“Stop.” Her uncle swung for her and missed.
“Catch her.” Nick’s booted steps pounded behind her.
She grabbed the latch. It clicked, and the door swung open. She tripped on the stone step, stumbled but caught herself. A hand reached out. Fingertips grazed her shoulder. She pumped her legs and ran on. Turning the corner, skidding on a slip of mud, she leaped over a bucket.
Something clattered behind her.
“She’s going for the front.” Nick’s voice burst forth harsh and winded.
Frost-covered grass crumpled beneath her feet. A dog howled. What if they loosed the beast on her? She rounded the second corner. Two horses at the posts. Butler bounded onto the porch and to the steps.
She dove for the saddlebred’s lead rope. Tearing it from thepost, she shoved her left foot into the stirrup and swung her right leg over.
Hands clawed into her waist and yanked her backward. She landed feet on the ground and swung with her fist. Butler whammed his forearm against hers, blocking the blow. He grabbed her shoulder, his meaty fingers pressing deep. She spun toward him and drove her knee into his groin.
“Uggh.” His hands fell from her. He crumpled.
Nick rounded the corner.
She swung into the saddle.
Nick latched onto the bridle.
She yanked hard on the reins, rearing the stallion’s front legs, forcing Nick to jump clear.
Pulse pounding in her head, she pressed her heels against the horse’s sides. The animal snorted and jolted forth. His hooves thudded on the gravel path. She rose in the saddle, the breeze picking up her hair.
A sharp whistle cut through the air. The stallion reared to a stop, jolting her, but she clung to the saddle horn and reins. Nick charged toward her on the second horse. She goaded the stallion. He neighed, tossed his head, and reared again. Nick had trained his horse well. Morning Fawn leaned forward on the horse’s neck and whistled softly near his ear, cooing as she’d heard her adopted brother do. The animal stirred, stepped forward. She clicked the reins. He broke into a canter.
Nick’s knee jabbed into her thigh, his stirrup cutting into her ankle. His hands latched hold of her. The stallion bucked, and Nick pulled her onto his lap.
The present moment fractured into shards of memory. The Comanche warrior dragging her from beneath the wagon and away from her mother. Then the night nine years later when Devon Reynolds grabbed her from behind and stole her from the world she’d become part of.
Instinct took over. Fists, feet, legs—Morning Fawn threweverything she had into the fight, striking blindly and with all of her might, but other hands caught her and drug her to the ground. Owens’s knee leveled into her back as he wrenched her arms around behind her and snared her wrists with a raw rope that bit into her skin. Blades of frost-slicked grass pressed against her lips.
Defeated.
“Well, we know one thing.” Nick stood over her, rubbing his cheek that bore the imprint of her nails. His waistcoat hung open, and his mussed-up hair looked as if it hadn’t seen a comb for days. He spit on the ground. Was his lip bleeding too? “There’s something with Reynolds and Alleyton worth fighting over.”
Morning Fawn rolled her face into the dirt. A shiver ran through her. The night wind blew across her sweat-soaked clothing, chilling her fury-heated body.
She had failed.
CHAPTER 30
Sweat dampened Devon’s shirt collar beneath his frock coat. He’d armed himself well, a revolver on each hip, a knife in his knee-high cavalry boot and another up his sleeve, a cartridge belt around his waist, and another across his chest. A flask of brandy in hand, he patted his pocket, feeling for the small rubberized pouch of Lucifer matches.
Sleet pelted his face. The storm would help with the element of surprise. They had to take care of the guards at the back of the quartermaster’s depot without firing a shot. The two guards on the far end had already been knocked out and tied up.
Frieda had begged to come, insisting that having a woman along would distract the guards. But he’d refused. He’d put her at enough risk already. After tonight, the Reb authorities would hunt for her, jail her, or worse if they caught her.
Instead, he’d sent her to round up as many of the volunteers from the league as she could rouse. Not an easy task on such short notice in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve.
It was bad enough her father was down the street acting as a lookout. But with only four of the volunteers answering thecall, Devon needed every man he could get. By now, Frieda should be on her way to friends who’d shelter her and her father behind a hidden compartment in their house. The same house Devon had told Lucy about.
“‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen…’” Devon whistled the tune as he neared the back entrance. A teamster with loose lips and a couple drinks too many had informed him the Rebs had been slow to ship out the rest of the gunpowder to the regiments in Louisiana, too afraid the ones in Texas might need it more.
“Halt.” A soldier stepped from the doorframe.
