Love Inspired Historical March 2014 Bundle: Winning Over the Wrangler\Wolf Creek Homecoming\A Bride for the Baron\The Guardian's Promise (14 page)

He shivered as he thought of how vulnerable she would be.

He fell into a restless sleep and woke to find a figure silhouetted against the door. His heart skittered up his throat. Cyrus? Had he returned, intent on making Brand pay for the botched robbery?

He shuddered.

Then the figure moved. He saw it was Constable Allen and he strained against his chains. “Did you find Sybil?”

“She's safe.”

He inhaled without pain for the first time in hours.

“I overtook the rest of the gang.”

Something in his voice alerted Brand. “It's good news?” Then he realized good news for the Mountie would be bad news for him.

“Your father was injured. Two men are dead. Two of them escaped.”

“Cyrus?” Was he dead or alive?

“He got away. I have a posse after him. He'll not get far.” The Mountie's voice promised Cyrus's capture.

Brand tried to decide how he felt about it. On one hand he wanted to see the end of the Duggan gang. On the other, Pa and Cyrus were the only family he had.

The Mountie unlocked Brand's shackles and signaled for a man to bring his horse forward. “Mount up.”

Brand obeyed and sat stoically on his horse while the Mountie tied his wrists together and secured a rope to lead him. He submitted without protest. He saw no point in trying to get away. Sybil was safe. He could go to his death or a jail cell content with that knowledge.

“How bad is Pa?”

“He was bleeding badly. Mrs. Gardiner is nursing him.” The officer kept his attention forward, but Brand saw the way his jaw muscles tightened. “I'd like to see him stand trial for his deeds.”

“Guess he will whether he lives or dies.”

Constable Allen jerked his head around. “You're right. Justice will prevail either way.” The Mountie rode at his side, directing him down the trail.

Brand thought of the man's desire for justice. “What if God forgives him?”

The constable considered the question for the better part of half a mile, then sighed. “As a lawman I wish to see man's justice, but I have to accept that God forgives sinners.” He paused. “And I willingly confess I am a sinner saved by God's grace. I have no right to resent God extending that same grace to someone like your pa.”

“Maybe you should tell him that.” Brand knew Pa's salvation had been his ma's dying wish.

When they should have headed south to the fort, the Mountie indicated they should go west. They would soon reach the ranch if they continued this direction.

Perhaps the Mountie meant to let him see Pa one last time. If so he would tell Pa himself that there was forgiveness in repentance.

“No one else was hurt?”

“A cowboy in the posse got a minor flesh wound on his leg. Nothing that will slow him down.”

They reached the ranch. Brand held back. Only the tug on the rope by the Mountie made him move on. He didn't want to face Eddie and the others. On the other hand, he'd give his right arm to see Sybil and know she was unharmed.

He heard a bark and looked to see Dawg limping toward him. The ropes made it impossible for Brand to reach down and pick up the animal. “Hi, Dawg.”

The dog walked to his side. Seemed the old mutt would live. Guess if Brand went to jail Dawg would need a new owner.

The Mountie forced him to move forward, up the hill toward the big house. Eddie, Mercy, Linette and Sybil waited for them.

Brand and the Mountie drew to a halt in front of them.

Brand stared at his bound hands. Although the ropes were weather stained in spots, the jute strands were firm, the twists ready to defy any hope of escape. He kept his hands still, his head lowered, hiding his face as much as he could. His cheeks stung as if he'd leaned too close to open flames. What must they think of him? A Duggan. Branded with the same condemnation as his pa and brother. He expected no sympathy. No understanding of his situation. He couldn't claim innocence, so he wouldn't try.

He lifted his head a fraction, unable to deprive himself of a glance at Sybil's face. Would she be angry? Disappointed? But he couldn't tell from her expression. Seemed she didn't want him to guess at her feelings, because her face revealed nothing but disinterest. Despite understanding he had no right to speak and would likely be cut short, he let his gaze connect with hers. He schooled himself to reveal none of the regret churning his insides at the thought that this was how she would remember him—bound and headed to jail.

