Tempting Prudence: The Bride Train (3 page)

Arch kept her enfolded to make it clear she was under his protection. Not something that was likely to soothe her, but he wanted her to know that she would be safe from harm as long as he drew breath.

“We didn’t hurt her. Just tied her up and brought her to you. Didn’t even use rope.” T.J. held up several long strips of plaid cloth, looked like from an old shirt.

So tempting to take those cloth bonds and wring T.J.’s scrawny neck.

“Are you so stupid you don’t realize the damage you’ve done?” Arch fumed. “Look at her. She’s so scared she can’t talk. Might not be in her right mind after this.”

T.J. rubbed at a thatch of red bristles, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him that he might’ve done the woman permanent harm. He wasn’t callous, like Obe, but he didn’t think for himself, followed their older brother’s lead. “She’ll come out of it after we’re gone.”

“You better hope so.”

“Time to go…” Vern wrapped a heavily muscled arm around T.J.’s bony shoulders. He clapped his hand on Obe’s broad back. “We can celebrate a wedding—without the bride and groom.”

The three of them fought like spurred roosters one minute and hugged each other the next. They had always been inseparable. Growing up, Arch hadn’t been part of the tightknit circle, no matter how hard he’d tried to fit in. Now, he wished they would leave him alone.

Obe threw him a final look that said he’d be back to settle things. He had a foul temper and any slight would set him off. Arch didn’t care if he’d angered his brother. Wouldn’t be the first time. The two of them had never gotten along.

As the ornery cusses retreated in the creaking wagon, Arch curled his fingers around the woman’s waist. She wasn’t tiny, but she had nice curves and full hips. Not that he ought to care about her hips, or any other part of her.

He couldn’t imagine what insanity had possessed his brothers to steal a woman, and a plain one at that. Maybe they intended it as a joke. Wasn’t a bit funny. “My brothers are idiots, but don’t worry, they won’t hurt you.”

What a stupid thing to say. They’d manhandled her, injured her pride, her reputation, quite possibly, her mind. He could say he was sorry, but an apology was far from what she was owed.

“If you’d like, I’ll be happy to thrash ’em. Have to do it separately, or I’ll end up trussed and hanging upside down from a tree branch. They did that to me once. I got them back, though. Put ants in their boots.”

His attempt at levity was met with a dull gaze. She wasn’t in a humorous mood, and he ought to know better than to make light of a harrowing situation, regardless.

He couldn’t imagine where they’d found her. The rumpled gray dress looked more suited to a prim old lady, but her rich dark hair didn’t have a speck of gray, and it tumbled over her shoulders past her waist. The women he knew who wore their hair down were prostitutes.

Regardless, she was a woman and had been put through a hellish experience. Could be she needed a doctor. He’d send for his ma if it came to that, the fewer folks who knew about this the better. “Let’s go inside, sit for a spell. I’ll get you some cool water.”

Her head came up, fresh terror flooded her face; she shook off whatever weakness had taken hold and pulled away, backed up a few feet and faced him on shaky legs. “I’m not going in there with you.”

Nothing he’d done would’ve given her the idea that he would take her by force. He heaved a patient sigh. “Look here, if I wanted to hurt you, I could’ve done it by now.”

She kept on hugging her arms while shooting arrows with her eyes. “Return me to Centralia. Immediately. If you don’t, I swear I’ll see you hang.”

Unease skittered over his skin. A whore would probably ask for money.

Arch raised his hands, palms out, in a peaceable gesture. “Easy now. No need to get me in trouble.”

“If you don’t take me back…” She clutched the skirt, lifting the hem like she was prepared to run. Her slender wrists were marked with abrasions, probably from twisting her hands trying to escape her bonds. God knows what story she would tell. Didn’t matter. Folks would take one look at her and assume she’d been violated. The soldiers assigned to keep the peace would take him to jail, and his brothers along with him—unless a lynch mob got to them first.

He had to stall, find out her name, make sure she wasn’t hurt worse than what it appeared. “I’ll take you back…after I clean up those scratches on your wrists.”

