The Edge of Hell: The Mitchell Brothers Series Book One

10

Wolstan spent the next two hours wandering the north pasture and oak grove beyond in the direction he'd seen Mae walking home. He searched for signs of her attack and any clue of the person's identity.

Near their property line, well within the shelter of the trees, his blood boiled when he caught sight of a pillowy yellow clump of fabric in the dirt. But he stopped cold when he realized it lay amidst noticeable signs of a struggle, next to a bloody branch and rock.

He retrieved the sleeve and frowned when the brass hilt of a knife several feet away glinted in the sunlight, drawing his attention.

Chills raced down his spine. His stomach lurched to his throat. His heart hammered against his chest, and with every step toward the discarded weapon coated in blood, he kept reminding himself of two things.

The first—which should have uprooted the irrational feelings from the start but didn't—she was Corporal Stoker, a woman he'd spent countless nights wishing he'd never met.

And the second, though she'd walked home injured and bloodied, Mae was alive.

Clenching his eyes shut, he took a deep, fortifying breath. Then, he cleaned the bloody blade with a handful of grass before tucking it between his belt and trousers.

He found shooed hoof prints heading from the road to the attack area, which then matched the same ones leading toward the Buchanan property. But when he finally returned home, despite all the clues, there were no definite answers to his list of questions. And Wolstan's frustration grew upon being informed by his mother that Mae had yet to emerge from the bathhouse.

"I've been gone two hours," he grumbled. He set the rifle by the front door and paced the front parlor. "What's taking her so long?"

Emmaline plopped her hands at her waist. "You saw what Mae looked like just as well as I did. I was not about to rush her simply so we could bombard her with questions. She can take as much time as she needs to get clean. Heaven only knows what she's been through or what she had to do to get away."

"WHAT ARE YOU TWO SAYING?" Declan shouted. "I'M ONLY CATCHING EVERY OTHER WORD."

"MAE'S STILL BATHING," Wolstan yelled back, ignoring Emmaline's pained grimace.

"SHE'S BEEN OUT THERE FOR TWO HOURS," Declan hollered.

Wolstan gave Emmaline a pointed look.

A low growl escaped Emmaline's throat before she tipped her head back and shouted, "YOU DIDN'T SEE HER—" she suddenly snapped her mouth closed and scowled at Wolstan. "I'm not going to holler with the two of you like heathens when it'd be just as easy for us to take this conversation to your brother."

Restrained mirth tugged at the corners of Wolstan's lips. Obeying his mama's directive, he grabbed the rifle and followed her to Declan's room.

"What do you mean I didn't see her?" Declan said, pushing himself to his elbows as they entered. He watched Wolstan return the rifle to the top of the wardrobe, then looked at Emmaline with an expectant arch of his brow and waited. "What happened?"

Emmaline sat in the chair by the bed, glanced at Wolstan, then looked at Declan. "Someone attacked Mae this morning."

"Was it Cyrus?"

Emmaline shook her head and sighed. "Awful as that man is, we can't jump to conclusions—"

"It isn't too far a leap, Mama," Declan grumbled, lying down with a frustrated grunt. "Not when he's attacked her before on our own property."

"He what?" Wolstan's heart thudded dully in his chest. His stomach dropped to his toes, and blood rushed in his ears. "When?"

Declan nodded and pushed onto his elbows again to stare at his brother. "About two or three weeks after you returned home. He was lurking down by the bathhouse while she was inside, and I never would have known he was out there if it weren't for Luella barking up a storm."