“Glad to see you're okay,” he said to her, keeping his voice low and impersonal, while inside raged a loud protest.
I'm innocent.
But he'd made a decision and didn't intend to cry about the consequences. He had agreed to help the gang in exchange for her life. Not for a moment would he regret it. “Would you look after Dawg for me?”

A fleeting emotion flicked across her eyes. Too fast, too uncertain for him to guess what it was.

What did it matter?

She nodded. “Dawg will be safe with me.”

Her words whispered across his thoughts. If only all his concerns could be so easily dealt with.

* * *

Sybil's heart hurt with every beat. Seeing Brand tied up, on his way to trial... She crossed her arms over her stomach and gripped her elbows with tense fingers. Jail or worse awaited him. She had told herself over and over to forget about those few days they had shared when she felt drawn to him. It had all been deception. Yes, she'd known he ran from something, but never in ten thousand guesses would she have suspected he was part of the infamous Duggan gang.

“Get down,” Constable Allen said, holding a rope that kept Brand from considering flight.

Sybil averted her eyes, unable to bear the sight of Brand's humiliation.

Dawg leaped to his master, placed his paws on his waist and whined.

From the corner of her eyes, she saw Brand pat Dawg's head with hands bound so tightly she knew they must hurt.

She turned to the Mountie, about to ask him to loosen the ropes holding Brand, but bit back the words before she opened her mouth. Of course he must be secured. He was a common outlaw. She squeezed her hands tighter, knowing she'd have bruises on both arms.

“Down, Dawg,” he murmured, and the dog dropped to all fours.

“Your father is upstairs,” the Mountie said. “The Gardiners have been generous enough to allow you to visit him.”

“Thank you,” Brand said, his voice as flat as a thousand acres of prairie.

“Eddie will see that you are guarded until I return to take you to the fort. I intend to find your brother and the man with him.”

Sybil noted the slight shudder that twitched Brand's shoulders, but he stood tall, revealing nothing but determination. Guess he'd known this day would come sometime.

But she found no pleasure in the justice that he would face. It was easier to be angry at his deception when she couldn't see him or feel anguish at how he was bound.

The Mountie handed the rope to Eddie. “I'll be back when I'm done with this business.”

He'd said Cyrus and another man had escaped. Sybil prayed the constable would find them and bring them to justice. Her face burned at the memory of Cyrus manhandling her. How could Brand and Cyrus be brothers? One so cruel? The other—

She stopped the word that sprang to her mind. He wasn't
gentle;
he was a deceiver. His name should be Jacob.

The Mountie rode away.

Linette stepped aside, indicating they should follow her indoors. “Your father is upstairs.”

When Brand hesitated, Eddie tugged the rope. “Come along.”

As Sybil recalled how Brand had played the innocent, convinced her that he was a worthy man, she was able to hold back any sympathy at his situation.

Brand stepped over the threshold.

Dawg sat on his haunches and waited.

Sybil hated to shut the door against him. “You wait here. I'll come feed you in a bit.” She kept her back to the room, staring out the nearby window as Eddie and Linette led Brand upstairs to his pa.

Mercy grabbed Sybil's arm and dragged her to the sitting room, where she pushed her into a chair and sat facing her. “An outlaw in the house. How exciting is that?”

Sybil shuddered. “Mercy, it's not exciting at all. It's awkward and horrible. His pa is shot and lies in one of Linette's beds.” Linette took in anyone in need of care. “How will she manage? Do you think it is safe for her in her condition?”

“Do you think he'd hurt her?”

“I doubt Eddie is going to leave him alone with her.” Sybil shook her head. All those hours she'd spent unaccompanied with Brand, feeling safe and—she shuddered—longing to touch him, feel his lips on hers. How could she have been so mistaken about him?

When she let emotions rule, danger followed. She'd known it all the while. Only she'd never imagined this sort of thing.

Linette entered the sitting room. “Eddie said he'd sit with Brand and his father for a bit. Then Slim will spell him off. There'll be someone guarding him day and night so we can feel safe in our beds.” She sighed deeply. “I still can't believe I could be so mistaken about a man. Eddie is upset that he was, as well. He prides himself on being a good judge of people.” With another sigh, she headed to the kitchen with a basin of bloodstained rags to soak.

