WM02 - Texas Princess (11 page)

The sound of horses drew her to the window. She fought to open it as her father’s lean form stepped into a carriage. The rain splashed against her face as she heard her father’s quick shout. “Tel Liberty to take her time. I don’t want her fol owing too closely. If we run into trouble, I want to know she’s wel behind with you and your men.”

Before she could push her way onto the tiny balcony, he was gone and her cry sounded like that of a wounded animal carried on the wind.

She changed quickly into her riding clothes, a simple white blouse, tan trousers, and a cotton jacket, braiding her hair as she moved.

Gasping for air, she crossed to the far wal . A panel slid al owing her into a storage room for her clothes. Without light, she crossed to the opposite door and slipped into a hal way used by servants.

She had to hide. It was her only choice. If the hour grew late, her father might think to send someone to look for her, but she couldn’t bet her life on it. She had nowhere to run and no one to run to. Her plan was simple. Samuel could turn the house upside down, but he wouldn’t nd her.

Eventual y, Samuel would start searching for her between the house and town. When he did, she’d make her move. She’d run to the barn and beg Tobin McMurray to saddle her a horse. Then she’d ride as fast and as far from this house and town, and the captain, as she could.

Liberty hurt too much to think the plan through much further. She’d get somewhere safe and notify her father. He’d probably come for her and they’d be on their way back to Washington. Perhaps after he’d horsewhipped Samuel.

Liberty straightened slowly like a tired, battered soldier ignoring al pain. She was an expert at hiding. This was her home. She knew a place where the captain would never think to look.

Her life depended on it.

chapter 9

Y

half an hour earlier, Tobin watched the last

rays of sun disappear as the lights came on in the house. He wished he were home. A thousand times he’d ridden in after dark and knew as soon as he saw the lights which of his siblings were home. Sage lit her lamp as soon as the shadows grew long. She hated the dark. Teagen always washed up in the mud room and left the light burning if he made it home rst. On the rare occasions Travis was home, the study light would be on. If Travis’s little wife, Rainey, was with him, every light in the house would be burning because their adopted son everyone cal ed Duck would be running from room to room.

Smiling, Tobin thought of those rst few months Travis had Duck. The boy had been taken by outlaws, probably during a raid. Travis had saved him, but odds were good the boy had seen his parents die. At about ve, Duck might not talk, but the child bonded, rst with Travis and then with al the McMurrays. Within a month Martha swore he was so ornery, he had to have McMurray blood in him. Duck was wild as a raccoon trapped indoors, but they al loved him.

Rainey suggested once that he circled the house checking on everyone just to make sure no one had been taken.

Tobin closed his eyes. He could almost see Whispering Mountain. Home rested thick in his thoughts.

A few minutes later, two men walked from the house. Both were big and wore their guns visible. One was dressed in black, almost like a gambler and the other wore buckskins like a second skin. Tobin took one look and knew they were rangers.

They both nodded as they entered the barn. “You Tobin McMurray?” the one in buckskin asked as he passed.

Tobin touched his hat in greeting. “I am.”

“Other than size, I wouldn’t have taken you for a Mc-Murray.” Eyes that looked like they’d seen a hundred more years than the man had lived stared at Tobin with half caution, half curiosity. “Name’s Wes. I rode with your brother last year ghting the raiders along the border. Your brother and you look different.”

Tobin knew what the ranger meant. His brother Travis was the only one in the family who favored their mother’s Apache blood. Tobin straightened, preparing to defend his family if need be.

“Yeah.” The other ranger laughed as he bumped his way between them and reached for a mug on the bench beside the coffeepot. “He’s good looking and Travis is uglier than a coyote.”

The man in buckskin agreed. “And meaner than a rattler even al dressed up in his fancy lawyer clothes.” He pointed with his head toward the man in black. “This fancy dude is Dakota. Don’t let his store-bought clothes fool you; he can ght with the best of them.”

Tobin relaxed, knowing the men liked and respected his brother or they wouldn’t be teasing. While he shook hands, Tobin thought for the hundredth time about how much fun it would be to serve with the rangers. They might look ragtag, but they were a brotherhood to rival knights of old. But he didn’t know if he could stand being away from his land for a year or more, and he’d had his l of gunplay when he’d been a kid.

