It was hard to believe all the events that had taken place in the past twenty-four hours – burying her adopted mother, and with that, the relief of the many constant duties that had filled her days and nights. The funeral had been taxing, and the sordid proposition that followed in the study had been unbelievable. Evil. Killing Hiram Nielson had not been Allie's intent. She'd only wanted to get away from him.
What would she have done? Run…where? If he'd only lost his balance momentarily, he would have followed her by only a few steps. Right now, he'd be riding behind her, if she'd even been able to make it to the stables and get a horse before he caught her. No one could have stopped him.
No one would have stopped him.
No one but her. She'd done it alone. And instead of feeling guilty, she began to take a kind of pride in herself that she'd never had before. She had taken control of her own life. Finally.
Her destiny and her dreams were her own, to see to a fruitful end. Never before had she felt that kind of power. But with power also came responsibility for herself that she'd never had.
Before she even knew it was a conscious thought, she found herself riding eastward, toward the badlands of Indian Territory. Toward the orphanage she'd called 'home' before being adopted. No, she would not go back to the orphanage – she couldn't. There was no help to be found there, and the one person she'd been close to had left years before.
She thought of Brandon Gabriel as she rode on toward the end of the harrowing day. Where was he now? What was he doing? Did he ever spare a thought for her?
The last time she'd seen him, she'd taken the blue ribbon from her hair and pressed it into his hand shyly. The look he'd given her had been odd, unreadable. That had been more than four years ago. What had she been thinking, giving a boy a hair ribbon? No wonder he'd looked at her so strangely.
She turned her thoughts from Brandon to her destination. She'd have to pick one. She knew there were some smaller settlements close to the orphanage. She wasn't truly familiar with the area, since the inhabitants of 'The Benevolent Christian Home for Infants and Waifs' weren't ever allowed to go into town.
But that might work to her advantage. No one in those places would know her. And she'd be close to the orphanage in case…in case a certain wild-blooded half-Comanche boy ever came looking for her again.
She knew it was crazy, but somehow, it made a kind of sense. Her heart thundered in time with the horse's hooves. Whatever came, it would be of her own choosing.
She was ready for anything.
Chapter 9
Brandon lay unmoving, Allie's words creating vivid pictures in his mind.
She had been braver than he ever imagined. But she'd been faced with a living nightmare there was no escape from – except the way she'd chosen. The right way. His mangled fingers started to clench, and he quickly forced them to relax. The only way. He took a cautious breath, as far as his cracked ribs would allow.
Everything depended on his reaction, he knew. He couldn't let Allie see how much what she'd told him affected him. It might change everything between them.
"Well?" she whispered hoarsely. "How does it feel to be tucked up in bed with a murderess?" Her voice was light, teasing, but Brandon could not mistake the pain that lurked in the forest pools of her eyes. And the question behind the question: What did he think of her now?
Once more, memories of the young girl he'd known all those years past, filled his thoughts; the changeable, fathomless depths of her eyes; the feel of her small arms around his waist on that summer day; the whip whistling through the air as it cut the material and skin alike at her back. She'd only wanted to protect him then, as she tried to do now.
At first, when he'd felt her cotton dress touch his shredded flesh, he'd almost cried out. But that contact had been nothing compared to the stroke of the blood-soaked whip – the one stroke that had fallen across Allie Taylor's back instead of his own. He'd been beyond shame – a girl, protecting him. A white girl, younger than he…But that brief reprieve had given him the seconds he'd needed to collect his endurance again.
The preacher and the girls' governess, Mrs. Lyle, had both rushed forward and pried Allie's arms from Brandon's waist.
"Now just see what you've done, you wicked girl!" Mrs. Lyle had exclaimed. "Ruined your dress, front and back." She gave Allie a hard shake. "It's beyond repair, and all for a no good half-breed boy!"
Allie's bleeding back had been of no concern.
She'd done the only thing she could to keep them from hurting him, though her own world had been filled with a multitude of unseen wounds. Allie had shown him the only kindness he'd known in that godforsaken 'home' they'd lived in…and he'd never truly been there to return the favor.
Not until now. And still, it seemed, there was nothing he could do.
He let a cavalier grin curve his lips, his fingers tracing idle patterns on her shoulder. His angel. First, his guardian; then, his avenger. Both times, she'd been telling him without a word spoken that she would sacrifice whatever it took for him.
"You saved me the trouble," he murmured. "If you hadn't killed Nielson I would have had to."
"I didn't mean to."