Page 12 of Fairest of Heart

Arms bound behind her back, she struggled to get her legs beneath her. Hunt’s saddle creaked. Penelope lurched upward.

Run!

Her half-numb legs did their best to obey her command, but they’d barely carried her three steps before a thick arm snagged her from behind.

“Not so fast.”

Her heel connected with the inside of his thigh. He grunted, but his grip held firm. As if she were a calf he’d roped, he tossed her on the ground and pressed a knee into her lower back. She arched her back, her muffled cries filling the night air.

“Hold still,” he groused. “I ain’t gonna kill you. I’m not even gonna hurt you, unless your squirmin’ puts you in the way of my knife.”

Knife? Penelope stilled.

“That’s better.”

Something tugged at the fabric binding her wrists, then all at once, the tie snapped. Her arms fell to her sides, and her shoulders throbbed in relief. She grabbed for the gag and yanked it down over her chin.

“Please, Mr. Hunt. This is a mistake. I was only trying to help Mildred with her alterations so Madame’s dress would fit properly. I want nothing to do with the stage. Madame misunderstood.”

“Don’t matter,” he said as he drew her to her feet. “I have my instructions.”

“But this is wrong. Don’t you see?”

Apparently not, for he wrapped a length of rope around her midsection, dragged her over to an oak tree, and secured her against the trunk, trapping her arms inside the multiple coils.

“Please.” Her voice cracked. “You can’t leave me defenseless like this. I’ll die.”

He ducked his head. From a twinge of conscience? Penelope’s chest ached with hope.

“You don’t have to take me back,” she bargained. “You can leave me out here in the middle of nowhere, just don’t tether me to the tree. I’ll stay away from Granbury. From the troupe. Madame will be rid of me just as she wishes, but you won’t have a young girl’s blood on your hands. She’ll never know.”

He stepped back but didn’t walk away. His chin slowly lifted, and his eyes met hers.

“Please, Mr. Hunt. I know you’re not a cruel man. You’re just trying to make the woman you love happy. But sometimes Madame says things when she’s in a temper that she regrets later.”

His gaze softened just a tad. Uncertainty drew lines in his forehead.

“If I die out here,” Penelope pressed, “Madame’s soul will carry the same stain of guilt as yours. But you can protect her from that. All you have to do is untie me. Then my survival will rest on my own shoulders. Please.”

He hesitated for a long moment, then shook his head. “I can’t. She’ll ask me about you, and she’ll know if I lie.”

Penelope closed her eyes and slumped against the tree, the rough bark scratching her exposed shoulder blades. So this was it. She was to die alone in the middle of nowhere. Horrifying options flashed through her mind. Starvation. Wolves. A random lightning strike.

Lord, if I get a vote, I’ll take the lightning.

Something hard pushed up into her right palm. Penelope’s eyes flew open. Mr. Hunt said nothing, but he held his knife in place until her fingers wrapped firmly around the hilt. His eyes met hers for a moment, an apology written in their depths. Then before she could fully process what had happened, he strode to his horse and rode off into the night.

“Thank you,” she whispered in his wake. How odd to feel gratitude toward the man who had abducted her and left her tied to a tree. Yet his smidgeon of pity might just save her life.

No, the knife is in my hand because of you, Lord. You softened Hunt’s heart at the last hour. You are the one who deserves my gratitude.

Now she just had to find a way to use what she’d been given. With the uncomfortable angle of her hand and her paranoia about dropping the blade, progress was painfully slow. The night air continued growing cooler, numbing her fingers and besetting her with shivers that made it increasingly difficult to grip the knife. Praying for stamina, she kept scratching at the rope despite the ache in her arms and the chattering of her teeth.

Her sawing slowed as energy drained from her body. Too . . . cold. Too . . . tired. Too . . . discouraged.

“Don’t g-give up.” The words were no more than a rasp, but hearing them aloud pushed the darkness back enough for her to catch a breath.

“This isn’t the f-first time y-you’ve been ab-bandoned.” Her strokes strengthened along with her voice. “G-God saved you that s-snowy night when y-your mother abandoned you on the s-school’s doorstep. You d-didn’t freeze t-to death then. He w-won’t let you f-freeze n-now.”