Rose’s throat was parched, and her tongue was dry as sandpaper. She licked her lips, but there was barely a drop of an oasis pool inside the desert of her mouth. Instead, she produced a sticky coating she could barely tolerate. She attempted to elevate her upper body with her forearms and realized she couldn’t separate them. Rope dug into her wrists as she tried to pry them loose…and a blazing sharp pain seared across the back of her head. It was clear she was tied. She moved her hands toward the pain and placed her fingers upon a matted portion of hair and dried blood. She hissed and lifted one leg upward to plant her sole on the ground. However, that motion too was impossible. For she was bound at her heels, as well.
It was pitch black. “Hel…hroah…hello? Is anyone there?” The sound of her voice made her cringe in disgust.
“Ah, my cell mate, so glad you’re alive.” The caustic remark, empty of the worded merriment, thudded from her right.
Rose mumbled, “Who are you?”
“Does it matter? We’re both awaiting execution. I’d rather you be first so I have a little more time to live, a little more time to ensure I do.”
Rose shut her eyes and sighed inwardly. “Agnes, are you all right?”
“Just peachy, thank you.”
Rose hoisted herself upright and placed her bound hands in her lap. “We’ve been looking for you.”
“We?” A dulcet tone of hope rang from her lips.
“Dave and I, we’ve been worried.”
“You? Worried? I don’t think so. This was not your idea, was it? You helped because he was worried about me. What does that tell you?”
Rose dug her nails into the tender flesh of her palm. “He’s an honourable man, and he cares about those he calls ‘friend.’”
“Friend…what an interesting term, isn’t it? Have you ever called someone ‘friend’ who you were attracted to but you couldn’t sample more because you were duty-bound to another?”
Rose halted the spiteful words she was about to speak because, inevitably, the question posed was dangerously close to truth. She bit her lip in frustration. Had she painted Lord Faversham in, perhaps, too much of a flirtatious light unconsciously? “You read my letters.” Perhaps, Agnes had done Rose a favour after all. Would Dave have read between the lines and thought her heart was captured elsewhere? Had it been at all?
“And who’s to say that Dave didn’t feel for me what you felt while you were away?”
Was that blood underneath Rose’s finger nails? Agnes was saved from an attack only because Rose couldn’t see an inch in front of her. “Were we right? Is your brother the one who took you?”
“He is.”
“Did you see anyone else? Someone he might be working with?”
“If he does work with someone else, I have not seen them.”
“Where are we?”
“I don’t know for sure, but it smells like the cellar below his saloon, but…”
Rose sniffed. A yeasty stench pervaded. “You’re right, I mean it does smell like beer.”
“Mmm.”
“I suppose you’ve already tried yelling for help.”
Her usually haughty tone stooped to vulnerability. “I did for a good many hours…despite the gag. I was going to say I don’t think we’re under the saloon after all. Someone would’ve heard me. I think he wants me to think that’s where I am.
“I should tell you that on pain of death you won’t yell. He found me trying to yell, and I paid dearly for it. You can’t see it now, but…my back is covered in…in….” She began to sob uncontrollably.
Ashamed of her thoughts of hatred toward Agnes a few moments ago, Rose whispered, “I’m so sorry. He hit you, didn’t he? Not with his hands but with a stick?”
A fresh wave of sobs crashed to her right.
“Your brother is an animal.”
“Why do you even care what he does to me?”
“Despite how I feel about you, I am called to love those around me even though they are my enemies.”
“Doesn’t it apply to him?”
“I…” Could Rose love him though he had taken thirteen lives which were not his to take, nor were they his to beat, to destroy? Perhaps she could learn Agnes’s secret. “How can you?”
“He’s my brother. And..I don’t think it’s all his fault. My ma said he had been touched by the fairies when he was a wee one.”
“Everybody has a choice.”
“Do they? Can ya truly be sure?”
“You’ve got quite the penchant for asking questions in answer of questions. Is there nothing else you know that could help us get justice for all those he’s killed.”
