Shannon winced as the pressure of his fingers increased. “I pitied her,” she said. “As I pity you.” Parker’s hand dropped away instantly. Out of the corner of her eye Shannon saw it lift to strike her. There was no way to avoid it, and the blow nearly unseated her when it came.
“I want none of it,” he said. His eyes were like shards of green glass. “None of it.”
Shannon righted herself slowly, blinking back the tears that stung her eyes.
“Thereissomething I want from you.” His fingers stroked her neck and then smoothed over the reddening mark on her cheek. His hand fell to her throat, paused, then fisted in the fringed collar of her leather hunting shirt. Effortlessly he pulled Shannon to her feet. Attempting to keep her weight off her injured ankle, she fell against him. Even through her heavy garment he could feel the press of her breasts on his chest. “I know about your stepfather,” he said quietly. “I only mention it to let you know I have been forewarned. A struggle, while exciting, would also be futile.” He withdrew his knife from the sheath on his thigh and held it up for her to see. “Are you going to struggle, Shannon?”
She shook her head and caught the faint light of disappointment in his eyes.
“I’ll tell Bran I had you, of course.”
“He’ll kill you.”
“Why? He did not mind sharing his first wife.”
“Bastard.”
“On your lips even that epithet sounds sweet.” Then he lowered his head, grinding his mouth against hers. He said her name once. Rory, he called her.
The flamefrom Brandon’s torch flickered wildly in the wind. The steadily falling snow reflected the light so that Brandon’s passage across the countryside was like parting an endless series of white curtains. Consciously he would not admit the cabin was his last hope of finding Shannon and Clara safe, yet on a deeper level he knew it was true. That they might have gone to the cabin had not occurred to him earlier because he had only thought of Shannon’s knowledge of the area. It wasn’t until he considered where his daughter might have taken Shannon there that he realized the cabin was a very real possibility.
His horse stumbled on a broken slat of the rotting worm fence that led directly to the cabin’s door. Brandon’s torch slipped from his hand and fell in the snow. He made a grab for it, missed, and quickly dismounted. The flames burned themselves out before he was able to pick it up. Slipping off his musket so it would not discharge if he lost his footing, he fixed it to the saddle, then took up his horse’s reins and began walking toward the cabin, one hand held out to his side to follow the path of the fence.
At first he thought he was imagining the glimmer of light coming from beneath the cabin’s door, imagining it because he so very much wanted to believe it was there. He approached the structure cautiously, still not believing what he saw, then more confidently as he told himself that it had to be real. At last he dropped the reins and began running for the door.
Shannon’s name died on his lips as he stepped into the cabin. A blast of icy wind swirled through the room, but it was Brandon’s presence, not the wind, that froze Shannon and Parker into stillness. More precisely, it was Parker who ceased to move. Shannon’s body had been rigid in his brother’s embrace, stiff with contempt and distaste, her knuckles white against the table’s edge as Parker held her captive between his thighs.
The shoulder seam of her shirt was cleanly split, and Parker’s mouth was against her skin. The hunting knife he had used to slice the shirt rested in one hand. He raised himself slowly but would not let Shannon go. Their faces turned in unison toward the door.
Brandon’s nostrils flared, and like a wild animal, he bared his teeth. “Get away from her, Parker.” Behind him the wind sucked the door shut and the cabin wall shuddered. Brandon didn’t flinch.
Neither did Parker. “Never say you refuse to share,” he chided. “Remember that dear kitchen maid of Papa’s? Jesse, her name was. You had her one night. I, the next. It seems you were always giving me your leavings, Bran.”
“Get away from her,” Brandon repeated.
“Then there was Annie. We all used Annie. Even Cody. You never minded then, Bran. Why must you have Rory all to yourself?”
Brandon’s questioning glance dropped momentarily to Shannon.
“He’s lost all reason, Brandon,” Shannon said shakily. “He thinks I’m—”
“Shut up,” Parker said.
“Step away, Parker.”
Parker drew the edge of his knife across Shannon’s throat. “She betrayed me, Bran.”
“I know all about that,” he said, striving for calm as he watched the blade slide across Shannon’s skin. “But you don’t want to kill her for it.” He edged a step closer to his brother, waiting for a hesitation, an opportunity to wrest the knife away.
Just then Clara sat up in bed and called out for her father. Both Parker and Shannon shifted their attention toward the bed. Brandon didn’t.
He dove at Parker, knocking him sideways and down. Shannon rolled off the table and limped toward the door where Parker’s musket rested against the wall, only to discover it wasn’t loaded. Brandon slammed Parker’s wrist to the floor but could not dislodge the knife from his grip. They rolled toward the hearth, knocking over the stack of firewood and upending a chair. Evenly matched, Parker’s madness lending him strength equal to Brandon’s, it was Parker who finished on top, straddling Brandon and landing a blow that Shannon thought must have broken Brandon’s jaw. Shannon hefted the musket by the barrel and brought the stock down squarely between Parker’s shoulder blades. He grunted and fended her off by swinging his knife backward.
Brandon took advantage of the diversion by pushing hard on Parker’s chest and flinging him away. Winded, both men struggled to their feet. Shannon tossed the musket to Brandon and fled to the other side of the room.
“Get Clara out of here,” Brandon ordered, jumping back as Parker slashed the knife toward him in a wide arc. He struck out with the rifle, missing Parker’s head by mere inches. “Now, Shannon! Take her now!”
Clara was stiff with fear as Shannon bundled her up and lifted her. Her weight was as nothing as strength surged through Shannon’s body. Shannon averted the child’s face and ran for the door, oblivious to the tentacles of pain shooting up from her injured ankle. Once outside the cabin, Shannon’s bare foot was buried in snow.
