives. He walked toward the door, stopping to poke Ross in the chest with a blunt finger. “Word is they want to visit yer lovely wife. I think she’d be a mite happier if ye are there with her. Yer aunties can do a pile of pestering.”
“My wife doesn’t want or need me.”
Gil watched Ross for a moment. “Dinna believe it,
my Raven brother. She loves ye.” Ross shook the words away. “Ye can deny it all ye like, but I see how she looks at ye. If ye were half the man ye wish to be, you’d choose her over this garbage. Go back home to her.”
Ross hardened his face. “She’ll be happier with Nevin.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Amelia stared at the ceiling, even though it was dark. Before the light failed, she’d counted the boards ten times and come up with six different numbers. It didn’t make sense. Nor did Ross walking out on her.
Would he have been happier if she’d sat in the corner of the cabin and wrung her hands, weeping until they came back?
Her husband didn’t want her because she was strong enough to escape without him. Worse, he thought they’d touched her body. Made her unclean.
She’d never forget the way Ross stared at her in revulsion. Or the sound of his feet, walking away.
At least he’d been kind to Daniel. The boy had insisted on sleeping beside her in case she needed him. Nevin slept on a pallet in the parlor. The men of the Double Diamond camped in the bunkhouse. At least she’d cleaned it while she was alone with Gillis.
She missed Ross with an ache deep in her heart. One she thought he shared.
She thought wrong. Once more she’d been burned. Once more, rejected.
She heard Nevin tell Simon that Ross didn’t want her, that he was ashamed. He would kill the men who hurt her then leave forever.
Because of her, Ross would lose his home, and her baby would lose its father.
Daniel whimpered in his sleep like a dog too often kicked. She reached out a hand to gently sooth him. She whispered his name before she touched, knowing the fear of a rough hand waking a child in the night.
“Ma?”
“I’m here. Go back to sleep.”
Quiet footsteps on the stair made her heart beat. A candle flickered, rising with the person, throwing dark shadows on the wall above the stairs.
Fire. She gulped, her hands suddenly stinging in memory. A dark head appeared. A dark forehead. She sat up. Was it—?
“Just me, Nevin,” said the man now approaching the bed.
She turned her face away, ashamed at the tears. He blew out the candle and placed it by the wash bowl. She heard the sounds of a man undressing. He padded over to her side of the bed.
“Move over. I’m not sleeping on the floor just because some short-ass is in my bed.”
“Shh, you’ll wake Daniel.”
“After the day he’s had, nothing will wake him but nightmares.” Nevin eased into the bed beside her. “Roll over.”
She grumped but, careful of her sore ankle, gave him her back. She faced Daniel’s in return. A long arm slid under her breasts and hauled her against his back.
“Mmm, that’s better,” he sighed. “Ross is an idiot for sleeping in town when he could be curled up with you.”
“At the hotel?”
“Nope. He’s staying with Lily. Whoa!” Nevin held her tight. “Not that. Never that.” He smoothed her hair back from her forehead and kissed her shoulder. “Ross might have a few drinks in Rosa’s kitchen. Since he doesn’t drink much, he’ll soon be snoring on the floor. He doesn’t touch those girls. Ever.”
“Maybe he will now that he doesn’t want me.”
“He’ll soon smarten up.”
“But—”
“My butt is sore from riding all over hell’s half acre. Tomorrow’s going to be another tough day. I need a quiet snuggle and sleep.”
She pressed her lips together. She would not say a word. Not one.
A tear leaked out. The pillowcase absorbed it and the next. She thought he was asleep and, just in case, tried to breathe evenly so he wouldn’t know. She finally had to sniffle.
“Don’t cry, sweets.”
Nevin kissed her shoulder again. She shook her head.
“He doesn’t want to see me again. He’s never going to come back.”
“I suppose you love the idiot.”
The pillow rustled when she nodded. Nevin lifted himself up on his elbow to look down on her.
“Ross loves you, but he’s not ready to admit it yet, especially to himself.”
“Why?” She hated that she sounded like a child crying over a broken toy.
“It’s hard to love someone when you don’t like yourself. He thinks he’s failed you.”
“He can’t protect me every moment. Trace tried, but Beth took care of it. So did I. Why can’t Ross understand?”
“He’s got a few demons chasing him.” Nevin lay down again and pulled her snug, shushing her. “If he can get over this, he might finally become fully human.”
“If he doesn’t, I’ll track him down and kick his sorry ass!”
Nevin laughed quietly into her ear. “You’ve been listening to us too much. Now, go to sleep.”
