Page 85 of Mail-Order Viscountess

She scanned the men again as Jake took a long pull from the flask and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “How much longer we gotta wait? I’m freezing my⁠—”

“Shut it.” A fellow with a beard nearly full gray cut him off with a bark. “Hank and Skeeter’ll be here soon enough. Have to make sure no one followed ‘em from town.”

Jake shook his head. “No one’s gonna follow. Half that town’s too scared to look sideways at a stranger, and the other half don’t care what happens to some woman.”

“She’s a Balfour. They’ll care.” Henry shifted his weight, his gaze cutting toward Kate before sliding away. “That family’s got friends in this territory.”

“Friends who’ll be too busy burying the dead. We’ll kill her along with the others once we know we don’t need her.” Jake spat into the snow. “Then we’ll be halfway ta the border ‘fore anyone knows what happened. Our pockets’ll be lined with so much gold we won’t ever have ta work again.”

“I still don’t understand why some English lord cares so much about a bunch of Montana ranchers.” The youngest one in the group spoke for the first time, his voice carrying a bit too much whine. “Seems like a lot of trouble for⁠—”

“It ain’t your job to understand.” Gray Beard’s tone sharpened. “It’s your job to shoot who you’re told to shoot and collect your pay. You got a problem with that?”

“No, I just⁠—”

“The Balfours ain’t just ranchers.” Jake interrupted, his voice carrying the lazy confidence of a man who enjoyed knowing things others didn’t. “They’re heirs. To some fancy English title. A duke of somewhere.”

“Duke of Clarence.” Henry snorted. “Our contact’s a cousin or somethin’. Wants all the heirs taken out afore he handles the duke hisself.”

“That’s why we gotta be thorough.” Jake’s voice hardened. “All four brothers. And any wives or children. No survivors. No witnesses.”

Any wives or children.

Mandie and baby Catherine. Rose. Probably they’d assume Clara too.

And Kate herself, bound and gagged and utterly helpless to warn any of them.

No. She yanked against the ropes, hard enough that the horse beneath her sidestepped nervously. No, no, no⁠—

“Easy there.” The fifth man—the one who’d stayed mostly quiet—moved toward her horse and grabbed the bridle to steady the animal. He took her in with eyelids that didn’t lift all the way, and one corner of his mouth tipped in a sort of leer that sent ice down her spine. “No point wearin’ yourself out, sweetheart. You ain’t going nowhere.”

She forced herself to breathe through the gag, slow and measured, even as panic clawed at her chest. She had to figure out how to get away from this.

Thomas and his brothers would be ready for the attack, but she couldn’t leave herself in the hands of these rakes. These murderers.

She couldn’t untie herself though. Maybe the horse… If she could spook it at the right moment, send it bolting...

She’d probably fall and break her neck. With her hands bound to the saddle horn, she had no way to control the animal, no way to guide it toward safety. Branches would scrape her off, then she’d be injured and still at the mercy of these hired assassins.

God, help me. Show me what to do.

The prayer rose from somewhere deep. She’d stop praying when her mother died. Especially when her stepmother used religion like a tool…a way to manipulate the good opinion of others.

But Thomas and his family prayed. They spoke of God like He was a friend, a father. Someone Who actually cared what happened to them.

Maybe... maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe her stepmother’s version of God wasn’t the only one.

If You’re there—if You’re really there—I need help. Not for me. For Clara. For Thomas’s family. For Thomas.

The crackle of a large creature through the snow cut through her pleadings.

All five men turned toward the trail, hands dropping to their weapons. Her heartbeat surged.

Two riders emerged from the trees, their horses picking through the snow. The tension in the camp eased as quickly as it had risen.

“About time.” Jake pushed off from the tree he’d been leaning against. “We were starting to think you’d gotten lost.”

“Had to make sure we weren’t followed.” The first rider swung down from his horse with the easy motion of a man who’d spent his life in the saddle. “Town’s quiet. If anyone noticed the woman go missing, they ain’t makin’ noise yet.”