A Warrior for Christmas by Beth Trissel

Author:Beth Trissel
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, holiday, american, historical
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Published: 2012-09-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Three

Corwin offered a stiff bow to each newcomer. He skimmed over silly Miss Owen, wishing he could gag her into silence, but his attention lingered a moment on her brother. Mister Owen had the lean look of a hardened wolf. A spark lit his intent gaze when he spotted Dimity, like a predator sighting its prey. Here was no dandy, and no fool. Geoffrey Owen was dangerous. If this were the frontier and not a polite drawing room, Corwin would remedy the gentleman’s absorption in Dimity with his fist.

The rules of engagement were different in this “civil” world, but Corwin remembered hearing of duels. Wasn’t that how his uncle had suffered the injury to his eye? Corwin wasn’t acquainted with swords, but he could hurl a tomahawk in calculated revolutions to strike his target at the precise location he desired, and he was deadly with a musket. But it seemed easier simply to spring at Mister Owen here and now.

No doubt Uncle Randolph would disapprove, and Dimity, of course. Corwin didn’t much care about anyone else’s sensibilities.

Mister Owen stopped before Dimity. “Your servant, Miss Scott.” He bent low, offering her a practiced bow, and raised his head, his eyes on hers.

“Sir.” Dimity curtsied and looked up. “Welcome to Whitfield, Mister Owen. Miss Owen,” she added with a curtsy in the giggling young woman’s direction.

“I’m charmed to make your acquaintance, Miss Scott,” the female gushed. “We must meet often while my brother and I lodge with Uncle Johnson.”

Dimity murmured, “I shall look forward to it.”

She turned back to Mister Owen’s relentless regard as Miss Owen burbled on, “Such a lovely home. I much admire Whitfield. I understand you are Mister Whitfield’s ward? Tragic about your parents. Killed in the border wars, were they not?”

Uncle Randolph replied for Dimity. “Miss Scott is my ward, but I believe you are confusing her parentage with that of my nephew, Miss Owen. His parents fell in the frontier and he is only recently returned to us from captivity. Pray remember that my ward is unable to attend to your conversation unless she sees your face.”

Miss Owen stared at him blankly. Whether as a result of the unusual tidings about Corwin or Dimity, Corwin couldn’t tell. The news seemed to come as no surprise to her brother.

“Now, Hortense, my dear,” Mister Johnson gently remonstrated, “I did write you of young Mister Whitfield’s circumstances and Miss Scott’s infirmity.”

Clearly, Dimity caught this last bit because she appeared uncomfortable.

The addled young woman considered Corwin as though he wore an Indian headdress then shifted her attention to Dimity. “Forgive me,” she said, and leaned in near Dimity’s face, mouthing exaggeratedly and raising her voice so the servants in the kitchen could have heard. “I’m such a goose sometimes. I forgot Uncle said you were afflicted with deafness. How dreadful for you. And to think I thought your parents killed by savages too.”

Corwin was so annoyed he could’ve taken the woman by the shoulders to shake some sense into her, though it seemed more likely he’d shake out what little she had.

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