Sybil followed. Unlike Mercy, she didn't want to speculate or rejoice in the excitement of having two outlaws upstairs.

“You must be tired,” she said to Linette. “Can I help?”

Her friend brushed aside a tendril of hair. “I find it very hard to see the pair of them. And feel the tension in the air. There's something between them that isn't quite right, and I can't put my finger on it.”

Sybil wrapped an arm about her. “Could it simply be that they are common criminals and don't like being captured?”

“Maybe.”

But she knew Linette wasn't convinced.

“I can't get Mr. Duggan's bleeding to stop.”

The worry in her voice caught Sybil's attention. “Do you think some organ has been hit?”

Linette shook her head. “I simply don't know. The man is thin except for a pronounced potbelly, and his skin has a distinct yellowish hue.”

“You mean jaundice?”

“I fear so.”

Jaundice! She'd heard of it. Always spoken in dark tones. A slow, certain death. Often the sufferer would bleed to death or lose his or her mind, dying in confusion. “Does Brand know?”

“I doubt it.”

“I guess it doesn't make much difference, does it?” Sybil forced indifference into her voice. “They'll either hang or rot in jail. Dying in a clean bed might be a mercy. An undeserved one.”

Linette dried her hands and turned to her. “Do any of us deserve mercy? From God or man?”

“If we live a good life we don't need mercy from man, and if we seek God's forgiveness He offers His mercy.”

“But it's so undeserved. And I fear none of us can claim we have not offended another.”

Sybil tried to protest, but then thought of her secret. Wasn't she being untruthful in her own way by hiding behind a pseudonym? In talking to Brand with a view to gleaning information for a story without telling him her intention?

Linette turned to meal preparation, and Sybil helped. A little later, Slim came in to relieve Eddie, and Linette served the meal. They ate in silence, as if each of them was struggling to believe the recent events.

Grady studied the sober faces around him. “Is it true? Is Brand a bad man?”

Linette and Eddie exchanged glances, while Mercy and Sybil waited for their answer.

Silent communication passed between the couple. How Sybil envied their love and security. Would she ever enjoy something similar? To her disgrace, she allowed herself to admit she'd given a few thoughts to Brand being like Eddie. How wrong she'd been.

Eddie took Grady's hands. “It would seem he is part of an outlaw gang.”

Grady looked around the table, saw the same message in the nod each person gave him. He shook his head. “You're wrong. He's not a bad man. He can't be. Not when Dawg likes him so much.”

No one could argue with that.

Grady's lips quivered. “Why are you all being so mean to him?”

The boy dashed out the back door.

Linette pushed herself to her feet, then looked about at the dishes to be cleaned up. She glanced upward. “They need to be fed.”

Sybil made up her mind. “You go after Grady. I'll feed the prisoners and then we'll clean up.”

Mercy insisted on accompanying her upstairs, and Sybil didn't mind. She couldn't imagine facing Brand. Yet she knew she must in order to erase the false memories of the Brand she thought she had known.

She stepped into the room, Mercy on her heels. Slim sat at the doorway, leaning back in a wooden chair, a rifle across his knees. Mercy handed him a plate of food.

Slim dropped all four legs of the chair to the floor, snagged another chair and pulled it close.

Mercy sat at his side.

Slowly Sybil shifted her gaze, saw Brand's father. At their campsite she had considered him big and menacing. She hadn't taken note of the condition Linette had pointed out. Now, though, under the gray woolen blanket, he looked thin and sallow. Yellowish, just as Linette said.

“I brought dinner.” Sybil held a plate of food in each hand.

Brand took one plate, his wrists still bound with thick ropes, and set it on the nearby table. But he didn't eat.

She felt his awkward waiting, but rather than relieve it, she turned to his father. “I brought you food.”

He regarded her unblinkingly. “Don't think I'll be needing food where I'm going.”

“I'm sure they'll feed you adequately in jail.” She hated the judgmental tone of her voice, but she couldn't help it. Brand had deceived her and this man had ordered her held captive. She had every right to judge him for that.