other pistol on the other intruder, an older man with huge hands. She noticed a light pitting of pox scars covering his face. His eyes grew large staring at the barrel of the gun.
“I assure you, I knew exactly where I aimed. The next is straight at your heart,” she uttered. Her finger laid upon the trigger.
Suddenly, a sharp blow struck her from the side. The musket fell, firing as it hit the floor, hitting the grandfather’s clock. The force dropped her forward to the floor. She sprang back up only to be grabbed from behind. She tried to wrench herself free, but found the grips only tighten.
“Good God,” she breathed out. She turned to face her attacker, Marcus Durham. Dressed as a Minuteman, his hunting shirt, too, wet from the rain. Hadn’t her reason warned her about him?
“I do beg your pardon, Miss Corbett. But we do have need of that,” he said. He nodded toward his companion who picked up the object that he had dropped.
“She shot me!” the man cried in pain. He drew in a harsh breath, swearing through gritted teeth. His hand clenched to the bleeding leg. He began to shiver violently.
Marcus turned to the one behind him, a man of medium height and stocky built. He frowned slightly. “Get him out, quickly. Even through the storm someone might have heard.”
Hannah kept trying to wiggle free. She didn’t know what else to do. He changed his hold with one arm across her chest holding her hands. She cried, “You’re hurting me.”
“To be honest, Hannah,” he whispered in her ear. “I find that I’m quite enjoying myself. Not a bad shot, are you?”
His companion returned, water pouring off his hat. “We need to hurry. I sent the rest on. Harry’s bleeding pretty badly.”
Marcus agreed. Hannah started struggling again. “We have another unexpected guest. Can you find me something to tie her up with?”
“Let me go,” she uttered under her breath.
“I couldn’t do that, Hannah. I would fear for my life if I did,” he mocked as he tried to lead her to a chair. Fighting, he in turn lifted her and placed her roughly down upon the chair.
“I’m merely a girl,” she said, fire raging from her eyes.
“Oh, I think not. Hannah, I do believe you’re capable of doing more damage than any man I know,” he said accepting the rope from his counterpart. Quickly securing the ropes around her hands and feet, he headed toward the open door.
“Ah! My lady, another time, another place,” he bowed to her. “To what could have been.” And he was gone.
The morning should have brought the calm after the storm, but it seemed another storm loomed in the distance. Hannah had never seen her father such. Her frustration had grown over the time it took for her father to have found them. The ropes had cut into her wrist and ankles from her attempts to break them. Her voice hoarse from her screaming to no avail, but nothing prepared her for the horror which lay upon her father’s face upon discovering her tied up within their home. His hands trembled with such force he could barely untie her.
He kept uttering what could have happened to her. And to make matters worse they discovered Malcolm and Jinnie had disappeared, betraying her family, leaving only Mary.
“I knew noth’, Mast’ Corbett! I woulda tole ya’. I wood haf!” she cried. She couldn’t be comforted when Hannah’s father had unblocked the pantry door in which Mary had been thrown.
For the first time in her life, she saw her father was heavy of heart. He had brought her in his study upon releasing her, both James and her. He hadn’t given her time to catch her breath. He questioned her over and over. She wanted only to be able to change her story and have it end that she had saved the package. But in that she had failed.
He wiped his hand across his face in exasperation as if he was contemplating his next move.
“Father,” she said, rubbing her wrist. “No matter how well you treated Malcolm, he was still a slave.
“I assure you, I knew exactly where I aimed. The next is straight at your heart,” she uttered. Her finger laid upon the trigger.
Suddenly, a sharp blow struck her from the side. The musket fell, firing as it hit the floor, hitting the grandfather’s clock. The force dropped her forward to the floor. She sprang back up only to be grabbed from behind. She tried to wrench herself free, but found the grips only tighten.
“Good God,” she breathed out. She turned to face her attacker, Marcus Durham. Dressed as a Minuteman, his hunting shirt, too, wet from the rain. Hadn’t her reason warned her about him?
“I do beg your pardon, Miss Corbett. But we do have need of that,” he said. He nodded toward his companion who picked up the object that he had dropped.
“She shot me!” the man cried in pain. He drew in a harsh breath, swearing through gritted teeth. His hand clenched to the bleeding leg. He began to shiver violently.
Marcus turned to the one behind him, a man of medium height and stocky built. He frowned slightly. “Get him out, quickly. Even through the storm someone might have heard.”
Hannah kept trying to wiggle free. She didn’t know what else to do. He changed his hold with one arm across her chest holding her hands. She cried, “You’re hurting me.”
“To be honest, Hannah,” he whispered in her ear. “I find that I’m quite enjoying myself. Not a bad shot, are you?”
His companion returned, water pouring off his hat. “We need to hurry. I sent the rest on. Harry’s bleeding pretty badly.”
Marcus agreed. Hannah started struggling again. “We have another unexpected guest. Can you find me something to tie her up with?”
“Let me go,” she uttered under her breath.
“I couldn’t do that, Hannah. I would fear for my life if I did,” he mocked as he tried to lead her to a chair. Fighting, he in turn lifted her and placed her roughly down upon the chair.
“I’m merely a girl,” she said, fire raging from her eyes.
“Oh, I think not. Hannah, I do believe you’re capable of doing more damage than any man I know,” he said accepting the rope from his counterpart. Quickly securing the ropes around her hands and feet, he headed toward the open door.
“Ah! My lady, another time, another place,” he bowed to her. “To what could have been.” And he was gone.
The morning should have brought the calm after the storm, but it seemed another storm loomed in the distance. Hannah had never seen her father such. Her frustration had grown over the time it took for her father to have found them. The ropes had cut into her wrist and ankles from her attempts to break them. Her voice hoarse from her screaming to no avail, but nothing prepared her for the horror which lay upon her father’s face upon discovering her tied up within their home. His hands trembled with such force he could barely untie her.
He kept uttering what could have happened to her. And to make matters worse they discovered Malcolm and Jinnie had disappeared, betraying her family, leaving only Mary.
“I knew noth’, Mast’ Corbett! I woulda tole ya’. I wood haf!” she cried. She couldn’t be comforted when Hannah’s father had unblocked the pantry door in which Mary had been thrown.
For the first time in her life, she saw her father was heavy of heart. He had brought her in his study upon releasing her, both James and her. He hadn’t given her time to catch her breath. He questioned her over and over. She wanted only to be able to change her story and have it end that she had saved the package. But in that she had failed.
He wiped his hand across his face in exasperation as if he was contemplating his next move.
“Father,” she said, rubbing her wrist. “No matter how well you treated Malcolm, he was still a slave.
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