Her hair was braided down her back, her dress torn but neat. She bent over a jug, filling it from the water’s edge.
Thomas’s breath rasped in his throat. His.
He stepped forward.
?
Violet felt a prickle at the back of her neck, as though the air itself had shifted. She turned.
A man stood at the edge of the clearing. Stocky, broad, with a belly straining his belt. His face was seamed with years, his jaw set hard beneath a bristle of beard. His eyes burned with an intensity that made her chest go cold.
Thomas?
For a moment she stared, unable to settle him with the man she had imagined. She had pictured someone younger, taller, leaner, with bright eyes and a kind and handsome face. This man was none of those things.
Her breath hesitated with the realization that this man must be Thomas.
Shock flowed through her. Her promise had been made tohim.
Her stomach tightened, and guilt surged like a tide. She had promised him her hand, her future. And she had broken that promise.
Her fingers brushed the braid at her shoulder, her heart tearing in two.
?
Grey Horse was beside her in an instant. His stance was calm, but his body was rigid, every muscle ready. His gaze fixed on Thomas, unyielding. The camp hushed. Men rose, women drew children close. Pale Moon slipped nearer, her eyes gleaming with something between triumph and contempt.
Thomas stepped forward, his hand outstretched. “Violet.” His voice was rough, commanding. “You’re coming with me.”
Her lips parted, but no sound came.
Grey Horse shifted, placing himself between them. His words rolled low in Kiowa, then again in English: “She is safe here.”
Thomas’s face darkened. “She is mine. She promised herself to me. I sent money, I sent word. She is my bride.”
The words lashed Violet’s heart. Bride. Promised. The words in her letter:I will come. Do not doubt it.
Her throat closed.
Grey Horse turned to look at her, surprise in his eyes. She had told him nothing of this man or of a promise she had made…. He stood silent for several seconds. Then his jaw tightened and he spoke. “She chooses.”
The camp murmured, voices rising. Ezra hovered behind Thomas, tense, his eyes flicking cautiously between the two men.
Violet’s knees trembled. She thought of Pale Moon’s words:His heart belongs to the past. If freed, it will be mine.She thought of her braid, of Grey Horse’s steady hand, of the warmth she felt in his presence. And she thought of Thomas, standing solid, unyielding, the image of the promise she had foolishly made.
Her breath hitched. Desire pulled one way, obligation the other.
Obligation was stronger. She stepped forward.
“I will go.”
Her voice was small, but the camp heard. Grey Horse’s eyes flared, pain flashing across his face before he mastered it. Pale Moon’s lips curved in a thin, satisfied smile.
Thomas stepped forward and his hand closed around Violet’s, rough and heavy. She flinched, but did not pull away.
Grey Horse stood unmoving, his eyes locked on hers. For a heartbeat, the world held still—the river whispering, the fire snapping.
Then Violet turned her face away. Grey Horse had his answer.