“He keeps trophies.”
“What kind of trophies?”
“I’ve glimpsed it. It’s a box o’ bones. Looked to be about thirteen o’ them.”
“Where does he keep it?”
“Down here with us.”
Finding the evidence without a shred of light would do no good. They needed to escape. “Are there any sharp tools down here we could use to break our ropes?”
“I’ve been down here a week, running my hands over every inch of this place, at least I think I have. There’s nothing.”
Rose’s stomach rumbled as low, grovelling pain spread throughout her stomach.
Agnes commented, “I’m not sure how often he brings me water and food since time has no meaning in this forsaken hole. He brings water around more often then food so be ready to be hungry for days.”
***
Gravel crunches underfoot. Time is of the essence, and stealth a best friend. One more block and the Mountie will know his main suspect and follow up on what has been accomplished.
A stone skittering to the side…not from his boot…a whirl and the catching of a fist. Though it’s a good defence, there are too many coming from all sides, perhaps four? The whoosh of a knife being unsheathed and its blade glinting despite the dark night…
***
Time crawled. Like the tortoise who eventually won the race, so would Time fulfill its due end. Rose moved around to switch positions when her body succumbed to a crick. She and Agnes hardly spoke to each other…at first. But as it seemed that help was a dream away and there was no viable option of escape, Rose’s defences slowly crumbled as she thought to herself how much more pleasant it would be to die peaceably with her fellow prisoner than to die bitter with the last human she would ever talk to. “Why did you stay with your brother for so long?”
“Where would I go? Back home? Nagh! There’s nothing for me there. When Dave came and…” Her answer was interrupted by the prison door opening. A little light…the glow of a dying sun tried to dispel the hold of darkness.
Rose’s eyes shut tight against the weak light. Her lashes fluttered, and her eyes moistened.
A man spit, “Agh, yer awake. Here, Agnes.” He handed her a few sips of water. “Still tryin’ to decide what to do with you. Can’t have you yammerin’ about what I’ve done. And you…” he stalked toward Rose as a predator does toward his prey. “You think you can ruin everything I’ve worked for, don’t you? Think yer so smart?” He offered the cup and held it as she relished the cool water sliding down her throat. A few seconds of bliss turned upside down when he tipped the entire cup of water down her clothes. “Hahaha! You’ll get what’s comin’ to you soon enough just like your man did.”
“Sean, you didn’t! You said…!” Agnes’s expression of sheer murder propelled her bloodcurdling scream, like one of a wounded animal. Her outburst wiped the smirk off Sean’s face. She lunged toward him, teeth bared, and seething a language Rose couldn’t understand.
Rose attempted to gasp for air. The stars swimming in her vision crashed until even the faint light she could see went black until.… “I…What did you do?” She growled.
Sean’s sadistic smile unnerved her to the core as he held up a finger and mimed a slicing motion across his neck. “Here’s something to prove it.” He held up a finger bone. He threw his head back in laughter as he plunked upstairs, and the door was dead bolted.
It wasn’t the water soaking her blouse that made her cold. No, it was the possibility that Dave…that she wouldn’t see that smirk which irked her and made her warm at the same time, that his voice would no more soothe her mind when her heart was in turmoil, that she would not taste his lips again. “He…he can’t be dead.”
“Once Sean lets me loose, I’m going to kill him with my bare hands.”
“I would be able to feel it, no? If he were dead, I’d know…”
“He’s gone too far…” Agnes seethed.
Rose snapped. “He crossed the line a long time ago! Now do you understand why I can’t love my enemy…not after this.” She believed she had no reason to make peace with her inmate, no reason to look forward to living a life. Her life would be taken at the hands of another, and somehow she was at peace knowing that this would probably be her last day. She would join her beloved in death.
