He came for her. Brody, with these men to take her. He has papers. Son, I told you this is legal. Sheriff, Pike cried, finding his courage now that the law was here.
Thank God. This man is a killer. He murdered them. He shot them down without warning. I came to retrieve my legal ward and he he massacred us.
Brody was torn. He looked at Daniel then at the bodies. It was a bad business. He is no holy man. The voice came from above.
Tyen had climbed down from the ledge. She was barefoot. Her dress was torn at the shoulder. Her hair was wild and blood from Hackett's face was smeared on her arm. She was trembling from head to toe, but her spine was straight.
Pike's face went white. He had not expected her to speak. She walked until she stood beside Daniel facing the sheriff. She did not look at Pike. She looked at Brody, and when she spoke, the broken, halting English was gone.
In its place was a clear, precise, mission-educated voice that rang with cold authority. "Reverend Pike is a liar." "Sheriff," she said. Brody's jaw dropped. The deputy stared.
He did not find me. Tyen continued, her voice gaining strength. He bought me. He paid 20 silver dollars to a group of ex-soldiers who had who had captured me. He told me it was the price for my soul.
He kept me chained to his wagon for a month. He said it was God's will that I be broken. Pike was sputtering. "Lies. Slander.
She is a heathen." She is She is corrupted by this man. He is no holy man. Tyen said, her voice cutting through his. He is a slaver.
He told me I was his property. Those men, she pointed at the bodies. Came to steal me. That one. She pointed at Hackett, who was now in the custody of a deputy.
Put his hands on me. I cut him. They cornered me. They were going to take me. Daniel.
Daniel saved me. She finally looked at Pike. Her eyes were filled with a loathing so pure it was almost visible. "I am not your ward. I am a free woman, and I am this man's wife."
The canyon was silent. Brody looked at Pike, his face hardening. The preacher's righteous story had just been torn to shreds, not by a savage, but by an articulate, composed witness. The deputies, who had been looking at Daniel as a killer, now looked at Pike with open disgust. "Wife?"
Brody asked, looking at Daniel. Daniel had not lowered the rifle. "That's what I said. She's mine, my wife." Brody nodded.
A slow, grim understanding dawning. He turned to Pike. "Reverend, it seems your papers are based on a lie." You're under arrest for kidnapping, slaver trading, and for inciting this. He gestured to the dead men.
You brought these men here to commit a crime. Their deaths are on your head. "This is an outrage!" Pike shrieked. I am a man of the cloth.
You will answer to the church. You will answer to God. "Maybe," Brody said, pulling his handcuffs. But first, you'll answer to the circuit judge. As the deputies dragged the screaming preacher away, Brody looked at Daniel.
He motioned to the bodies. "This is a hell of a mess, Reed." They came to my home to take my wife. It was self-defense, Daniel said, finally lowering the rifle. Brody sighed.
He looked at the bodies, then at Tyen, who was now leaning against Daniel, her strength fading. "That's how I'll write it." But Daniel, you made enemies today. The preacher has friends. Hackett's family has money.
This town, it's not going to forget this. "Let them remember," Daniel said. Just so long as they remember to stay away. Brody nodded. He mounted his horse.
You bury these men. Bury them deep. He rode off, leaving them in the sudden ringing silence of the canyon. Daniel turned to Tyen. The trembling had taken over her body.
Violent shudders. The terror she had held back now consumed her. He dropped the rifle and gathered her into his arms, lifting her as he had the day he found her. She weighed almost nothing. He carried her back to the cabin.
His heart a cold, heavy knot in his chest. The cabin was a wreck. The door was splintered. The table overturned. The small slate she had been writing on was shattered on the floor.
He did not put her down. He sat in his chair, the one she had sat in when she was sick, and held her, cradling her as she wept. She cried silently, her body shaking, her face pressed into his neck. He said nothing. He just held her, his hand stroking her hair, his own body aching with the aftermath of the fight.
He held her for a long time until the sun began to set, casting long, bloody shadows into the cabin. Her shaking finally subsided. He pulled back, holding her face in his hands. Her eyes were swollen. Her face stre with dirt and tears.
He gently wiped the bloodstain from her arm. "It's over," he whispered, his voice raw. "No more running ever. You're safe. I swear it.
You're safe." He kissed her forehead, her cheek, her tear-soaked eyelids. He kissed her mouth, a desperate, affirming kiss that was not about passion, but about life, a promise. "This land," he said, looking around the broken room. "It's not just my land.
"This is yours, Tyen. This is our place." No one will ever take you from it again. She nodded, her breath hitching. She was exhausted, her body drained, her mind bruised.
That night, he cleaned the cabin, repaired the door, and laid her in the cot. He was going to sleep on the floor to stand watch, but she would not let him. She needed him close. He lay beside her, holding her, the rifle leaning against the wall. within arms reach. He listened to the night sounds, every snap of a twig, every hoot of an owl.