Secrets and Lace (Lonely Lace #2) (8 page)

Chapter 11

The jarring trot of Jack’s horse rammed her stomach and occasionally her ribs. Up – grab a breath – down – holy crap, lose the breath. His grip on her didn’t loosen until they reached the tree line.

As soon as the weight of his hand lessened, Relief stole through her and her lungs worked to push her ribs out. She may never breathe normally again.

Amelia slid from the still-moving horse. She rolled when she landed, unsure of where or what she would drop onto. Fortunately, the moss-covered log and damp grass softened her fall. On her hands and knees, Amelia winced at the scrape of the small chunks of icy snow biting into the tender flesh of her inner forearms. She needed a jacket.

Jack didn’t strike her as the kind of man to let a woman have his coat, if she were cold.

He reared around, growling. “What the hell? Get back here.”

Amelia glared, ignoring the pack of horses and their riders moving to surround her. “No. Your pommel is about to kill me. I’d rather walk than get back on that horse with you.” She pushed herself up from the ground, refusing to grovel in the ground beneath them. If nothing else, she’d keep her pride intact, thank you very much.

The leader moved toward her, pulling a loosely looped rope from a tie on his saddle pack. His gravelly voice more of a threat than anything she’d heard. He didn’t raise his volume either. “All you had to do was ask, doll.”

Still astride his horse, the man pulled on her hands and wrapped a rope end around her wrists, first around them both then again in a figure-eight pattern. He tossed the remainder of the rope coil to Jack. “Keep her under control, or I’ll handle it. The bitch has already slowed us down as it is.” He moved ahead to take the lead, crashing his horse through the underbrush to create a path in otherwise virgin woods.

Amelia bit her inner cheek. She wanted to scream and rant at them, fight and pull away, but something inside her – maybe her sense of self-preservation – held her docile enough to acquiesce to the tug of the horse. She pulled and wriggled her hands in the rope casing, but did little more than tighten the bonds. Great, one of
those
knots
.
She glared at Jack’s back and looked down, picking her way carefully over rocks and slick wood from fallen trees and rotting logs.

The gang had to slow down not only for the unfamiliar territory, but also because of her. The men had no idea where they were going.

Plus, if her captivity slowed them down, then maybe her would-be rescuers could find her. If she had rescuers. Ronan wouldn’t let her get away, or maybe he would. He wanted to be Mac’s guardian. What better way to do that than to have his mother die?

Who would it be? Slate wasn’t moving for anything. Ronan was really the only one there besides his ranch hands. Robbie hadn’t even known she was awake. If he knew, would he try to save her? What if he didn’t? Fear manacled her tighter than the rope at the thought of Robbie bringing Mac anywhere near the men who had taken her. Her son had to be safe, no matter what.

Her thoughts didn’t help keep her warm, but stomping through the woods did. Thankfully, she’d thrown on a pair of boots before running out to the barn that morning in her mad search for Mac. Oh, Mac. She hoped he was okay and not too worried about her. Hopefully, he didn’t feel abandoned by her.

Slate. Oh, he hadn’t looked good before she’d disappeared. But judging by the way the men talked, she wasn’t going to want to survive the next few days. The possibilities made her lightheaded.

Random snow patches became more frequent. Over the heavy movements of the pack horses and the low curses of the men as their animals slid in sometimes never-ending mud, the gurgle and roar of the Lonely Rivers grew more demanding. A soundtrack to her childhood, her romance with Robbie, her pregnancy with Mac.

She swallowed what tasted like fear rising from her chest. Fear wasn’t an option. What would happen if they wanted to cross the river? She clenched her jaw and refused to think about how she’d survive the next few days with them. Something told her she would learn how to be afraid.

Crap. Focus, girl.
She didn’t have time for fear. She’d be afraid after she escaped, after someone saved her. Any other alternative wasn’t a choice at that point as she tromped through deeper snow piles and soggier ground. She had a child to return to. Escape would have to be her only option.

Her boot stuck and she pulled it free, but not before the horse moved forward and the momentum pulled her to her hands and knees in the thawing clay. Cold soaked immediately through her pants and t-shirt. She was definitely wishing for a nice thick parka at that point.