* * * *
Rosa heard the distinct knock at the kitchen door. She smiled to herself. Ross MacDougal. As usual, she ignored him. He couldn’t get through. The thick door was always bolted closed unless she chose to open it.
“Rosa, I know you’re in there. I saw you through a crack in the window curtains.”
The windows were too small for anyone bigger than a child to crawl through. She dusted off her hands and walked over to the window. Sure enough, there was a slight gap between the curtains. She closed it and walked back to the table.
“Rosa, let me in!” He banged on the door.
She picked up her cleaver and stepped near. “Who’s banging on my door at this hour of the night?”
“Dammit, Rosa, you know me. Now, let me in, you old fishwife!”
“Fishwife is it? Now, why would I let you in?”
She frowned when he didn’t come back with an immediate insult.
“Rosa, will you please let me in?” He spoke quietly for once.
She hauled back the bolt and opened the door. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”
“If you put that blade down and let me in, I might tell you.” He looked at the cleaver. “The edge needs touching up a bit.”
She stepped back and handed it to him. “You know where the whetstone is. While you’re at it, do the rest.” She bolted the door again and watched him settle in the corner with her knife collection. That was one thing they had in common.
“Might as well. Got nothing else to do until morning.”
“What happens in the morning?”
She knew what had happened. Someone in her position had to know pretty near everything that went on in town. She didn’t repeat any of it except to Miss Lily and those she trusted. Ross and Trace were on the list, as were the sheriff, Sophie, and the Tanners. She’d put Doc Henley there, too, if she could. But he was an important man, educated and respected. Not someone she could speak to openly.
“If all goes well, there’ll be a trial and two hangings.”
She sprinkled more flour on the dough she’d rolled. “If not?”
“If those two don’t hang, I’ll track them down and finish the job myself. Only it’ll take much, much longer for them to die.”
After eight years in Tanner’s Ford, the last four of them with the MacDougals dropping by to say howdy, she knew Ross well. Like Lily, she felt almost motherly to the Elliott and MacDougal boys. At thirty-two, there was no way she’d be having children of her own. If, that was, she would ever allow another man to put a hand on her. Sometimes, when the nightmares hit worse than usual, she wondered what it would be like to be normal. To let a strong man hold her close and comfort her. There was only one man she could tolerate even thinking of touching her. But he’d never look at her as anything other than a big, ugly whorehouse cook.
She watched Ross work. He caressed her knives like a man in love or lust. She didn’t think there was much difference. Each careful stroke along the blade made it all the keener. Usually, he’d place his own knives beside hers and touch them up at the same time.
“Where’s yours?”
“Gillis put them i
n a box. By now, I expect they’re locked in Lily’s safe.”
“I wondered what was in that box. How long has it been since you were so naked in town?”
At the look he shot her, she put back her head and laughed. She finally got herself under control, still snickering now and then.
“That was the best laugh I’ve had in years. Does Gil really think that would stop you?”
“Sheriff’s idea.” Ross screwed up his face at her and kept working, which only made her laugh again.
“You’re wearing a pistol tied down like a gunslinger but no knives?”
“Gil knows a bullet’s too fast a death for what they deserve.”
Rosa thought of how she planned to kill the ones who hurt her, if she ever saw them. She was no longer a terrified twelve-year-old. Over the six years they’d held her captive, she’d memorized their faces. Hard not to when they leered down at her night after night as they—
“Dammit all to hell, Rosa, breathe!”
She backed away, still gasping. Though she knew Ross would never hurt her, she couldn’t stand to have him near, especially after one of her episodes. She swallowed bile and calmed herself.
“That was a bad one,” he said quietly.
She met his eyes and nodded, still unable to talk.
“Is it anyone I could kill?” He let his smile reach his eyes for once. “Now that I’ve found those two, there’s room on my list for more.”
She shuddered out a breath, trying to smile at his attempt at humor. “It’s been over twenty years. They must be dead by now.”
“The ones in jail aren’t. I expect they did the same to other women.” He gave her a rare smile. “We could bust into Lily’s safe and get my filleting knives. You do one, and I’ll do the other.”
“We’d hang for it.”
“Maybe, but we’d go happy, remembering their screams and blood for a change.”
An image came into her mind of the leader, bound and tied. In her best dream, he was naked, all four limbs staked wide. First, she sliced out his tongue. He screamed, but no one saved him. She smiled and picked up a long, thin, very sharp knife. She began at his middle with tiny cuts, so small they barely bled. Thinking it about it always made her feel better.