Chapter 10
Rose and Agnes didn’t attempt speaking each other again. What seemed like days passed, and Rose waited for Sean to murder her. Instead, Sean provided his prisoners with a morsel of bread each. This time he didn’t speak. His eyes lit up with the fires of hatred as soon as he glimpsed Rose. There was no gloating, no triumph. His shoulders were hunched as though a huge weight had been placed upon him.
As soon as he left and the darkness covered them as a blanket once again, Rose surmised that, perhaps, there was a flicker of hope that Dave had escaped Sean’s clutches. Why else would defeat etch every line of the visible planes of his face? Until she knew for sure, she nurtured the minuscule seed of hope in her bosom. She didn’t utter a word of her suspicion to Agnes, for she didn’t want to share any more of Dave than she had to for now.
Agnes, on the other hand, was eerily silent the entire time. Rose only caught the sounds of her occasional movement and breathing.
When Rose had guessed that about a day had passed after Sean’s previous visit and that there was a glimmer of hope that Dave had survived, she prodded, “Agnes.”
No answer.
“We need to find a way to escape.”
Agnes drawled, “Our feet and hands are bound to the chairs. There’s no way to untie ourselves…”
“That’s not true. We could scoot our chairs back to back. Then, perhaps, we can reach each other’s bonds and untie them.”
Agnes didn’t respond.
“Fine, I’ll do it myself.” A few scoots in, Rose almost tipped her chair backward. A quickened gasp escaped her lips as she retrieved her balance, saving her head and bound fists from a perilous crash. “Aren’t you going to help?” she hissed in Agnes’s general direction.
“Do you think I can with my back full of welts?”
Rose didn’t need Agnes’s help; she only needed her to speak so she could maneuver herself more accurately. She knew she had reached her goal when she crushed her outreaching fingers between the back of her chair and Agnes’s. Searing pain screamed through the tips of fingers. She bit her lip in order to preserve some dignity.
Agnes said without intonation, “You found me.”
Eager to be rid of this horrible position and her irritable cell mate, Rose went to work on finding Agnes’s knot and unraveling it. “If I can untie your hands, can you handle your feet?”
“I suppose.”
“And will you set me free?”
“Do you think I will?”
I’m not playing these mind games.
Rose’s muscles ached as she twisted and strained against her bonds. Would all her efforts be repaid with contempt? There was a good chance Agnes would waltz out of their cell bleak as night and leave her to die. Perhaps, Agnes would convince Dave, if he were alive, that Rose was dead. Would he store the memories of their time together far away to make new ones with Agnes? Would Agnes so cruelly enact such a scheme? Perhaps, she was judging her too harshly. Rose decided to give Agnes the benefit of the doubt and not heed what her imagination all too easily crafted.
Rose rested her hands and rotated them, clenched and unclenched them to return some feeling into her fingers. A slight spasm shuddered through them. She dipped her chin, closed her eyes, and exhaled, trying to still her body’s anticipation and impatience at the near freedom she was close to achieving. She imagined feeling the sunlight’s embrace once again, feeling the touch of wind at the small of her back, and feeling Dave’s stubbled skin on hers.
Opening her eyes to darkness, she was surprised to feel a smile on her face. For a clear, happy vision of her future she could strain a little more to follow freedom’s path. Her fingers reached out and continued their ministrations on Agnes’s bonds. One final tug, the rope fell loose out of reach from her fingers. She could feel the brush of Agnes’s arms moving to the front.
Agnes groaned, “Thanks.”
Shuffling—footsteps fading—a stair step creaking…
Rose cried, “You’re forgetting to untie me.”
Agnes’s chilly tone struck her like a slap across the face. “Am I?”
As she first thought, Roses’s fears of being abandoned had been founded on instinct and not on a jealous streak. “Will you really leave me here to die?”
Without another word, Agnes returned to Rose and worked on loosing the rope tying her hands.
“Thank you,” Rose breathed out. As she began untying the ropes that bound her feet, she heard the cellar steps creak once again and the door groan as Agnes opened it. “Luck is on my side. Sean forgot to deadbolt the door.”
