Promises Prevail (The Promise Series) (65 page)

“No.”

Red stepped forward and touched the bruise on her head. She felt his pain and his determination in the brief connection.

“If the gods will it, I will be back and be proud to be your son.”

“And if it goes wrong?”

His hand dropped to his side. He stepped back. “Then I will die a man for you to be proud of.”

He turned for the door. She couldn’t lose him. “This isn’t necessary.”

He didn’t pause or flinch. “It is.”

Clint ushered the boy out the door before turning back to her. He filled the doorframe the way he filed her heart to the brim, a big powerful man who always did right.

“I know you don’t agree, Jenna, but Red is right. He’s not a kid, and he’s got a bellyful of hate he needs to let loose. If I leave him here, he’ll just light out on his own.”

The sheets tightened painfully around her fingers as she twisted them.

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes. I do.”

“How?”

“Because that’s what I’d do.”

The reality sank past her fears and her denials. If their places were switched, he would. Which meant Red would, and if Red had to go at all, it would be better if he was with Clint.

“You’ll take care of him?”

“Yes.”

She caught his hand, and using his strength, pulled herself up, Clint’s arm around her waist helped her the last painful thirty degrees to upright.

“And take care of yourself. Promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”

“I’ll take care of myself.”

She dug her fingers into his upper arms.

“No matter what. Promise me you’ll come back to me.
No matter what
.”

He kissed her slowly—hot and sweet—his tongue rubbing hers in an easy rhythm. As if they had all day, as if he wasn’t riding out with her son to chase down a madman. He pulled back a hair’s breadth.

“No matter what.”

The shift of his weight told her he was leaving. Despite her resolve to be brave, her hands clung to his as he stood. She was clinging to him when he needed her to be strong.

“I’m sorry.”

He bent down and kissed the back of her hands. “If you tell me worrying makes you a lousy wife, I’ll beat you.”

The laugh caught her by surprise. “You’re always threatening me with that.”

His eyebrow arched up. “And one of these days I will, too.”

She touched the back of his hand, running her finger along an old scar, before looking up, “But not today.”

“No.” His gaze softened with emotion as he looked at her, studying her features as if he were memorizing them one last time. “Not today, Sunshine.”

One last kiss on her hand and he headed for the door. She held back the words she wanted to say, the pleas she wanted to make until he reached the door. The instant his hand touched the knob, she lost her grip and one slipped past her guard.

“Clint?”

She knew from the set of his shoulders that he was ready to fend off her tears. Under his arm she could see Red waiting, rifle in hand, expression solemn.

“What kind of cake do you want for your welcome back dinner?”

Clint’s smile was a flash of relief and pride.

“Chocolate.”

“I’ll have it ready.”

* * * * *

She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Just to be sure, she crept closer to the edge of the rock ledge, squinting against the gloom to find the edge.

Below her, in the glow of a large encampment were seven men. Four of them she recognized. Clint, Asa, Cougar and Mark. Three were strangers, but from their unkempt appearances, she had to assume that they were acquaintances of Mark.

Mark himself was leaning face first up against a tree, hands above his head, his fingers digging into the bark. Cougar stood beside him. >From the reflection winking off of something in his hand, Jenna assumed that he was keeping him there with that wicked blade of his against Mark’s neck. Cougar’s face was hard as stone. A little to his left stood Asa, a rifle in his hands, his face impassive as he pointed the barrel at the three men she didn’t recognize, his easy smile giving the impression that all he needed to make his night was for someone to twitch toward one of the guns tossed at the men’s feet.

And Clint. Her Clint, the gentlest man she’d ever known, was methodically lying into Mark with a whip, his expression cold as he brought the lash down across Mark’s shoulders, leaving a bloody welt that cut diagonally across his back. From what she’d seen in the mirror, pretty much a duplicate of the wound Mark had left on her, which explained the satisfied smile on Clint’s lips. The sound of leather meeting flesh reached her ears a split second before Mark’s agonized cry.

Beside her, Danny growled.

“Quiet,” she whispered as her stomach roiled at the sight and sounds of the ongoing whipping. She knew her husband was a dangerous man, knew he could be single-minded in his revenge, but it disturbed her to witness the reality. From the determination on Clint’s face, it didn’t look like he intended to stop until the man was dead. Killing a man that way would leave a scar, no matter how well deserved. Clint had enough scars. She didn’t want him to have even one more because of her.

“Stay,” she told Danny, not trusting him to remain calm amidst the violence.

He whined, his attention on the scene below, but he lay down. She searched the scene again. Where was Red? She sincerely hoped that Clint had left him someplace where he couldn’t see this. He was too young for such things. She crawled back from the ledge. The whip cracked again and another scream filled the night. She redefined her thought. No one was old enough for such cold-blooded revenge. She had to put a stop to it. For Clint’s sake as well as her own. She couldn’t live with a man being whipped to death in her name.

