The Falcon's Prize: A Western Historical Romance by Kelly Jameson

Author:Kelly Jameson [Jameson, Kelly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jameson Writing Solutions, LLC
Published: 2017-04-06T18:30:00+00:00

22

Nell waited alone in the darkness on the high ridge, cold without a fire. She wasn’t sure if a half an hour or an hour or two hours had passed. It was agony, and time seemed to stand still and weigh heavy as the ancient rock around her.

To make things worse, the storm unleashed itself. A lashing rain beat at the rock and Buttercup pranced nervously. Nell had promised Chandler she’d stay on the ridge, but she just couldn’t sit helplessly by any longer while he put himself in danger, danger she may have brought on them all.

She hoisted herself into the saddle and woman and horse began to descend the canyon. The rain made the rock slippery.

Nell stilled Buttercup and waited for a flash of lightning to light her way. When it did, she saw a chaotic scene below her. Two Comanche, swung low on their horses, fired arrows from behind the charging creatures’ necks. And then two men lay dead on the ground, arrows bristling in their torsos. The Comanche rode out of sight as quickly as they had appeared.

Halfway down the incline she smoothed Buttercup’s mane and slid off of her, tying her reins to a nearby tree. “Sorry Buttercup,” she whispered, “but you’ll be safer here.” Buttercup whinnied softly as if she understood what Nell had said but didn’t like it.

Nell loaded her pistols and checked them. She tucked them back into the holsters at her hips and continued to descend, starting and stopping with each fork of lightning. Her right shoulder brushed against the wall of rock and at one point she lost her footing in the loose grit and nearly tumbled down a twenty-foot slope. She regained her balance and kept moving, spying two more men lying dead and bloodied on the canyon floor. She didn’t recognize them and relief flooded her soul.

But where was Chandler?

Soaked to the bone, the rain coming down even harder now, she went over in her mind how to aim and fire the pistol. She remembered the feel of Chandler’s strong body behind her, his warm, masculine voice encouraging her and teaching her, and managed to tamp her fear down and replace it with determination.

Her adrenaline pumping, she continued to scan the darkness. And then in the flickering light of the storm she saw Nacoma, his knife raised. He slashed the throat of a man she clearly recognized.

Edward Abderdeen! Had he come in Roger’s place, or was Roger here somewhere? Edward’s portly body slumped to the canyon floor, his blood seeping into the sand and grass as Nacoma ran, vaulted on to the back of his horse, and raced off.

Further below and off to the right, she finally saw Chandler. He fought with one man hand-to-hand as another folded himself out of the shadows, making it seem as if he’d been born of the ancient, dark red rocks from which he’d stepped. Had Chandler seen him?

She hurried now.

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