A grin graced Rose’s face. “How wonderful! We’ll…”
“We?”
Rose’s grin fell like a dying star as she realized that she had been caught in yet another trap and that freedom was the deadliest of flirts.
Agnes’s lips seeped poison honey. “I untied you. I owe you nothing else. It’s been fun.”
“Please, wait! Agnes!” Rose’s shout shattered as she heard the dead bolt slide in place, cutting off whatever hope had blossomed into a struggling flower. With hot tears streaming down her face, her neck, she tugged at the rope binding her feet. The last strand fell, and she clambered up the steps as a man in the desert is desperate to reach the oasis ahead knowing full well it is a mirage. She fumbled for the doorknob and pushed against it with all her might. The door didn’t budge. Agnes had sealed her fate: to meet the rage of her executioner, a whirling tempest she would not survive.
He would come again, and she would have to make her only chance of escape count. She put out her hands to feel what useful objects she could find. She started along the wall opposite the staircase. All her hands ran over were barrels upon barrels of beer. The second wall was the same. She could find no tool she could use as a weapon.
She stomped up the stairs, so enraged was she to have trusted that charlatan. She was sorely tempted to ram into the door with her body like a ram goat when…
Squeak!
The creaky step! It was the fourth one from the bottom. She wiggled it up and down, loosening it enough for what she would do next. She moved to crouch behind the stairs and counted to the fourth step, which was to be her salvation. She lay upon the dirt floor underneath the desired step, aimed her flexed boot, and kicked with wild ferocity. Another and another until the snap and splintering of wood rang out with a triumphant shout. She grabbed one of the larger pieces of board and lay in wait for Sean’s return.
The surge in energy she had relished as she had loosed her bonds and as she had claimed her weapon now ebbed and faded with the receding tide of energy spent giving way to fatigue. She was in danger of succumbing to the sweet bidding of rest and the shortcomings of her own weakness and pain. She would not give in, not give in, not give in…
She startled awake as the slide of the deadbolt clanged dully. Startled, she readied her position as quietly as she could and determined she wouldn’t fail to leave her prison alive. As each of Sean’s forbidding steps shook terror into her poised body, one of her eyelids had trouble opening. A lash out of place, another chance at failure. She grabbed her upper lid and pulled it over her lower lid just as Sean’s lumbering steps sped down the remaining stair boards and…
“Agh! What in tarnation!” Sean’s leg had fallen through the opening where the missing step had been. The small amount of light filtering through the open cellar door enabled her to see Sean’s misstep and his efforts to hoist himself out of the hole.
Once he removed his foot and reached the cellar floor, she hefted her board in both hands and sneaked out of the shadows, lurking behind his hulking form. She gripped the board, her knuckles blanching, and swung it with her eye on the prize.
His angry bellows immediately halted as he slumped to the ground in a heap.
Rose didn’t want to take a chance that he would follow her too readily. So she stood above him raising the board and swung it down unto his head. She rushed up the stairs (thankful she had been kidnapped in her man’s getup instead of her skirts). Fear gripped her heart and made it difficult to breathe as she tripped over a step and slammed her left cheek upon the edge of a higher one, her view—Sean had begun to ripple with anger. She could not suffer another imprisonment. She picked up her steps with effective urgency and calmed her breathing so she could escape without another misstep.
She inhaled the fresh night air, the moon embellishing the surrounding forest with its glow. Just as she closed the door, she could hear Sean take his first step on the stairs. She bolted the door and stepped back. As soon as Sean reached the door, it shuddered, the awakened giant intent on breaking it down. Each time, he thundered against it, she took a step back. The monstrous fear of being caught once more goaded her to flee. There was no more time to lose…
She felt the breadth of a man’s chest as his arms wrapped over hers. Trapped! Her chest heaved toward the cellar door away from the present imprisonment enacted by one who must surely be one of Sean’s goons. It served her right for not answering freedom’s calling quickly enough. She should have planned for Sean to have a man lying in wait, just in case.
