Free The Last Broken Promise by Grace Walton

“Especially since you decided to lead us on this mad chase through the brambles. Jess, we pay an exorbitant amount of taxes just so we can have nice, safe, comfortable roads and then you choose not to use them. It doesn’t make sense, child. We should be on a well-traveled road, not here in the depths of the woods. We’re probably lost. And if we’re not, I think we must be near one of your brothers’ plantations. The way Connor keeps buying land, surely one is close. I say let’s get to a village and find out. We could stop, rest overnight, and get some decent clothing.” She eyed the black habit Jess wore. “You can’t go to London dressed as a crow, girlie.”
    “Aunt Dorcas, we’ve had this conversation several times today already. I’m wearing my habit. And we are not stopping until we reach Port Wentworth. I need to get this message to London as soon as possible,” she said with a stubborn tilt of her chin.
    “Fine, fine,” Dorcas agreed, sitting straighter in the saddle to stretch her aching back. “But one night will not ruin your speed. We will be on the cursed boat for at least two months. One night spent in a bed instead of on the hard, damp ground won’t harm us, I’m thinking.”
    The man Mother Marguerite Marie had hired to lead their pack horse nodded in silent agreement. He hadn’t said much the whole day. He’d sat slouched on his skinny horse, one grimy fist knotted in the reins and the other gripping their pack horse’s lead line. His stringy, matted hair was halfway hidden by an old greasy hat he’d jammed onto his head. Neither woman wanted to get close enough to make a thorough inspection of him. A reeking odor of unwashed body drifted from his person. They had left him strictly alone. But now he spoke.
    “Mizzus Moore, I’m with you. We bettah find some place to light for the night. It’s gonna come a storm along about dark.” He squinted up at the sky through a hole in the trees.
    “That’s ridiculous,” scoffed Jess looking up too. “The sky is blue. There’s not a cloud to be seen. We’re riding on.”
    The wiry man slid down from his horse. He lifted the brim of his hat so she could see his eyes. They were mud-colored and made her nervous. “You go right on, ma’am. I’m going to rest these horses. Then find a place to bed down for the night.”
    “You can’t do that,” the indignant girl sputtered. “You were hired to see us to Port Wentworth. You can’t quit when we’re almost there.”
    “Ma’am, we are a right smart piece out of Port Wentworth. The sun is gonna set in a couple of hours. There’s no way to make it by dark. These horses have been going all day. They cain’t go no more. I’m stopping.”
    “Well, I’m not,” she said defiantly. She kicked her horse into a trot. Dorcas watched her niece’s straight back disappear into the brush.
    “You ain’t gonna follow her, ma’am?” he asked the old woman who was, even now, getting gingerly down from her horse.
    “No, lad, I’m not.” She limped over to a fallen tree. She sat on the wide trunk. “She’ll be back soon. Even she’s not reckless enough to go off into the woods alone. As soon as she realizes I’m not following her, she’ll turn about. You’ll see.” With those words Dorcas settled more comfortably back against the tree trunk. “Could you reach into that pack and get something out for me, lad?”
    “Surely.” he nodded, sending his stringy hair jumping. “What you want?”
    Dorcas smiled broadly. “It’s a wee brown bottle, laddie boy. Something to revive our spirits, so to speak.”
    The man returned her smile with a broken-toothed grin. He began rummaging through the pack tied securely to the horse’s back. Finding the nut-brown flask, he walked toward the resting woman. “Here tis, ma’am.”
    Dorcas uncorked the little vessel. She took a dainty sip. Then she took another. With a smile she offered it to the man. “Won’t you be trying it too?” She held it