“Your attempts to kill him didn’t work?” I guessed. As I spoke, my eyes darted around, looking frantically for some weapon or escape. That gun definitely put the odds in his favor. If it was a newer one, it could have two shots in it.

“Yes, actually,” admitted Warren. “And then, this seemingly useless gold claim turned out not to be so useless after all. Not that it would matter in the end—once he’s dead, it reverts back to my full ownership. But it did mean he might have had a chance to pay off his debt early.”

My knife was the closest weapon to me, but even so, I’d never reach it in time. “What was the third?” I asked, needing to keep him distracted.

He sighed melodramatically. “You found out what was happening. This was all supposed to end with you willingly back where you belong—with me. But something tells me that’s pretty unlikely at this point.”

My only answer was a glare.

“And so,” he said, “it seems you and the unfortunate Mister Thorn will both have died at the hands of vicious claim bandits. But at least I won’t feel like I’m leaving empty-handed before you die.”

Hope surged in me as I realized he didn’t know Cedric was gone. Then, those last words struck me. “What . . . what do you mean?”

Warren gestured casually at the table with his gun. “I’ve been in houses of ill repute. I know what cinnamon thorn smells like. And I know what kind of girls drink it. So much for all your fine talk about staying virtuous until your wedding night. But—I guess it means I don’t have to feel guilty about taking anything of value, seeing as it’s so freely offered.”

He set the gun down on the table but moved too quickly for me to take advantage of the reprieve. He threw himself on me, knocking me to the floor and pinning his body over mine. I balled my fists and tried striking at his chest. When I realized that wouldn’t work, I started poking at his eyes. He cursed and held my hands down with his.

“You were more docile back at the balls,” he said. “Prettier too. Cleaner.”

He tried holding both my wrists with one hand so that his other could grapple with my clothing. He managed to tear the blouse and then move down to my skirt just before I broke my hands free. He couldn’t hold them both one-handed, and he knew it. I clawed at his face again, and frustration replaced the earlier confidence.

“Damn it.” He grabbed hold of me and rolled us over so that I lay on my stomach. “Less refined it is.”

Positioned like this, with his body keeping me facedown, I couldn’t so easily attack or even shift around. He kept one hand on my head to keep it down and began pulling at the skirt again. I called him names that would have made Tamsin blush and struggled as much as I could, knowing it wouldn’t save me but would at least make it more difficult for him. Then, I caught sight of what this new position had brought me closer to.

The Alanzan dagger was within my reach.

Without a second thought, I grabbed it and swung backward, not caring what I struck so long as it was him. Warren screamed and fell off me. I immediately scrambled away and made it to my feet with shaking legs. He lay there on the floor, clutching at his leg, which had my knife embedded in his thigh. It wasn’t a killing blow, but it had bought me my escape. I moved toward the door, only to have it open from the outside. I braced myself for one of his men and instead came face to face with Silas Garrett. He wielded a gun and looked as surprised to see me as I was him.

“Arrest her!” Warren shouted. “I came to inspect this claim, and that bitch attacked me! She stabbed me—stabbed me with this—” He pointed down and gaped as he got a good look at the knife with its tree design. “With this blade—this pagan blade! It’s an Alanzan knife! She’s a heretic—arrest her!”

“It . . . it’s not hers,” a voice behind Silas said. “It’s mine. I’m the Alanzan.”

Silas stepped aside, revealing Cedric leaning on Sully. I couldn’t believe Cedric was even conscious after all his injuries. I wanted to run to him and order him to lie down, but Warren was still on the offensive. “He’d say anything to protect his whore.”

Sully had the sense to try and keep Cedric back, but Cedric was undaunted. “The knife is mine. I’ve got more Alanzan items in my trunk. You won’t find anything in her possession.”

“Then arrest him!” said Warren. “And her for being his accomplice! And for attacking me!”

“He attacked me,” I retorted. I gestured to my torn clothes. “He subdued me and tried to assault me! I defended myself!”

Warren was pale and sweating, no doubt feeling the wound and blood loss, but he pushed on. “She invited me here. She’s a girl without morals—laid down for Thorn, laid down for anyone. Then she changed her mind and acted like it’s my fault. You can’t trust the word of some common, vulgar girl!”

Silas looked like he didn’t know what to think, and I didn’t blame him. But it occurred to me that as improbable as it might be, there could be a chance Warren could get away with all this. He was the governor of this colony. And who was I? A memory surfaced from long ago: Cedric telling me that I didn’t know what it was like to live without the prestige of the upper class, that there was a power there I didn’t even realize.

I straightened up to my full height and put on as imperious a look as I could manage. “I’m telling you again: He assaulted me. And maybe you can’t take that seriously from some ‘common, vulgar girl,’ but I’m not one. I’m Lady Elizabeth Witmore, Countess of Rothford, and I am a peeress of the realm.”

Chapter 28

Traveling back to cape triumph by boat was a lot easier than the overland journey had been. We didn’t return right away—not with Cedric’s injuries being what they were. Between us, Warren, and the hired thugs, Silas Garrett had his hands full keeping track of everyone. He finally hired his own muscle from among the various men looking for work in White Rock—deputizing them as temporary agents of the law. Silas used a group of them to help him take Warren and the others back to Cape Triumph. He left a smaller group to keep an eye on Cedric and me at the Marshalls’—not that we were much of a flight risk.

When Silas came back a week later, news came to us by way of the doctor who’d been making regular visits to check up on Cedric. “I told Mister Garrett you’re fit to travel now,” the doctor said. “And he plans on taking you both back tomorrow.”

We were sitting outside in the afternoon sun, with Cedric propped up in a makeshift lounge chair that Mister Marshall had crafted. Cedric’s eye was open again, and most of his bruises had faded to a yellowish color. His left arm was in a sling and would need a few more weeks of recovery. He’d also broken a couple of ribs, and there wasn’t much to treat them, aside from binding them and taking it easy.

“Fit to travel?” I exclaimed. “Like this?”

“The worst is over,” said the doctor. “Your life’s not in danger. Will the journey be uncomfortable? Possibly—especially if you’re careless. But the boat’s nothing compared to the land route.”

“I’ll be fine.” Cedric placed his right hand over mine. “And we need to get back. Warren being there ahead of us isn’t a good thing.”