Her body aching, her leg screaming in protest, she worked her way down the small hill, the sounds of the whipping a rhythmic accompaniment to her uneven steps. She stumbled several times, the descending night obliterating her ability to see the uneven ground. She made it the edge of the clearing, close enough to smell the sweat and blood when a hand clamped across her mouth, dragging her back into a foul smelling embrace.

“Don’t even breathe,” the man holding her ordered. The hard rap of metal against her temple sent stars shooting across her vision.

His knee in her thigh urged her forward. “Walk.”

She did, guilt and failure swamping her in a debilitating rush.

The man made no effort to mask their approach. As he pushed her into the circle of light from the campfire, she looked up to see the barrels of three guns trained on them, and three equally disapproving frowns.

“Son of a bitch, Jenna” Clint groaned while Asa and Cougar muttered things she couldn’t make out.

““Put down the guns or I’ll put a hole in her pretty little head,” the man behind her ordered, the gloating in his voice as offensive as his breath.

She caught Clint’s eye. “Don’t” she whispered, as the muzzle of his revolver dipped.

“Not much choice, Sunshine.” The gun fell to his feet.

Similar thuds punctuated Asa and Cougar’s acquiescence with the order.

She closed her eyes as the man behind her shoved her forward. She’d thought it was safe. She’d only meant to stop the whipping, not to leave them all defenseless.

“Good job, Simon,” Mark wheezed. She opened her eyes to see him limping toward her, his gun trained on Cougar and Clint as he shrugged his coat over one bloody shoulder. “You guys have these three covered?”

“They aren’t going anywhere.”

“Good.” Mark reached her side, shrugged his other arm into his heavy duster, his breath hissing through his teeth as the material made contact with his lacerated flesh. “Go tie those three up,” he ordered the man beside her.

A quick glance revealed him to be filthy, potbellied and just generally ugly, with lank brown hair and a pockmarked face. She shuddered as Mark yanked her toward him. Her leg gave out. Her fall took them both by surprise, freeing her from his grasp.

“Son of bitch, Sunshine, I’m going to beat you!” Clint swore as she hit the ground, and this time he sounded like he really meant it.

“You’re going to have to get in line,” Mark grunted in a distortion of his normal voice.

Jenna cracked her right eye. Through her lashes she saw his face. It wasn’t a pretty sight. His mouth and cheeks were grotesquely swollen. His nose was plastered halfway across his face. She didn’t know how he even spoke, let alone issued threats.

“You are a very ugly man,” she whispered on the first breath she could take after the pain faded.

“And you are a very stupid woman.”

“Who’s going to get her ass beat as soon as I get her home,” Clint growled from across the fire.

Mark nudged her with his foot when she’d been expecting him to kick. “Get up.”

Look for weakness. You never know when an advantage will come your way.

As if he stood beside her, Jenna could hear Cougar’s instructions. At the time it had seemed inconceivable that she’d ever have the advantage, but it just went to show how little she really knew about how things worked. Mark was clearly favoring his ribs, moving slowly, staying hunched over. He prodded her again.

“Get up, bitch.”

She stayed where she was. A bullet hit the ground beside her cheek, sending a spray of dirt into her eyes. The report came from just above her head, making her ears ring.

“Do as he says, Sunshine,” Clint ordered calmly as she blinked and rubbed the dirt from her eyes.

“I’m trying,” she called. Imitating his calm as best she could, groaning as every muscle in her body screamed against movement.

“If you’d stayed home where you belong,” Clint offered conversationally, as if they all weren’t within seconds of dying, “you wouldn’t be in worse shape than when you started.”

“Lord grant me patience, I married a told-you-so man,” Jenna muttered as she rolled to her side. The knife she’d stashed in the sheath dug into her hip.

“A soon to be dead man,” Mark corrected, with too much satisfaction for her peace of mind.

“No!”

Mark laughed at her outcry and kicked her in the side. “Get up.”

Between her back, her ribs. and the new bruising from the kick, getting up was easier said than done.

“Do as he says, Jenna,” Clint told her again.

She jerked to her side. Pain speared through her back. She moaned.

“Nice and easy, Jenna,” Clint admonished when she gathered her strength. “Take your time.”

She did exactly as Clint ordered, drawing out the process as long as possible. She only got her knees under her before Mark lost patience.

“Boy, get over here and get her up.”

Boy?
Oh God, not Red. She turned her head, wishing she knew better curse words as Red came toward her, except he didn’t look like the Red she knew. His shoulders were hunched, his gaze downcast and his steps hesitant.