Page 12 of The Iron Earl

This was a mistake.

No, not just a mistake—a sweeping error of judgement sure to sink her into the blazes of hell.

“Well, now, Kitty, what be it that ye be running from again?” Mr. Fitzgibbon shifted on the wagon’s bench seat, the bones of his hip jutting into her side.

Evalyn bowed her head, refusing to utter a word as she watched the grey rump of the mule pulling the wagon in front of her.

“Well, never ye mind. A fine lady like ye needs to be taken care of. All will be well once we reach our house. A nice warm fire will open yer mouth.” Mr. Fitzgibbon patted her knee through her skirts, his hand landing on her leg and not moving off.

Evalyn jerked her knee away, not that it did much good. His fingers had clamped onto her leg and weren’t budging.

She knew it the minute she let this tall skinny man—Mr. Fitzgibbon—grab her wrist and haul her up onto the bench at the front of the wagon. The bones in his fingers, the way they slithered around her wrist—it was as though the cold clasp of death had cracked through the frigid ground and come for her.

She should have jumped and run then.

But she’d been too consumed with terror from the camp—consumed with the fear in her bones that demanded she find a way to escape. And they had appeared out of the darkness—Mr. Fitzgibbon and his cousin—and offered her help. Why had she not been immediately suspicious?

So there she found herself, running from Lachlan’s camp and the behemoth that smacked her with all the thought of swatting a pesky fly, only to land herself sitting captive between two strangers. Both Mr. Fitzgibbon and his cousin were tall and thin with pasty skin stretched tight over their cheekbones that glowed in the moonlight. Lewd grins danced about their lips as they ogled the haphazard stitching on the bodice of her dress where she had sliced the fabric open the night before.

Heaven only knew what Mr. Fitzgibbon and his cousin thought to do with her.

The giants that Lachlan traveled with were beginning to look much more attractive, even if they intimidated her at every turn. Even if one of them had struck her.

She closed her eyes, trying to not let the swaying of the wagon bump her into Mr. Fitzgibbon every other second.

She had to be smart about this, this plan for her escape. She still wasn’t far enough from Wolfbridge—far enough away to get lost and never be found.

And she’d probably just foolishly run away from the one man that could get her that far away. No matter the knuckles on her cheek, she’d survived worse. She could again. Again and again and again until she was free.

Whatever it took.

But she had to rein in her instincts. She couldn’t react with fear as she had done at the fire. Fear fed malevolence. Fear excited. Fear made weak men feel like gods. She knew that. Knew that too well.

And she had sworn to never feel fear again. Not once she escaped.

Not that the vow did her any good by the fire.

Instinct had won out. Fear had won out.

Her hands clasped together in her lap, she tried to move her arms inward as much as possible to avoid rubbing shoulders with the lanky men on either side of her. Every modicum of space she achieved was quickly stolen away, the both of them squeezing closer and closer to her on the bench.

She stared at her entwined hands in the moonlight, in disbelief that her escape from her stepfather had fallen apart so quickly. She hadn’t thought it through—none of it—but what choice did she have?

The fear that the behemoth, Colin, had struck into her was nothing compared to the blood freezing in her veins in imagining what Mr. Fitzgibbon had planned for her.

How could she have been so stupid—why had she run?

Her head bowed further, her chin touching her chest as she tried not to smell the rank odor of the men flanking her.

She needed to request to be let off. The sooner the better.

Or jump. Her look veered to the dark shadows along the passing trees. She could always jump and hope for the best. The mule kept up a quick trot, so she would most likely roll, but hopefully not injure herself. But she first had to make it over Mr. Fitzgibbon’s lap.

The thundering of horse hooves striking the ground behind the wagon reached her ears.

A full breath of air finally reached her lungs—thank the heavens, a passerby she could beg assistance from.

Evalyn spun to look behind her.

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