Sweetbriar Read online

Devon stood and his head throbbed. Cord! He couldn’t believe it of Cord, that he would take Linnet away against her will, at least not when she already gave him what he wanted. Or did she? What was she doin’ out in the snow that day unless she’d run away from Cord? Devon could imagine that if she had run away, Cord would be mad enough to do anything.

  He drank several gourds full of water and went outside into the early morning. Gaylon was snoring on some bags of flour. He’d obviously finished the bottle of whiskey that Devon had left.

  “Gaylon!” Devon shouted, and the old man opened one eye. “I’m goin’ after Linnet. It looks like Cord’s taken her off.”

  “You sure she didn’t wanta go? It ain’t like there’s another man around here pays her any mind.”

  “I ain’t got time to argue with you. Get me some jerky while I saddle my horse.”

  Linnet sat in front of Cord rigidly. He had run his hand over her body freely at first, but had grown angry at her stiffness and had soon ceased. Now they rode in silence. She would not allow herself to relax for fear she’d fall asleep, and she wanted to stay very aware of the direction they traveled. She would wait for a chance and then escape and make her way back to Sweetbriar.

  He did not stop until well into the next day, and Linnet was so tired she could barely walk, but Cord looked as fresh as if he had just rested. “Here, sit down.” He pushed her to the ground. “Ain’t nobody followin’ us.” He laughed. “It ain’t gonna be easy keepin’ this from my little cousin. After I get tired of you, I’ll sell you to one of the other trappers, then I’ll just breeze into Mac’s town sweet as you please, and he won’t know the difference.”

  She listened to his words, but to his voice more. “Why are you afraid of him?” she asked quietly.

  Cord’s face nearly turned purple as his rage mounted. “Afraid! Cord Macalister afraid of a little thing like Mac?”

  “You say you’re not afraid, but I hear something else in your voice.”

  He drew back his arm to strike her but she sat still, her eyes steady and unafraid. She knew there were worse things than being beaten.

  Cord recovered his smiling facade. “I guess you’re a right smart girl. It ain’t that I’m afraid of Mac but it goes a little deeper than what most people see. Somethin’ I know and he don’t is that he’s not my cousin, he’s my brother.”

  Linnet’s eyes widened.

  “Slade Macalister was my pa, too. He warn’t much more than a boy hisself when I was born, but even so he should of claimed me, ’stead of leavin’ me with them people. Never could abide those preachin’ people. I was Mac’s age ’fore I found Slade, and it always galled me that he never told nobody I was his son.”

  “But I don’t understand,” Linnet said. “Agnes knew Slade, and all the people knew him long before he came to Kentucky. They would have known he had another wife.”

  “Not wife, little missy. I was the result of one night’s tumble in a field when Slade Macalister was just a pup.”

  She considered for a moment and then said quietly, “Did Slade ever know about you?”

  “He should a’ knowed!” Cord said with venom.

  Linnet began to understand. When Cord was an adult, he came west searching for his father, expecting his father to recognize him, the hate in him building when he was not recognized. “You must resemble your mother.”

  He eyed her carefully. “My ma died cursin’ Slade Macalister. He made her life hell. I grew up with her livin’ with her parents, ol’ man always preachin’ at me, tellin’ me I was a child of lust and sin.” He gave an ugly grin. “I broke his jaw ’fore I left, the same day my ma died.”

  “So now you’re repaying Slade by hurting his son.”

  “That’s right. Last year I took some little girl away from him and now I’m takin’ you.”

  “But there I’m afraid you’re wrong. Devon doesn’t care for me. Didn’t you know that when he had a chance to kiss someone, it was Corinne, not me? I only teach him to read.”

  “You tryin’ to get me to go after Corinne?”

  “No!” She hadn’t realized that it sounded that way. “No,” she said more quietly. “It’s just that Devon doesn’t love any woman since what happened with Amy Trulock.”

  “Know her name, don’t you? Look, I ain’t crazy, and you can’t talk to me like I was. I wouldn’t of carried you off ’cept you made a fool of me ’fore ever’body in Sweetbriar.”

  “I didn’t! Cord, at least I didn’t mean to.”

  “No use tryin’ to talk your way out of this. Fact is, I’m beginnin’ to feel like a little lovin’ right now. Come here.” He grabbed at her, and she jerked back, his hand tearing away the shoulder of her dress. “Ain’t gonna do no good to fight me. Why don’t you just be real still and enjoy what I’m gonna do?”

  She walked backward, away from him, and tripped over the trunk of a fallen tree. She fell heavily, her back on the ground, her legs over the tree.

  Cord stood over her, hands on hips. “Just the way I like ’em—legs up in the air.” He knelt and ran his big hand along the inside of her thigh. “You’re rounder than I’d thought. I like nice round legs.” His other hand ran inside her other leg.

  She pushed up on her elbows, trying to get enough leverage to be able to move away from him. Her long skirts tangled about her, one calf pressed between the log and Cord’s heavy body. His hands moved farther up her body. She felt a rock against her fingertips and stretched to reach it. With all her force she brought the rock down on his head, surprised when so much blood began to flow all over her and the masses of white fringe entangled about her.

  Her heart pounded, raced, as her first thought was to see to his wound. No, she cried to herself. She could feel his heart against her thigh and knew he was alive. She would have little enough time to escape before he woke. She pushed hard to get him off her body and tore her skirt from waist to hem on the tree.

  She stood, dazed for a moment, unable to think what to do or where to go. Think, Linnet, think! she commanded herself. Get away, south toward Sweetbriar. Go quickly and steadily. Do not run, but keep an even pace. She walked as fast as she could, taking long, steady breaths, listening always for any sounds of pursuit, trying hard to be as quiet as possible.

  She was so incredibly thirsty, yet she did not dare stop for water. By the sun it was late afternoon when she fell. She landed on her back but her fall triggered a rotten tree and it crashed across her leg. She bit her hand to keep from screaming when she saw it strike her leg, but then she recovered enough to wonder at the lack of pain. She sat up to examine what had happened, unable to move her foot. Her foot was in a hole and that was what had made her fall, yet the heavy log now pinned her to the place. She pushed but didn’t have the strength to move the log.

  Somehow, she was just too tired to care at the moment, too tired to expend any more energy, and she lay back and looked up at the sun filtering through the elm leaves and went to sleep.

  “Where is she?”

  Cord looked up from the stream, a wet cloth on his bleeding head, to see Devon standing over him. He turned back to the water. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Cord, I want to know now!” Devon’s voice was deadly.

  When Cord turned again, he held a pearl-handled skinning knife. “You been askin’ for this a long time, and I’m gonna give it to you.”

  Devon also withdrew the knife at his side and they circled one another, bent, eyes locked together. Cord had never believed in the strength of Mac, had always thought him skinny, but Devon’s body was trim, steel, and now he was drawn taut and ready, his long years with his Indian relatives showing in every move.

  “You look more like one of them Injuns ever’ day,” Cord sneered. “Tell me, how come you want this girl? She don’t look like no squaw.”

  Devon did not speak, his face a solemn mask, unreadable, his mind cleared of all thoughts but survival. Cord frowned when he saw he did not ruffle Mac’s concentration. He lunged with his kn