“Give us a hand, McMurray?” Wes asked. “We need to saddle our two horses and hitch one of the carriages.”

Tobin joined them, guessing they trusted him because they knew his brother.

Dakota explained as they worked. “We’re taking the senator to town ahead of his daughter and her maid. He’s had more death threats. One came ying through his ofce window in town. Wes and I wil ride with him and stand guard at the hotel.

There’s a young ranger already checking out the road to town to make sure it’s clear.

The captain and his men wil close up the house and fol ow with Miss Liberty in the second carriage.”

Wes added, “Word is, the senator wil be leaving for Washington the minute the wedding is over.” He downed the hot coffee al at once, then added, “Makes more sense to me to take both of them in the same carriage, but the senator insisted. The captain claims he’l be responsible for the girl and she’l need a while to pack. Says he wants the perimeter secure before he brings her in, whatever the hel that means.”

Tobin worked beside them. “I’d rather have three rangers guarding me than a dozen of Buchanan’s army.”

The man in black laughed. “My sentiments exactly. Captain Buchanan just wants to be in charge. He’s real protective of both the old man and his bride-to-be. Whenever he wants his way with the old man, he tosses in a few sentences about Miss Liberty’s safety and the senator gives in.”

Wes bit off a chew of tobacco as he watched the other two men nish the work. “You ask me, Senator Mayeld is as tough as they come. He don’t look like a man who listens to anyone else’s counsel or who frightens easily.”

Tobin had to agree.

He drove the carriage to the front and hopped down when two of the senator’s house staff took the driver’s seat. Tobin watched from the shadows as Captain Buchanan and Mayeld walked out.

Mayeld climbed into the carriage, and the two rangers anking the carriage mounted up.

Then Mayeld opened the carriage door and yel ed back to the captain, leaving one last order. “Tel Liberty to take her time. I don’t want her fol owing too closely. If we run into trouble, I want to know she’s wel behind with you and your men.”

“I’l see you in town,” Buchanan said with a cursory wave, but his words were almost drowned out by the clatter of the horses as the carriage set off.

The horses pul ed away from the house and were at a ful run by the time they reached the line of trees marking the way to town. Two of the captain’s guards fol owed. The rest of the troops remained, probably planning to ride in with the second carriage.

Tobin watched the senator’s carriage disappear and knew his time here was almost over. In a few minutes the second carriage would be pul ed up and Liberty would be gone.

Without thinking of why, he saddled his horse and rol ed up his bedrol . He didn’t want to be here after she left. He might as wel ride in with the guards surrounding her. Once he knew she was safe in town, he’d turn toward home and make a few miles before midnight. Tobin couldn’t help but hope that he’d get to see Liberty again, maybe even talk to her, but with the captain near it wouldn’t be easy.

Once saddled, he walked to the front and waited. The carriage was ready in the barn, but no one had ordered it pul ed to the front. She must be taking a long time to pack.

Time passed and Tobin thought the faraway thunder sounded like gunre. The house remained quiet as a tomb.

Though she’d never said a word, he had the feeling Liberty wasn’t sure about marrying Captain Buchanan. Maybe she was stal ing upstairs, trying to make up her mind.

Minutes ticked by and a soft rain began to fal . Tobin leaned against the side of the house and waited. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Miss Liberty, but if he had the chance, he’d kiss her again.

He heard a horse coming toward the house at ful gal op. Tobin pushed away from the house and walked a few feet into the rain. Dermot joined him, listening.

“You hear that?” the Irishman whispered.

Tobin reached for his gun.

A lone horse cleared the blackness and the rain, fty feet from the porch. The rider was uniformed and leaning low trying to stay on the animal.

Dermot grabbed the horse and pul ed him to a stop. Tobin caught the soldier as other troops came running.

He passed the bleeding man off to his friends and heard the soldier say, “The senator was ambushed.”

As one soldier ran to get the captain, the others asked questions in rapid re as they worked to help their comrade. “Was the senator hurt? Did they return re?”