She truly had lost. Certainly death was all that awaited her now, and all because she had succumbed to her fears for a few moments too long. Perhaps if she hadn’t, she would have had a fighting chance. A broken sound ripped from her throat and its companions, her tears, flowed freely as she sank into the ripped up grass her boots had mussed, her pumping legs too useless to help her now.
Her captor sank down, pressed close, and put his lips to her ears.
She was ready to shut out whatever lewd and wicked things were about to drip from his lips. Yet she stilled when he whispered her name, his voice flecked with light and hope.
She twisted and saw Dave’s bruised face, deep purple sprouting in three different locations. “Dave!” she shrieked as she launched herself into his arms, causing his head to land against the dewy grass.
“Ow!” He touched the side of his ribs, trying to evade any more pressure from her body.
Her still flowing tears couldn’t upstage the pure smile lighting her face. “How are you here? I was so scared. Sean said…”
“Rose, could you get off please?”
“Of course!” she moved gingerly in accordance to how much pain flashed across his face. “I’m so sorry. What happened?” she sniffled.
“Give me your hand and hold your ground,” Dave ordered.
She did as he asked. He groaned as he heaved himself up.
He panted, “Not here, I think that door will hold until the Mountie arrives, but I don’t want to take any chances. Let’s go.” He led the way to the front of the property. Although Sean’s beer was stored in a cellar, the cellar wasn’t found under the Omineca Saloon nor in the heart of the city but on a property outside of it where no one could have been suspicious.
A horse stood waiting loosely tied to a hitching post. Dave led her over and gave her a mounting stance. Rose placed her foot in his waiting hands and vaulted into her seat. Then she wrapped her left forearm around his and aided him in mounting behind her. He groaned hoarsely as he went up.
Rose snapped up the reins as she felt Dave’s heat surround her back and bade the horse move at a quick pace.
Dave murmured directions in her ear, his hot breath soothing in the chill night air. As soon as they reached the outer skirts of Victoria, Rose had no difficulty finding her way to the Tudor hotel. “I suppose the Mountie is meeting us here.”
“Mmm,” Dave answered, as he breathed hard and disengaged from the saddle.
Rose helped steady him up the stairs. They passed Spurt who also sported a black eye. Once they reached the room, Rose unwrapped his arm from her shoulders and gently laid him down on the bed. Then she dipped a washcloth into their basin, wrung the water out, and began wiping dried blood from his lip and cheek. “What happened to you?” she asked.
“About five days ago, when I left this room to send that telegram to the Mountie, four men jumped me. Before I managed to come out of it alive, one of them got in a few strategic punches to my ribs. That’s why any pressure in that area is too intense, and riding…overwhelming.”
“How did you know where to find me? And why is the Mountie only coming now instead of days ago?”
“I sent him a telegram the day after I was beaten up saying we knew Sean was the killer and that he had taken you. But without evidence, he wasn’t going to hurry over.”
Rose’s brows arched in indignation.
“Yeah, he’s…well, I’ll be writing a letter to the RCMP detailing his poor oversight.
“One of Sean’s men finally broke and told me about the property outside the city. That’s how I was sure you were there.”
Rose began to cry. “I thought for sure I was going to die in that cellar and that I would never be able to see you again. The thought alone was almost unbearable. But hope that you were still alive was the one incentive that kept me going.”
Dave grinned that maddening smile that made Rose’s stomach flutter every time. “How did you get out? You stole the glory of being a hero from me.”
Rose informed him of how she was made a prisoner with Agnes, and how they helped each other escape. Instead of telling him that Agnes had left her to die, she crafted the story that Agnes had fled into the woods before he arrived. She didn’t want Dave to choose between believing that Agnes was good or that Rose’s true version of the escape was truth. There was no sense in dragging Agnes’s name through the mud…just yet.
Rose smirked. “Thank you for coming to save me even though I did it myself.”