She dropped the skirt and looked at her arms, appearing surprised. That confirmed her mind wasn’t working right if she hadn’t noticed the injuries. Those had to be painful.

“Why don’t you tell me your name?” He considered not giving her his name, but she’d heard his brothers use it, and if she described him, any man in town could give her his identity. “I’m Arch. Short for Archer, but you can call me Arch.”

Her ghostly cheeks turned rosy as she stared, wide-eyed, directly at his chest.

He glanced down.
Shoot.
He’d forgotten he hadn’t put on a shirt. Now it made sense why she thought he would drag her inside and molest her. “I, uh, wasn’t expecting company, was washing up. Shaving. I’ll put on a shirt when we get inside—”

“Prudence Walker.” She averted her eyes, and used her fingers to comb tangles out of her hair. Her hands trembled. “They-they took my hairpins…and my snood.”

That pretty well cinched it. The curs had snatched a lady, not a whore.

“I’ll get your things,” he vowed. He’d take a pound of flesh along with it.

She peered up at him through thick lashes. With her hair combed out of the way, he could see her face better. Tear-streaked and a little dirty, but not as plain as he’d first thought. Her dark, luminous eyes reminded him of an alert doe. “After you take me back…”

Her plea tugged at his heart. He knew the longer he continued to stall the more upset she might become, but she was already shaking hard and she’d be even worse off after being jostled around for another hour on a bumpy road. “Miss Walker, I fully intend to take you back. But you look like you’re about to drop. I know I’d feel better if you would come inside and sit down. Maybe take some tea.”

He motioned for her to go ahead of him into the house.

She shook her head.

“All right then. If you won’t go in, I’ll bring a chair out to you.” He slipped inside and grabbed two chairs tucked up under the table. Once he got her situated, he’d see to getting her something to drink. Whatever it took to convince her not to report him and his brothers, he’d do it. They couldn’t afford another run-in with the law.

He stepped outside.

She’d taken off. Lit out in the direction of the creek.

“Wait!” He set the chairs down and took off after her. What was the fool woman thinking to hotfoot it down a steep, rocky path? “That’s not the way back to town.”

She ran faster—though he was sure she’d heard him. Her long hair fluttered behind her like a ragged banner. If she didn’t watch out, she’d trip over one of those sycamore roots.

Suddenly, she stumbled. Her legs got tangled in her skirts and down she went. Hard. Skidding to a stop, she lay crumpled. Still.

He dropped to his knees next to her, his heart pounding so hard he could hear it. Should’ve known the poor woman was unbalanced and not to let her out of his sight. “Dang it all to perdition.”

Being gentle as possible, he turned her into his arms.

Her chest moved. Breathing, thank God.

He brushed the tangled hair out of her face. Her smooth skin had turned as white as one of those porcelain dolls he’d seen in the window of the mercantile. Blood ran freely out of a cut along the edge of her scalp.

Carefully lifting her, he cradled her limp body and started up the path as fast as he could go without stumbling or losing his grip. He had to get her to the house and staunch the bleeding. The cut would need to be stitched. When she woke, she’d have a devil of a headache and would have to stay in bed for a few days, maybe a week, and he’d thought he was in trouble before. Now, he had an even bigger problem on his hands.

* * *

Something damp laved her face. A wet tongue…odiferous breath… “Stop bathing me, Caesar,” Prudence mumbled. She raised her hands to ward off the eager licking. When the dog wouldn’t stop, she turned her head.

A sharp pain made her gasp. Someone had embedded a knife in her forehead.

Moaning, she forced her eyelids to open a crack. A black nose appeared, sniffing her face. Loose skin hung from the dog’s snout. So it wasn’t a sheepdog, and definitely not Caesar. Where had the hound come from, and why was it on her bed? Why did her head pound as though it would fall off? Her eyes drifted shut as the questions melted into awful memories…or were they dreams?