Jack yanked the rope and she fell further to her elbows.

She gritted her teeth and pushed herself to a kneeling position.
Okay, dickhead. I got it.
She curled her fingers around the rope lead in front of her and threw her weight backward, yanking Jack backward on his horse.

The other men passed her, laughing, as Jack’s horse pranced a few feet away. He cursed and righted himself.

Before he could come at her, she dug her fingers into the mud and claimed a large handful of the still freezing cold earth. Amelia pushed herself to her feet, trying her best to accept the sodden, clingy mess that used to be her clothing. She drew back both hands to her right shoulder and hurled the muddy mass at Jack. Holy crap, the mud-ball landed in the center of his face, smack on his nose and dripped down into his facial hair and open mouth. She stifled her gasp. His outrage built faster than a forest fire as he sputtered and red filled his face. He moved toward her, his face tight and eyes intent upon her form.

Amelia didn’t back down. Instead, she lifted her muddied face, her eyes unwavering. She’d see her son again or she’d die – but she wouldn’t lose her pride over it. She was a James for hell’s sake! And James didn’t take shit from no one.

But Jack didn’t stop coming. He rode to her, and Slam! His fist connected with the side of her head, creating red spots in her vision, jerking her to the side.

She didn’t fall, refusing in fact to even acknowledge the blow. She shook her head back, like flicking her sodden hair and lifted her chin, but her lip quivered. Crap. Oh man, it hurt so bad. She’d never been struck by anyone – ever.

The thrumming in her skull reminded her of something a girlfriend from high school… Kelsey Redbird… had said. She’d said, “Ames, you’ve never really been wasted until your brain feels like it’s dancing for rain the next morning.”

What she wouldn’t give to call Kelsey right then and say… wait, what was she going to say? Throbbing in her head compounded more and more, blocking out even the basest of senses. She fell to her knees… maybe?

Yelling from somewhere around her came through a tunnel and her arms were wrenched in a direction she’d never experienced before. Somehow she stumbled back to her feet, blinking at the red spots and trying her best to focus on the pain of her shoulders and elbows.

Damn, he must have slammed her with a closed fist right behind her ear or something.

The haze faded, leaving in its wake excruciating ache and a dull awareness. And it’d taken some of her fight away. For the moment.

Numbness set in below her knees, or anywhere the cold wet had managed to attach itself to her body – so basically her entire front from the fall. Her hair stuck to her head in matted clots, muddy from her covered hands which she pushed through her bangs to keep out of her face. No way in hell was she going to miss an attack like that because she couldn’t see. 

She ran into Jack’s horse because he stopped and she wasn’t paying attention. She didn’t move away from the animal’s warm flank. Jack’s dirt-encrusted boot sole met her gaze inches from where she huddled. The men’s conversation mingled with the yelling water.

“— supposed to be a treasure in there.”

“You don’t know that. Just some stupid Indian legend.”

“Sapphires and silver and gold. Sounds like a good legend to me.”

“Where do we cross, Devlyn?” The drawn out
S
gave Jack away in the conversation.

“We’ll cross here. I can’t tell how deep the river is, but it’s fast moving. You might want to throw her on your horse, if you plan on keeping her for more than ransom.” Devlyn, the leader, spoke with disinterest about her. Like she was less than the horses or something.

If they crossed the river, she’d freeze. Even on the horse, she’d get wet. They didn’t seem to have extra blankets, and if they did, she doubted they’d share with her.

Devlyn moved to the side. “Jack, go first. Make it across and find a clearing. We’ll make camp so the horses can dry out before we continue over the mountains. We’ll come back to the mines now that we know where they are.”

Over the mountains. And where the hell had they heard of the caverns? The sapphire and silver were secrets in those parts. Ronan mined gold and other things, but he didn’t discuss his business with anyone. Secrets were the best part of Colby living. Only the locals knew each other’s gossip but they guarded them with rifle and key.

Jack reached down and gripped her upper arms. Amelia recoiled, pulling her tied hands to her waist. She stared at him wide-eyed while their plans to cross the river sank in to her befuddled mind.