Free The Last Broken Promise by Grace Walton Page B

packed clay road.
    Two men were suddenly upon her. They slouched in the saddles of two wind-broken nags.
    “Thomas, lookee at whut we has here,” one sneered before he sent a stream of filthy, brown tobacco juice onto the road in front of her horse. Jess’s mount snorted and threw its head up, frightened at the sudden movement so close to its vulnerable legs.
    “It’s a woman.” Was the dull-witted answer. Jess could barely make out their silhouettes in the darkness. But she could see one of the men was skinny and the other one was fat.
    The tall one spit again. He answered sourly, “O’ course it’s a woman you idjit. She ain’t a sea monster. She’s a woman.” He leered as he looked her up and down. Jess felt as if he’d stripped the very clothes from her body. “I hain’t had a woman in two weeks.” He eyed her speculatively.
    “Horace, you ain’t had a woman in two years. Not since Miz Marshall at the sportin house told you not to evah come back. Least ways not til you had a bath. And, far as I know.” The fat one stopped to scratch his nose. “Far as I know, you still ain’t took no bath.” His voice was a droning whine.
    “Shut up you idjit. If I say I had a woman two weeks gone, I did.” He puffed out his narrow chest and dared his friend to contradict him. He fixed his eye back on the girl across from them.
    Jess spent the time they argued weighing her options. Should she run or put up a fight? Dylan had taught her how to fend off a man’s unwanted attentions, if she ever found herself importuned in a ballroom, when she was twelve. Connor had taught her how to use her knee to disarm a man, if she was ever accosted in the street when she was fourteen. And Griffin had taught her how to kill a man with the heel of her hand when she was sixteen, in the event one ever caught her alone. She knew how to do all these things, but only in theory. Her protective brothers had never let her venture out by herself. She’d always had one of them, or her aunt, and an armed escort. Jess complained long and hard about Jed, the massive black man her brothers hired to protect both she and Aunt Dorcas. But right now, she was wishing she hadn’t sent him back to the Richmond plantation. He’d argued, but she’d prevailed. A body guard had not been appropriate at St. Cecelia’s. Well, she told herself ruefully, Jed’s help would be very appropriate in her current situation.
    So what was she going to do? The girl’s first impulse was to run. Her mare looked to be of a much better caliber of horseflesh than the robbers’ horses. The animal had a fair chance of outrunning the bandits, no matter how tired and worn she might be. But none of the techniques Jess’s big brothers had taught her would work on horseback. A lady couldn’t very well invite the men to dismount so she could wreak havoc on their persons. So, Jess decided it must be a race for the village whose lights shone in the not-very-far distance.
    Jess jerked the mare’s head toward the town below. She jammed her heels cruelly into the weary horse’s sides. The mare jumped in surprise. Her mistress never treated her so roughly. Even though the mount was weary, she summoned up enough strength to push into a canter. The two would-be robbers stopped their argument when they realized their prize had just loped off toward town. Blistering oaths peppered the air as they kicked and slapped their pitiful animals in hopes of catching up with Jess. The best they could summon from their horses was a bone-rattling trot. Even so off they went, in hot pursuit, cussing all the way.
    “Horace, we ain’t never gone catch that woman on these here marsh-tackys,” whined the fat one. “Let’s us stop. This nag’s bony back is about to kill me.”
    “Shut up, you idjit and keep ridin. We’s gonna git that sweet little gal, if you jest come on.”
    Horace urged his horse to the lead. Port Wentworth was only a short distance ahead now. They had to catch her