“Anything to remind you of how charming I am and how much you’re in love with me,” Dave retorted.
“Well with that daily goal, I can assure you we’ll live long and happy lives together.”
He raised his fingers to brush her cheeks. He breathed, “Together.”
She slowly bent toward him and brushed her lips against his. It was difficult to restrain herself from sinking onto his chest as she would upon a down pillow, moulding her body into his. His arms clamped onto her shoulders and ached to bring her closer. But the jagged pain which laced through his upper abdomen every moment he forgot was a good reminder of what would come one day, without restraint, without hesitation.
A knock sounded upon the door. Rose separated from Dave and asked, “Who’s there?”
“I have come to arrest a Sean McVee.”
She opened the door to find the Mountie ready to arrest his man. He stepped in and faltered in his assuredness when he spied Dave on the bed.
Dave said, “Not only Sean but also his pack of goons. They’re waiting for you at the jail. Sean is…”
Rose interrupted, “I’ll take you to him. He’s at a property on the outskirts of the city. Dave isn’t in any condition to ride.”
The Mountie cleared his throat and hummed, “Well, perhaps, someone else…”
“Why someone else?”
“Well, you’re a woman.”
“A woman! No one else knows where he is. Would you really risk his escape just because you are uncomfortable for a woman to lead the charge? Poppycock! I am praying the prison of his own making was good enough to hold him unbound.”
The Mountie opened his arm in acquiescence. “Please, lead the way.”
Rose’s jaw muscle feathered as she quickly saddled up her horse and mounted. She blew through her nose and worked to calm the rising storm of her wounded pride.
I will forgive and let go. Just let go.
Their ride was exacted in silence. Once they reached the house and cellar, Rose dismounted and strode toward the prison. Only silence greeted her ears. Had Sean escaped? There was no damage to the cellar door nor the bar.
The Mountie surveyed the door and shrugged his shoulders. He hefted the bar to the side. As he opened the door, the Mountie was barrelled down by Sean who was larger and more angry than the lawman. Rose’s mouth gaped in horror as the shackles of justice were slipping from its target. She searched for the Mountie’s gun and found it nestled in its holster, in full reach of Sean if he fully realized his opportunity to take his opponent down with the weapon.
The men scuffled for a few seconds longer, Sean seeming to have the upper hand. However, the Mountie took advantage of an opening and swung his fist into Sean’s temple. That single blow rendered Sean immobile long enough for Rose to lunge toward the ground and grab the gun of its holster. She scooted backwards raising the gun toward Sean’s head.
Sean was about to level another swing when Rose shouted, “Don’t move!”
His eyes glowered, flames of hate emblazoning his pupils. So afraid was she of his barrelling into her despite the gun aimed at his head that she decided to take the shot anyway (she would aim for the leg). She flicked her index finger forward before resting it upon the trigger that she was to pull in three, two…
Her determination to live and to execute justice—these truths burning bright in her eyes—was all the incentive Sean needed to raise his hands in surrender.
He raised himself and swung his left leg over the surprised Mountie. Rose quickly handed over the gun to the Mountie.
The Mountie ordered his prisoner to mount the horse (Rose tightly held the reins) and tied his hands. Rose passed the reins of Sean’s horse to the Mountie once the Mountie was ready to ride.
Rose turned toward the house on the property and felt a tug toward its walls. “Take the two horses. Please return for me when you’re finished with him.”
The Mountie hesitantly nodded before goading his horse into a full gallop, the other horse carrying his prisoner keeping pace.
Once the thundering hoofbeats faded from her hearing, she exhaled deeply and gave the house her full attention. She was curious to fish out what lay hidden.
The front door was hanging askew. She moved it aside and ducked into the entrance. Each room was bare of furniture. The paint on the mouldings was flaking off like a snake shedding its skin. The wood floors were scuffed in some places to the point that the colour it once wore proudly had faded to a sickly vomit hue. Most rooms had corners littered with animal droppings. Even the smell of the house reeked of disuse and decay.
