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Authors: T. S. Joyce
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draped his arm around the back of her chair and traced the injury on her neck absently with the tip of his finger. “She’s more beautiful with them,” he said in a somber tone. “I don’t mind the scars.”
“What happened?” Mr. Dawson asked. He was a quiet man, and everyone seemed to sit up a little straighter when he spoke. His bottomless dark eyes had the same catlike slant as Jeremiah’s, and he looked at Kristina like he could see into her soul.
“Men came two months back and tried to burn me.” Kristina was a very brave woman to hold his gaze like that.
Whatever look passed between them, he leaned across the table and squeezed her hand. “Are you the one to thank for saving my son from that scar on his neck?”
Luke flinched. How hadn’t I noticed the mangled flesh that encapsulated the entirety of the front and sides of his throat? I was yet a baby to the dark ways of the world, but I knew a hanging scar when I saw one. Only the worst and most dangerous men were sentenced to hanging. A tiny sliver of fear moved in my gut.
Luke’s brilliant gaze landed on his wife. “I thought she’d burned alive, but she came striding out of the night to shoot that rope from my neck not two seconds after the horse had been smacked out from under me.”
Mr. Dawson leaned back into his chair with a dark arched eyebrow. “She shot it? That’s a mighty big claim to shoot a hanging rope. It’s nearly impossible to do.”
Kristina leaned forward. “You want to see my weapon of choice?”
Jeremiah groaned beside me. “Say no, Da.”
Mr. Dawson’s dark eyes swam with humor and he flicked two fingers at her. “Show us.”
She bounced up and stuck her foot in the chair beside her before pulling the skirts up to her thigh and exposing a lot of skin and a red and black lace garter that holstered a tiny and intricately carved gun.
As I sat there with my mouth hanging open, Mr. Dawson’s laugh was almost as boomingly loud as Jeremiah’s had been and Margery stifled a smile behind her napkin.
“A Derringer and you’re good enough with it to shoot a hanging rope,” Mr. Dawson said. “Luke, I knew it would take a special kind of woman to turn your head.”
“I’m getting good at shooting the pistols, too. I’ve got big plans to teach Lorelei as soon as we get back home.”
Mr. Dawson became serious. “It’s a useful talent to have when you’re the wife of a Dawson.”
What did he mean by that? Would I be shooting people? Maybe they were outlaws. That would explain the hanging and even though Jeremiah assured me he wasn’t a criminal, how could I trust that the man I just met wasn’t a full blown liar? The man I thought I’d known everything about had lied about loving me. From what I was learning the hard way, all men did it to get what they wanted.
What had I got myself into?
Chapter Seven
Jeremiah
The more time I spent with Lorelei, the more I liked her. She was a quiet woman unless she had something important to say. She reminded me of Da, and I respected him more than any other person in the known world. She was well-bred and unsettled by the way our family behaved, but there wasn’t any point in trying to stifle their antics. She’d have to get used to them or not. The choice was up to her. She should be aware of the caliber of family she was marrying into, and though they were the best people I knew, they wouldn’t ever be a highly mannered lot.
Kristina and Ma were whipping up a desert in the kitchen, and my sensitive ears picked up Luke telling Da all about the Hell Hunter’s attack on our home in the drawing room, so I led Lorelei to the front porch. A pair of rocking chairs sat waiting in the cold evening air. Her jacket was too thin for my liking, so I draped mine over her skirts and took the chair beside her.
“What do you think?” I asked. “You still up for this ride?”
She hesitated. “It’s a lot to take in with the hanging and the whoring and the burning and
“What happened?” Mr. Dawson asked. He was a quiet man, and everyone seemed to sit up a little straighter when he spoke. His bottomless dark eyes had the same catlike slant as Jeremiah’s, and he looked at Kristina like he could see into her soul.
“Men came two months back and tried to burn me.” Kristina was a very brave woman to hold his gaze like that.
Whatever look passed between them, he leaned across the table and squeezed her hand. “Are you the one to thank for saving my son from that scar on his neck?”
Luke flinched. How hadn’t I noticed the mangled flesh that encapsulated the entirety of the front and sides of his throat? I was yet a baby to the dark ways of the world, but I knew a hanging scar when I saw one. Only the worst and most dangerous men were sentenced to hanging. A tiny sliver of fear moved in my gut.
Luke’s brilliant gaze landed on his wife. “I thought she’d burned alive, but she came striding out of the night to shoot that rope from my neck not two seconds after the horse had been smacked out from under me.”
Mr. Dawson leaned back into his chair with a dark arched eyebrow. “She shot it? That’s a mighty big claim to shoot a hanging rope. It’s nearly impossible to do.”
Kristina leaned forward. “You want to see my weapon of choice?”
Jeremiah groaned beside me. “Say no, Da.”
Mr. Dawson’s dark eyes swam with humor and he flicked two fingers at her. “Show us.”
She bounced up and stuck her foot in the chair beside her before pulling the skirts up to her thigh and exposing a lot of skin and a red and black lace garter that holstered a tiny and intricately carved gun.
As I sat there with my mouth hanging open, Mr. Dawson’s laugh was almost as boomingly loud as Jeremiah’s had been and Margery stifled a smile behind her napkin.
“A Derringer and you’re good enough with it to shoot a hanging rope,” Mr. Dawson said. “Luke, I knew it would take a special kind of woman to turn your head.”
“I’m getting good at shooting the pistols, too. I’ve got big plans to teach Lorelei as soon as we get back home.”
Mr. Dawson became serious. “It’s a useful talent to have when you’re the wife of a Dawson.”
What did he mean by that? Would I be shooting people? Maybe they were outlaws. That would explain the hanging and even though Jeremiah assured me he wasn’t a criminal, how could I trust that the man I just met wasn’t a full blown liar? The man I thought I’d known everything about had lied about loving me. From what I was learning the hard way, all men did it to get what they wanted.
What had I got myself into?
Chapter Seven
Jeremiah
The more time I spent with Lorelei, the more I liked her. She was a quiet woman unless she had something important to say. She reminded me of Da, and I respected him more than any other person in the known world. She was well-bred and unsettled by the way our family behaved, but there wasn’t any point in trying to stifle their antics. She’d have to get used to them or not. The choice was up to her. She should be aware of the caliber of family she was marrying into, and though they were the best people I knew, they wouldn’t ever be a highly mannered lot.
Kristina and Ma were whipping up a desert in the kitchen, and my sensitive ears picked up Luke telling Da all about the Hell Hunter’s attack on our home in the drawing room, so I led Lorelei to the front porch. A pair of rocking chairs sat waiting in the cold evening air. Her jacket was too thin for my liking, so I draped mine over her skirts and took the chair beside her.
“What do you think?” I asked. “You still up for this ride?”
She hesitated. “It’s a lot to take in with the hanging and the whoring and the burning and
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