Captive Bride by Rosemary Carter

Author:Rosemary Carter
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 1993-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIX

LIANE jerked upright in bed, screams coming from her throat and her body wet with sweat. It was a few seconds before she understood that she’d been having a nightmare—a particularly vivid one. Kyle had been in it, her grandfather too. Gramps had been advancing on Kyle, stick in hand, and she had been trying to stop him.

Shuddering, she lay back against the pillows. A nightmare... In the days after the miscarriage and after Kyle had left High Valley there had been many nightmares. Those nightmares had been worse, far worse, than the one from which she had just emerged. But this one had been bad too.

It was strange that her cries had not brought her grandfather into the room. And then she saw the sun streaming through the windows, and she knew it had to be mid-morning. Gramps would be outside. It was not often that she slept so late.

Her limbs ached as she got slowly out of bed. On the chair by the window she saw the jade dress. She had not hung it in her wardrobe last night, but had thrown it on the chair instead, as if, with the party over, she had no more use for it. Picking it up, she ran her fingers over the dress. The feel of the silk brought back the feel of scars beneath her fingers.

Abruptly she crumpled the dress into a tight ball and pushed it behind her shoes at the back of her wardrobe. She would never wear it again, she was sure of that.

For a long time she stood under the shower. When she was dry she pulled on jeans and a T-shirt and ran a comb through her wet hair. She did not bother with make-up. She went to the kitchen, opened the fridge, then decided she wasn’t hungry. All she wanted was a cup of strong coffee. When that was made she took her cup, and one for her grandfather, and went outside.

Grant Dubois was sitting in his usual wicker chair on the stoep. The sleeping dog lay at his feet, the Sunday papers were open on his lap, but he was not reading. As usual he was smoking his pipe, and his eyes were on the peaceful land beyond the fence. He had not noticed Liane.

How frail he looked, as if a wind could push him over. Three years ago there had been the bad fall from the ladder. He had injured his back and legs, and his mobility had been permanently impaired. A year later there had been the near-fatal bout of pneumonia. For weeks Liane had feared for his life. Grant Dubois had recovered, but the man who had once had such power in his body was only a shadow of his former self now. Looking at him, she found it hard to believe that just seven years ago he would have had the strength to beat Kyle. But there it was; Liane had seen the scars, and she did not doubt the truth of Kyle’s words.

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