I moved.
Scrabbling at the tree, I hugged the rough bark and hurled myself up, reaching like a crazed, climb-retarded monkey for a branch just out of grabbing distance. I didn’t think I’d make it. I closed my eyes in preparation for a painful fall, but by some miracle, my fingers latched around the bough, clinging harder than ever before.
Go. Go!
I gave myself over to a skill I’d never used but hoped remained dormant in some part of my human evolution. I placed my foot against the bark, pulling upward with my hands. I reached for the next.
And the next.
And the next.
My breath came hard and ragged, my heart an overworking drum.
I used the tree as my own personal stepladder to freedom, climbing higher and higher until I daren’t look down in case I blacked out and tumbled from heaven to hell.
A large thundering came, overshadowing the yips and excited barks of dogs. The leaves around me shuddered as footfalls of a bigger beast came closer.
Had Jethro come with others? Would Daniel be with him? Or even his father?
My skin rippled with hatred. I meant what I’d said. I would find a way to kill them all before this was over. I wouldn’t let them spill any more Weaver blood. It was the Hawks’ turn.
I’ll make them pay.
Turning slowly, cursing my shaking legs and suddenly nervous hands, I faced the forest floor from which I’d climbed. I was at least two and half stories up.
I closed my eyes, swallowing hard.
Don’t fall. Don’t even think about falling.
Faintness existed on my outer vision, teasing me with the awfulness of what could happen. I dug my fingernails into the bark, lowering myself slowly onto the branch. The minute I was sitting, with the roughness of the tree biting into my unprotected behind, I wrapped an arm around the trunk and sat wedged against the wood.
I looked around for weapons, but there were none. No pine cones. No easily snappable branches to stab him with. All I had was the element of disappearing. A naked girl vanishing into the green haze of the forest.
My heart lodged in my throat as the first dog appeared. I didn’t recognise him from the night spent in the kennels. He whirled around and around, sniffing the spot where I’d stood.
Another dog appeared, then another and another, pouring from the woods like ants, growling in delight at the strength of my trail.
Distress gripped my stomach.
Go away, damn you.
Then, he arrived.
Sitting proudly astride a black horse, so big it looked like a beast from the underworld, he cantered into being. His polished boots soaked up the dappling sunlight; a whip with a diamond wedged on the handle glinted menacingly.
He looked in his element.
A gentleman out hunting with his faithful steed and gallant party of dogs. His silvering hair sparkled like tinsel in the sun. His ageless face the epitome of ferocity and winning.
In his late twenties, Jethro wore command like one would wear cologne. His strong jaw, pursed lips, and sculptured brow shouted power—true power. And there was nothing anyone could do about it.
Sitting with his back ramrod straight and hands fisted in the horse’s reins, he was…majestic. It didn’t matter if I hated him or wanted him. That fact would always be true.
Excitement blazed in his eyes as he scanned the undergrowth, a smile teasing his lips.
How long had this farce been going on? An hour? Maybe two? Had he kept his word and given me the full forty-five minutes? Somehow, I doubted it.
“Find her, goddammit,” he snapped, losing his smile and glaring at the dogs.
The canines wove around his horse’s legs, sniffing, darting into bushes only to come back to try all over again.
Jethro spun in his saddle, planting a hand on the rump of his horse, glowering into the dense foliage. “Have you stopped running, Ms. Weaver, or have you somehow managed to trick my companions?” His voice caused the leaves to shiver, almost as if they wished to hide me further.
I held my breath, hoping to God he didn’t look up.
A foxhound with a large black ear barked and took off down the path I would’ve continued on if I hadn’t decided to prolong my freedom by hiding.
Jethro shook his head. “No. She’s around here. Find her.”
The dog licked its muzzle, baying in the direction its wriggling body wanted to go. The rest of the dogs, either brainwashed by their leader or picking up on the scent of rabbit, all joined in the urge to leave.
My heart galloped. Please, let him go.
I might have a chance after all.
The horse pranced—hyped up on the dogs’ energy, wanting to chase after them.
Jethro stayed steadfast, his hand expertly holding the reins so tight the poor beast had no choice but to tread on the spot. His long legs wrapped hard around the animal, sticking glinting silver spurs into its sides. “Wait,” he growled.
The horse huffed, tossing its head, fighting the tight possession of its mouth. It cantered in place, puffing hard through velvet nostrils.
The dogs disobeyed.
Their patience was done and with a loud howl, they took off in a cloud of tan, white, and black.
“Christ’s sake,” Jethro muttered. “Fine.” Digging his heels hard, the horse broke into a gallop, disappearing in a whirl of black through the undergrowth.
Shakes. They attacked me hard and fast the second he’d disappeared.
Hope attacked me second.
Unbelievable hope hijacked my limbs turning me into shivering jelly until I was sure the entire tree vibrated. Did I actually stand a chance at making it to freedom? Could I make it to the boundary and escape their clutches?
I could save all of us—my father, brother, future daughters.
“Life is complicated, Threads. You don’t know the half of it.” My father’s voice popped into my head. Anger filled me. Dreadful, terrible anger toward the man who was supposed to keep me safe. If he knew this would happen, why hadn’t he protected me? I’d always trusted him. Always followed his rule explicitly. To see him as human who made a mistake—many mistakes—hurt.