The wounded man mumbled a few words Tobin couldn’t make out, then slumped.

Tobin didn’t have to lean closer to see the wounded man; he could read al he needed to know on the soldiers’ faces. Their comrade was dead.

Buchanan ran from the house shouting orders. He wanted half the men ready to ride immediately and the other half on ful guard of the house.

Tobin stood as al around him took action. He wanted to rush to the senator’s aid, but al he could hear in his head was Mayeld’s voice asking for a favor if trouble came.

Rushing toward his horse, Tobin was joined by Dermot.

“You know what he asked me?” Tobin said when they were out of earshot of the others.

“I know.” Dermot’s voice seemed to have aged. “If I thought I could make the journey, I’d take her meself and I told hisself that.”

“It’s real y necessary then?”

“I would say so.”

“I would say so.”

“Who can I trust?”

“No one except Anna and me. No one,” he repeated.

Tobin nodded. “I’l saddle her a horse.”

The old man shook his head. “I’l saddle the horse. Anna wil get what ye’l need from the kitchen. Pack yer things and then nd Miss Liberty.”

“Find her? Isn’t she in the house?”

Dermot nodded. “She is, but she’s hiding. Ye have to nd her fast. Before we knew the senator was in danger, I was running to tel you that Miss Liberty needed you. Now you got to fol ow hisself’s orders and get her out of here.”

Tobin glanced back at the house.

“Why didn’t the senator take her with him?”

Dermot shook his head. “Where hisself is going wil be no safer than here, lad.”

Tobin began to run. “I have to get her out. Have the horses ready.”

“Ye have to nd her rst,” Dermot cal ed after him. “And fast.”

chapter 10

Y

Tobin reached the porch of the main house at

a ful run. When he barged through the kitchen door, he was surprised to nd only Anna, the cook. She glanced up with fear in her round eyes, then relaxed when she recognized Tobin.

“Where is everyone?” he asked, al owing no time for smal talk.

“Max and Andy were with the senator’s carriage. Buchanan is with his men, but he told Joy and Stel a to search for Liberty and have her ready to leave.” Anna continued stufng supplies in a our bag. “But they won’t nd the little princess. Not now.”

Tobin walked closer and lowered his voice. “You know where she is, don’t you?”

“I’ve always known where she runs when she’s been frightened.”

“I’m not going to hurt her, Anna, but I need to get her out of here fast. Wil you trust me?”

The old cook stared at him a moment with crystal-clear gray eyes, then nodded as if she’d found what she’d been looking for. “I’ve been traveling here with the family since before she lost her momma. When she used to hide as a child I’d bring her food and water, but I’d never tel anyone, not even the senator, where she was.”

Tobin knew he was asking a great deal. “Wil you tel me?”

“You’l get her far away from here? Away from this trouble? Away from that captain? I don’t know what he did, but if she’s hiding, it’s bad.”

“I swear. I’l keep her safe.”

She looked at the back stairs. “Climb al three ights, then open a door just to the left when you step out onto the third oor. It’s almost invisible, no more than a panel, but it’l get you to the attic.”

He took a few steps to the slim stairway.

“Make sure no one sees you. I told the maids she always hides in the study or front parlor. They’re both in there, but not for long.” She patted his shoulder. “When you open the panel you’l see more steps, but there is no light in the passage. You’l have to close the opening and make your way up in the dark. If you leave it open even a sliver, someone may see it.”

Tobin nodded, silently promising.

Anna continued, “She’s behind a dresser along the north wal . You’l swear there is no room, but she’s there. I’d bet every dime I have on it.”

Tobin took the stairs two at a time. On the third oor he quickly found the panel door and climbed up to the attic.

The cluttered room was dark except for thin beams of watery moonlight coming in through slotted shutters. For a moment he thought he was looking at slices of a room with every other piece missing.

Slowly he moved among the trunks and forgotten toys, a graveyard of outgrown treasures from a little girl who had everything. A three-foot dol house, a rocking horse, a crib with yel owed lace.

“Libby,” he whispered as he moved toward the far wal . “Libby, it’s me.”

The dresser was no more than a shadow, but Anna had been right—it was huge.