I’d never been as frantic in my life as I was now. I leaped into the saddle and kicked my horse into a gallop before I was even fully seated, leaning low over his withers, spurring him on.
It was easy enough to follow the hoof prints, even at full gallop; whoever had taken Elise clearly hadn’t bothered to try to cover his tracks. Had he been that confident he wouldn’t be followed? Now that we had left Bridgewater far behind, it didn’t look like he was going very fast, either. Neither Roscoe nor I were very good at tracking, but we both knew enough to know that the prints we were following hadn’t been left by a hurrying horse. After an initial burst of speed when Elise had first been taken, they were now walking along sedately, as though they had all the time in the world. Which was good for us, I told myself. That would give us a bit of time to catch them up.
Neither of us spoke, we just rode, as fast as our steeds could carry us. Every mile we galloped from Bridgewater was one mile closer to our bride, but how many miles did we have yet to go? It was impossible to tell. I tried to do a quick calculation in my head… how long did it take a horse to walk a mile, and how many hours had she been gone? But my brain was too numb to figure it out. Too much had happened and I couldn’t think clearly. All I could do was ride. We had to find her!
Our horses started to labor so we eased back to a steady lope to rest them a bit but still, we were silent. The only sound the rasping of our mounts breath, the steady drum of their hooves on the dusty ground.
If we found Elise… when we found her, I corrected myself hastily, what was she going to think when we told her that the men she was married to now had nothing? That we would both have to rebuild, virtually from scratch? Would she still want us?
14
ELISE
When I woke up again much later, the sun was high in the sky and I couldn’t move. My shoulders burned from my arms being pulled so tight behind me, my wrists tied together behind the thick tree truck. The rough bark jammed against my back, scratching me. The uneven ground was hard beneath my bottom and thighs, littered with sticks and stones that poked into me. The tree shaded me for now, but I knew that soon, the sun would move and the full force of its scorching rays would beat down on me.
I licked my dry lips, my tongue as parched as the dry grass around me. There was a strange taste in my mouth. The bitterness that lingered from the ether mixed with trail dust, I thought. A canteen sat just out of reach, leaning against a saddle, torturing me, for even if I could grab it in my feet and bring it to me, I couldn’t drink from it with my hands tied behind the tree. I tugged against my binds but they held fast, the rope digging into my wrists when I pulled. I winced at the burning pain. Two hobbled horses grazed a few feet away. My captor was nowhere to be seen.
I slumped back against the tree as unconsciousness claimed me again just briefly, but I fought against the darkness threatening to overwhelm me. I had to think! I had to get away! Nothing in my genteel upbringing had prepared me for having to escape from a kidnapper, and a sense of hopeless doom filled me. I wasn’t gagged. Was that because we were so far away from Bridgewater that my captor was confident we wouldn’t be caught? And so far away from any form of civilization that he knew I would not be heard if I screamed? Or was it simply an oversight on his part? That last thought gave me hope. If my kidnapper was incompetent, it meant I might be able to escape. I tugged at the rope binding my wrists again, but it held fast. I stretched my fingers as far as they could go, hoping against hope that I would be able to reach the knots, but the rope was too tight for me to get any leverage. My hopes quickly drained away as pain shot up my arms from the pressure of the rope and the unnatural strain on my shoulders. This wasn’t going to work. I would have to think of something else.
“Ah! You’re awake.” My captors’ voice startled me out of my planning and I looked up to face him. An ugly scar ran the length of his left cheek and a hat shaded his face. He wore two guns, one low on each hip, and what looked to be a knife tucked into his boot. He was big – taller and broader than Shane and Roscoe, and he towered over me, casting a shadow over my legs and feet.
“Water,” I croaked, dust clogging my throat, making me cough. He bent down, picked up the canteen, squatted in front of me, held the rim of the bottle to my chapped lips. The sweet, cold liquid trickled down my throat, making me feel alive again. So he was a gentleman kidnapper, then. He wasn’t going to let me die of thirst.
He stood up to his full height and smiled down at me showing missing, tobacco-stained teeth. It wasn’t a nice smile. There was no kindness or reassurance in his eyes. Instead, there was evil. Glee. A sick kind of triumph. He had me right where he wanted me – completely at his mercy. I bit back my fear. There had to be a way out of this situation, I just had to find it.
I remembered the gold coins I had secreted away in
