Martha wiped her eyes.

“She made Dutch promise something before she died.”

Mercy looked up.

“What?”

“That Samuel would know his real mother someday.”

A floorboard creaked behind them.

Dutch stood in the doorway.

He looked exhausted.

Martha glanced at him.

Then back at Mercy.

“There’s something else.”

Dutch’s expression hardened.

“Martha.”

The old woman ignored him.

“Abigail didn’t die of fever, Mercy.”

Silence fell.

Mercy slowly turned.

Dutch closed his eyes.

Martha whispered, “She was murdered.”

Chapter Nine: The Truth Dutch Buried

Mercy waited until Samuel was asleep.

Then she confronted Dutch beside the fireplace.

“You told me Abigail died.”

“She did.”

“You didn’t tell me how.”

Dutch stared into the flames.

“Pratt’s men found our cabin last spring.”

Mercy’s blood chilled.

“How?”

“Someone followed me from Harwick.”

He explained that Abigail had been alone with Samuel when three armed men arrived.

They demanded the boy.

She refused.

They searched the cabin.

When Abigail tried to escape through the rear door, one of the men shot her.

Dutch returned too late.

He killed two attackers.

The third escaped.

“That’s when I moved Samuel here,” he said.

Mercy sat motionless.

“Why did you marry me?”

Dutch looked at her.

“Because I wanted to protect you.”

“That’s not the whole truth.”

“No.”

He took a long breath.

“I wanted to bring you to Samuel. But I couldn’t risk telling you until I knew whether Pratt had men watching.”

Mercy’s eyes narrowed.

“So the marriage was a plan.”

“At first.”

The words hurt.

Dutch looked stricken.

“Mercy—”

“You chose me because of Samuel.”

“Yes.”

“And because of the claim.”

“Yes.”

She stood.

“Then everything you said in the dress shop—”

“Was true.”

“How can I believe that?”

Dutch rose slowly.

“Because I watched you gather those coats while grown men laughed. I saw how you worked. I saw how you carried yourself. And I thought…”

He stopped.

Mercy waited.

His voice became rough.

“I thought Abigail would have liked you.”

Mercy’s anger faltered.

Dutch stepped closer.

“I married you because you deserved to know your son. But somewhere between Harwick and that cabin, I started waiting for the sound of your laughter.”

He swallowed.

“I started looking forward to supper because you’d be there.”

His eyes shone.

“And when you touched my hand that night, I realized I’d spent four winters thinking the best part of my life was already over.”

Mercy could barely breathe.

Dutch looked down.

“I don’t expect forgiveness.”

She stared at him.

“Do you love me?”

He answered immediately.

“Yes.”

The word filled the room.

Mercy felt tears rising again.

“Then why didn’t you trust me?”

Dutch’s face twisted.

“Because the last woman I loved died protecting your child.”

Mercy went still.

He continued quietly.

“And I was terrified I’d lose you too.”

Before Mercy could answer, a gunshot shattered the window.

The lamp exploded.

Martha screamed from the bedroom.

Dutch threw Mercy to the floor.

Another shot struck the fireplace.

Outside, horses whinnied.

A man’s voice rang through the darkness.

“CALDER!”

Dutch reached for his rifle.

Mercy recognized the voice.

Her blood turned cold.

Cyrus Pratt had found them.

Chapter Ten: The Siege

There were six men outside.

Pratt stood behind a fallen pine, holding a rifle.

Beside him was Hrix.

The cattle broker who had rejected Mercy at the matching assembly.

Mercy stared through the broken window.

“Hrix?”

Dutch’s jaw tightened.

“He wasn’t a suitor.”

“What?”

“He was checking whether you knew anything about the claim.”

The realization struck her.

The six men.

The inspections.

The questions about her husband’s property.

The humiliating rejections.

The matching assembly had never been about finding Mercy a husband.

It had been about measuring how much she knew.

Pratt called again.

“Send out the woman and the boy!”

Dutch fired through the window.

One attacker fell behind a woodpile.

The others scattered.

Mercy ran to the bedroom.

Samuel was crying.

Martha held him close.

“There’s a trapdoor beneath the bed,” she whispered. “It leads to the old root tunnel.”

Mercy pulled back the rug.

A narrow wooden hatch lay beneath.

She opened it.

Cold air rushed upward.

“Take him,” Mercy said.

Martha hesitated.

“What about you?”

“I’ll follow.”

Samuel reached for her.

“Mommy?”

Mercy’s heart nearly broke.

She knelt and kissed his forehead.

“Listen to Grandma Martha. Be brave for me.”

“Will you come?”