She remembered being in a coffin. Buried alive. Bearded men leered at her and tossed her bound and gagged, to and fro, cackling like demons. Someone lifted her into strong arms that formed a safe cradle. She snuggled against what felt like a solid wall and could hear inside a heavy
thump, thump, thump
.

A low voice whispered in an unfamiliar drawl. “
Hush now, be still. I won’t leave you.”

“Git down, Rebel!”

The harsh command startled Prudence out of the troubled, half-sleep. She snapped her eyes open in time to see a flash of fur as the dog leapt off the bed.

A man’s face, wreathed in auburn hair, hovered over her. His heavy russet brows drew down over eyes as blue as a bright summer sky. The bridge of his nose had a slight bump, suggesting it might’ve been broken at one time. A slight cleft softened an otherwise square chin. His lips were thin, or maybe it looked that way because he had them pressed together. She didn’t know him. Yet, he looked familiar…her dream rescuer?

Dazed and not sure she wasn’t asleep, she spoke. “Why are you in my bedroom?”

His eyes widened with surprise. He parted his lips as if he might say something, but then closed his mouth and gave her a crooked half-smile, which transformed his features into a compelling blend of flirtatious boy and rugged man.

He twisted away. She followed his movements as he pulled a straight-back chair over to the side of the bed. “You got conked on the head pretty hard. I hear that can rattle your memory.”

Her gaze wandered to the ceiling and she frowned, confused. The hotel didn’t have rough-hewn timbers or a clapboard roof…and this place had an earthy smell, like a root cellar.

A rush of memories blew away the fog that had settled over her mind. The coffin, the three devils abducting her, she hadn’t dreamed the nightmare, it had really happened.

Alarmed, she tried to sit up.

The world went spinning.

“Whoa, slow down.” The auburn haired man—he was the one who’d chased after her—caught her arms, preventing her from rising. She didn’t have the strength to fight him, and her head rang like the inside of a church bell.

With a groan, she slumped onto the pillow. So soft, it had to be down. “Goose feathers,” she murmured.

He patted her shoulder. “
Horsefeathers
, you mean. Yep, it is awful frustrating when you can’t sit up without the room whirling. But you got to rest. Give yourself a chance to heal. That cut bled like the dickens, took five stitches.”

“Cut? Stitches?” This explained the roaring headache.

“You don’t remember?” Sitting back in the chair, he rested his hands on his knees. His knuckles bore numerous white scars and the tip of the little finger on his right hand was missing. In addition to that bump on the bridge of his nose, a thin white scar slashed through his right eyebrow making it appeared raised. He looked as battered as the old tomcat that had lived in the barn. Even his unruly hair reminded her of the cat’s reddish fur.

Thank heavens he’d donned a shirt. Though the memory of his muscular chest was tattooed on her brain. How was it she could recall the patch of brown hair over his breastbone and his hard pectoral muscles when she couldn’t remember striking her head?

She lifted her hand to assess the damage to her forehead.

He caught her wrist. “Don’t pull off the bandage. It took me two tries to get it wrapped right.”

“What happened?”

“My brothers brought you here.”

She shuddered. “I remember that part.”

He leaned forward, seeming to search her eyes. “Do you recall me telling you it was all a big mistake? I tried to get you to sit down and rest, but you ran off, down the path to the creek. Tripped on a root, hit your head and cracked it open… I had to doctor you through a fever. You talked crazy for a couple days. Your fever broke last night.”

His voice hinted at weariness and the signs of strain were visible around his mouth and eyes. Maybe he’d thought she would die and he would be blamed for it. Or he might’ve dreaded having to find a place to dispose of her body. Although, if he wanted her dead, or simply wanted to use her for sport, he wouldn’t have brought her into his home and tended her.

At a troubling thought, she slipped her hand beneath the covers. She wore nothing but her thin shift. He’d even removed her drawers. Horrified, she pulled the quilt to her chin. “You…you undressed me.”

No leer or smirk crossed his face. “Had to,” he said, matter-of-fact. “You were bleeding all over your clothes, and I couldn’t bathe you down fully dressed.”