A Heart Divided by Mary Brock Jones

Author:Mary Brock Jones
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

John slammed the gate on the hens, ignoring the squawk from the old rooster trying to sneak out, only to have the wooden bars close almost on his beak. A few strides more and John was back in his kitchen. He had set the porridge on to cook earlier. He ate it now only because he knew be must. All the time, he kept an eye on the sky, watching the sun rise and the day brighten, waiting till the time was reasonable to saddle up his horse and set out for Chamonix.

In the end, he ate only half the bowl, before thrusting it aside and fetching a pail of water to wash off the dirt of his morning chores. He had been forced to leave her last night, knowing she needed rest and time to recover, knowing that if he stayed, he might give that idiot brother of hers the thrashing he deserved. Embarrassing his sister in public. A woman alone among men, and injured to boot, and the young idiot pushed her so far into a corner he must have known Nessa would retaliate. Didn’t the boy know the pride she carried?

That was it. Time was up. Flinging his towel to one side, he strode out the door and towards the stable. Very soon after, hooves beat on the hard track and he was on his way. A certain lady was going to learn she owed him. She would not be putting herself into danger by haring over the rough tops to a bleak spot like Campbell’s, whatever she or that blighted brother of hers might think to the contrary.

He yanked his horse to a halt in front of Pat’s just as the man wandered out the front door.

“Is the lady up?”

Pat looked to be about to argue. Then looked at his face and instead lifted his thumb towards the rear of the boarding house. “She be at breakfast in back with her brother.”

With her brother. It might have stopped him, but it had been a long night. He stalked into the back room and planted himself in front of her.

“You’re coming home with me.”

The silence should have made him think twice. That, or the swift scrape of chair on board as her brother sprang up and marched towards him. He carried on regardless.

Sticking his fists against his side, he glared at her. “I’ve had enough,” he announced. “The only safe place for you is my house—my home and my bed.”

Whether it was the fist to his nose or the bright flush of red on her cheeks, he could not say. One thing finally got through. This time, he was the idiot.

He thrust out one hand to hold off her brother and checked his nose with the other. Not broken and hardly any blood. That was good, he supposed.

She refused to look at him.

“Who the hell do you think you are, Reid, coming in here and saying such things to my sister?” Her brother was doing his damnedest to hit him again.

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