Mail Order Bride: Summer (Bride For All Seasons 2)

She was the epitome of sorrow and suffering and sweetness, with her wild-eyed appearance and her fading bruises, and the love that bound Molly to every member of her family would ever be her undoing. Her Achilles’ heel. And Quinn was all too aware of that fact. His facial gesticulation held the twisted smirk of some medieval demon.

“Go get that apron out of the kitchen,” he ordered. “Then use the strings to tie her hands to the chair.”

Molly stared. “Bind her? You mean—actually truss her up, so she can’t move?”

“That’s what I said. Get along with you. Now!” The muzzle, its aim wavering slightly, was being shifted back and forth, from one hostage to the other.

Frustrated, flustered, she was given no choice but to obey. With Hennessey standing but a few feet away, watching intently and ready to pounce, Camellia did not dare fight against the restraints. She even managed a shaky but encouraging smile when Molly, visibly trembling in every muscle, finished and stepped back.

“Good. All right; collect whatever cash is in the house, and all the expensive baubles that might be tucked away.” As Molly, trying to telegraph some sort of silent message to her sister, hesitated, Quinn roared, “Obey me!”

She fled upstairs, and the man, wearing a satisfied leer, watched her go.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on your place for days,” he confessed, then, since his plan seemed to be working out to his advantage. “Making sure when your husband took off for the store, and when he came back—following a nice neat schedule—so I’d know just when you two pretty ladies would be alone. Yes, sir, you are both mighty pretty.”

Approaching, he touched the cold barrel of his handgun to Camellia’s cheek, and then slowly, sadistically, moved it down her throat and over her collarbone. Shuddering, she turned her face away so as not to meet the glittering insanity of his eyes.

Bending toward her, with the Colt now pushed insinuatingly against her breast, Hennessey breathed, “Your precious sister wasn’t too fond of this tactic that I’m using right now. Kept her in line, though. Sure did keep her in line. She let me do whatever I wanted, and begged for more.”

Camellia longed to spit in his face. Evil, evil man, with his sneers and his revolver and his intimidating threats! Oh, where was Ben, when she needed him so desperately? Why couldn’t he come home unexpectedly, disregarding the timetable Quinn had noted, and save them from this madman?

“I’ve collected what I could find,” Molly interrupted, returning to the parlor with lagging, silent tread. She had immediately recognized the sick, sadistic game he was playing; that horrific routine had become all too familiar to her, in their brief time together. “Get away from her, Quinn. Camellia hasn’t done anything to you. It’s me you want.”

“You wear out too fast,” murmured her husband, looking from one to the other with speculation. “Having another woman along—a spare—might not be a bad idea. Nice revenge—get back at that pompous shopkeeper and the law, all in one fell swoop.”

“It won’t be easy kidnapping me in this weather,” snapped Molly, in a show of defiance. “Let alone dragging someone else along. I’m too much woman for you to handle as it is. Make sense, Quinn.”

His horrible smile broadened. “Well, well, you’ve gotten some of your spunk back. I’m going to thoroughly enjoy beating it out of you, my dear wife. What sort of loot did you put together for us?”

Wordless, because to speak would be to hurl invective and invite still more cruelty, she extended the leather bag. He hefted its weight and nodded approvingly.

“That should take us far enough away from this worthless state and its dregs of humanity. To Arkansas. Or Louisiana. Or Oklahoma. The world is my oyster, and the only limit to travel is my imagination.”

“Quinn, please stop and think about this,” Camellia, determined to intervene despite her defenseless position, to attempt reason one last time, entreated. “Take the money and flee. You don’t need Molly. You’ll go farther and faster by yourself.”

Furious that this woman should still attempt to thwart his plans, even powerless as she was, he whirled. One hand still wielded the weapon with such deadly intent; the other waved about, free to do damage. First a hard smack to Camellia’s cheek, just to remind her of who owned absolute control in this situation. Then, as she let out a cry of pain and sagged sideways, he grabbed a fistful of material to stuff into her mouth, effectively stifling speech and rendering her truly helpless.

“You’re wrong,” he snarled. “I need Molly for a while. Eventually she’ll be no more use to me. When I’ve tired of my oh so delightful companion, when I’m completely finished sucking her dry of everything she has, I’ll sell her to the nearest brothel and be on my way. Shake a leg, my dear. My horse is tied outside and waiting.”

Chapter Seventeen

AS IT TURNED OUT, QUINN had not so much leeway timewise in his escape as he had hoped.

It was but three hours later that Dr. Gabriel Havers, taking advantage of another letup in the unending deluge of rain, came calling. His first subdued knock at the door went unanswered. Not that he wanted to wake the dead, of course, given the fact that one woman was existing in a semi-invalid state and the other was caring for her. Perhaps both were napping.

And who could blame them, in such psychotic weather that didn’t know if it wanted to rage for several more weeks or stop its weeping to usher in the sun?

And he, himself, stood somewhat sheltered from the intermittent rain drops hurled by an unstable wind, on the Forresters’ front porch. Thoughtful of Ben to provide protection from the elements for any visitors.

Still, since he had clomped throug

h a river of mud to get here, Gabriel wasn’t about to be turned away by a mere closed door. No, sir. He knocked again, more briskly and more forcefully. He even added a hearty kick, for good measure. That noise should be loud enough to rouse anyone from the deepest slumber.

Nothing. Disgruntled, he decided to do what he should have done to begin with.

He strode to the parlor window, nearest the kitchen, and peered inside. The sight that met his squinted gaze was shocking beyond belief.

“Holy Hannah!”