How did this come to be?
After a quick tour of the downstairs, she tested the first stair step. It groaned but held firm. So she ascended, slightly anxious that a step would give way and she would injure her ankle. She peeked into each room, noting the dust bunnies congregating, stragglers slowly making their way to the colonies.
She wondered if she were crazy, if her clouded judgment of Agnes was driving her to find an irrevocable fault. Rose almost didn’t care if she could find proof that Agnes was behind the murders, the mastermind behind Sean’s violence. Instead, she just wanted to validate her suspicions. And if she found nothing, she would be the fool for heeding her weakness of jealousy.
Just as she was ready to relent to admitting defeat, white fragments on the floor caught her eye as she rounded a door. A chill wrapped around her form as her relief for being wrong vanished. She stepped inside and shivered as she found finger bones spelling out the letters ROSE. A little notecard lay below her name. On it was written, “I know your fate.”
She was unnerved that Agnes knew how she would die, something so personal that only God Almighty should know. It was something she could never know herself and yet…
She pondered whether Agnes had engaged in this elaborate scheme to introduce a red herring out of spite. Yet how could Agnes know about the bones found at every murder scene unless she had been there all along? In all of Rose’s previous face to face encounters with Agnes, Agnes’s spite cut most efficiently with the dagger of truth.
How did Agnes exact the murders and the beatings? Why? Rose combed over every single conversation with Agnes, Sean, Claire…
Claire—she had glanced away when she had spoken of the beatings Agnes had received, glanced toward…her closet. There had been a box buried under clothing, but one clue had peeked out…a brush tinged with a blue hue. And the last time Rose had seen her, Claire had fingered a chain from which hung…
Rose’s jaw went slack as she grasped the encompassing deception upon which the whole scheme had hinged upon. She picked up one of the bones and studied it against her faint memory of Claire’s pendant. What had Agnes promised Claire that Claire would paint the impression of beatings on both their faces? Then Rose remembered the way Claire’s and Sean’s eyes would meet. Had she been promised a happily ever after?
Sean—Rose recalled the tone of Sean’s voice as he had spoken to Agnes when he had visited them in the cellar, how the edge of his voice was sanded down by care for his sister. Rose hadn’t comprehended this detail during her imprisonment; for her mind had plunged to frightening depths despite thrashing against the current of fear’s pull. It was easy to guess what Agnes had promised him, gold and the woman he loved.
And the three women that had been kidnapped? They were not missed and hadn’t come into any sum of substantial money. How could Sean and Agnes profited from them unless…they did exactly that. They could only profit from them if they had sold the women. Sold them as brides, slaves, prostitutes?
It was obvious that family loyalty wasn’t important to Agnes. Sean was her pawn all along. If he fell in the hands of the law, Agnes would surely find another partner that would succumb to her charm and beauty.
Oh, what a clever opponent Agnes had been! Propping herself as a victim, the perfect disguise yet leaving enough clues for Rose to discover the sham. Did Agnes truly practice witchcraft? Or had she fabricated her abilities to install fear into her co-conspirators?
Rose sank to the floor and stared at the grim scene. Studying the ridges and protrusions of each finger bone, she was no longer concerned whether Agnes really knew her fate or not. Instead, she swam in a sea of unanswerable questions. Would she and Dave grow old together? There was no doubt that she would forever love him. There was nothing and no one, not even her worst self, that she would allow to separate them . The vows she would recite on her wedding day would be the utmost ones she would ever give in her life.
Overtaken by a foreboding sense of her mortality, she fervently prayed in that moment that death would not take either of them separately.
She didn’t register at what time of day the Mountie’s horses hoofbeats broke the silence. Sitting in front of her name written in bones and smiling at the strange sense of peace which blanketed her, she rose from the floorboards and deserted the house that had welcomed her as a guest. She wondered if she’d ever cross Agnes McVee again. And if she did, Rose would be ready to serve Agnes the justice she deserved.