Thor turned just in time to see his brother ask how far off the Klansmen were.
“Nearly here,” Al said between panting breaths. “They’s right on our tails. At least a dozen of ’em. I didn’t think we’d make it.”
“They hurt you?” Jorgan asked.
Thor glanced between them.
Al shook his head, but his jaw tightened. It had been less than a year since Al’s pistol-whipping. Since the night he’d smiled at one of the fair-skinned Sorrel girls in passing on the road. Al had been found half alive in a ditch just hours later. Jorgan and Thor had carried him home, and the women had spent three days patching him back up.
“Did you secure the shop?” Jorgan asked.
Nodding, Thor stepped to the door and peered out into the dark. A-V-E-N? Where?
Jorgan shook his head.
Haakon set two shotguns on the kitchen table. Shoving a pile of Aven’s mending aside, he dropped boxes of bullets onto the tablecloth. Though Thor didn’t see it, Haakon must have asked after Ida because Al answered.
“She’s fetchin’ water. I’ll help her.” Al strode out.
Thor ducked into the great room, expecting Aven to be there only to discover it empty. Returning, he hit Jorgan’s arm to get his attention. Thor pointed to the others. They see A-V-E-N?
Jorgan relayed the question, but Cora shook her head, asking who this person was. Thor ran a hand down his face, already out the door. Beneath the night sky, Al and Ida hurried along. Thor rushed out to help them, and hefting up the heaviest bucket, he took it inside.
Where was she?
To his relief, Haakon was starting up the stairs as if having the same thought. Aven had to be in her room. She had to be.
Ida tugged on his sleeve and Thor watched her mouth move in a rush. “She went for a walk. Check to be sure she’s come back.”
Nodding, he started after Haakon, but his brother was already returning. “She’s not here!”
Thor moved toward the open door. When Haakon got there first, Thor grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him back. Eyes wide, Thor signed stay so Haakon would know he meant him no harm. He didn’t want his brother out there. The kid was too impulsive, and if outnumbered, it wouldn’t end well. Jorgan gripped Haakon by the upper arm, bracing him in place.
Jorgan pointed out the doorway, then made the letters for D-O-R-O-T-H-E followed by the shapes of boxes—enough for Thor to know where to look first.
Thor motioned for a shotgun, and Al tossed him one. As Thor stepped into the dark, he hitched it open, double-checked for shot, then slammed the barrel closed. He had to find her. Now. An army of men was coming, and though they had no quarrel with Aven, to them she would be a glimpse of perfection, and that scared him more.
FIVE
Lantern light flickered, stirring the unfamiliar shadows of the small storage shed. Aven sat on the floor in the middle of the snug space where Dorothe’s things were arranged. Rather like diary entries, yet in place of words and dates, there were boxes and parcels, all telling of the woman who had collected them. Lidded boxes were filled with patterns, and burlap sacks contained lace and other trimmings. A jar of blue glass kept beads of every shape and color. The large barrel Aven leaned against held piles of fabrics from calicos to upholstery cloth. All would be handy, but for tonight, she was searching for only embroidery thread.
After lifting the lid off another tin, she found small twists of the colored string. Aven arranged several against the embroidered piece Jorgan had given her, matching first the pale green of the stitched vine, then the ivory of the dainty flower buds. The two twists of thread tangled together so she pulled the tiny scissors from the sewing box and snipped them free.
At approaching footsteps she lifted her head. A thud sounded just on the other side of the door. A moment later it swung open.
Thor ducked around it in such a loud rush that Aven flinched. He beckoned for her to come to him.
“What do you need?” she asked.
His gaze landed on the lantern and he hurried to lower the light.
“Please don’t.” Aven reached to turn it back up, but his hand caught her wrist.
Startled, she pulled free, but he only blocked her reach again. What was going on? He drew nearer. So close that her upheld hand pressed against his chest. She pushed at the firm, solid strength when he knelt, and her rising shriek was cut short when his hand pressed over her mouth.
Her heart jolted so quickly, pain lanced through her chest. This near, the tang of hard cider seeped from his skin. How much had he drank tonight?
Aven pushed at him as hard as she could, but he didn’t budge. After setting a gun across his lap, he lifted a finger to his lips for her silence. He smoothed that same hand against her shoulder, so tenderly her stomach dropped. His face moved nearer to hers, and he peered into her eyes as if willing her to understand his desire.
Dread thickened her throat. Aven grabbed at his hand, but he wouldn’t loosen it. How had she been so foolish to think that she could trust him? Fear taking over, she kicked him. As hard and as high in the thigh as she could manage.
He shoved her foot away, and the offended look he flashed her was just too much. Especially when his next breath blew out the lingering flame.
Darkness blanketed them and instinct had her scrambling back. Her head smacked against the barrel, shooting pain across her skull. Her skin flushed with fight, and she barely remembered the scissors as he dragged her up from the floor. Aven wrapped her hand around the metal tool that was small enough to hide in her palm.
When he pushed them both toward the door, she jerked away. His grip faltered over her mouth. She screamed, but his meaty hand clamped it back as though he’d expected as much. She bit his finger. He yelped.
With a growl, he braced her in front of him, gripping so tight she nearly heaved up her supper. He struggled to fetch his gun, wrestling everything out the door.
When he hefted her out into the night, she kicked her feet, hoping to unsteady him. It was enough when he stumbled, taking her with him. They hit the dirt hard, her back against the gun barrel. His crushing weight on top of her shot the breath from her lungs. A sob choked her of air.
The scissors still in hand, Aven gripped his thick arm as it slid back around her middle. With neither time nor leverage, she thrust the pointed end down as hard and fast as she could.
He jammed his mouth against her shoulder, muffling a howl so fierce, her skin prickled. Tears stung her eyes. He yanked her up and half carried, half dragged her away from the shed.
After a few steps he stumbled, nearly taking them both down again. A warm wetness of what could only be his blood pooled against her bodice. Ahead, the house loomed long and silent in the moonlight. Why was he taking her to the house?
In her side vision came an unnatural glow. One too low and golden to be the moon. It took only a glance to realize the glow was moving. Nay, marching. A steady, eerie bobbing as though from torches gripped by men. Aven’s eyes widened when the flickering light revealed masked men.
Thor rammed her against the door, trapping her with the sheer size of him as he struggled to grip the knob.
In the distance the row of tall, ghostly figures walked into the farmyard. Pointed white cloths cloaked their heads with small holes cut for eyes. Those flanking the sides wore only burlap sacks over their heads with rough-cut slits.
She would have screamed again if it weren’t for Thor clamping it back. He pressed her harder against the door as he struggled with the knob. Fingers slick with blood, he finally pounded the slab with his fist. It opened in a burst and they crashed to the kitchen floor. He pulled her away from the door and kicked it closed.