Darby: Bride of Oregon (American Mail-Order Bride 33) by Bella Bowen

away.
    “Stop, damn you!” Rand was closing fast, but her
legs betrayed her. She had to put her hands on her knees to stay on her feet.
    Three guards on horseback moved to block her way
out of the grove. She was caught.
    “I’m sorry,” Rand said. She was pleased he sounded
just as breathless as she was. “I shouldn’t have tried to frighten you like
that. It’s just that… It’s like you said. I do hate all things Scottish, but I
shouldn’t have taken it out on you—”
    Still refusing to face him, she turned her head to
speak over her shoulder. “Kiss me arse!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
    He walked around to face her, his brow twisted in
horror and confusion. Either he didn’t accept what she was trying to say, or he
didn’t understand it. So she made it nice and clear.
    “Are ye daft man? I’m Scottish as the day is long,
aye? So heigh back to yer Jezebel and tell the world we never consummated that
marriage. And when I say Jezebel, I wasn’t referring to the woman’s name—”
    The world tilted and went dark for a second while
she recovered from a slap across the face. She forced her arms to her sides,
though, and with a smile, dared him to do it again.
    The guards stilled. She glanced at them over her
shoulder. “What? Have ye swallowed yer teeth?” She chuckled. “Dinna worry,
lads. He doesna strike women. Just Scotswomen. And those dinna count.”
    There. That should do it.
    She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head.
“Go on wi’ ye now. We Scots are scrappers. I’ll make out just fine. Dinna
bother leaving a horse.”
    His jaw jumped and she wondered if the movement
was caused more by the pain in his leg or the hate in his heart. She’d just
embarrassed him in front of his own men. She was guessing it was the hate.
    Finally, he walked away. He waved one man off his
horse, took his place in the saddle, and looked at her again with absolutely no
expression. “Take her to Seattle. Make sure she’s on that train in three days.”
    “And where do we take her in Seattle?” a guard
asked.
    “Rosemary’s,” Beauregard said. Then he rode out of
her life.
    She hoped.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
     
    Rand caught the train at Longview Junction the
next morning. Dressed as he was, he didn’t worry about anyone recognizing him.
He paid extra for the sleeper car and slept the whole way.
    It was surprising how well one could sleep without
his conscience bothering him. And it had been a long time since that had
happened without a bottle of brandy. His final, comforting thought was that the
world was crazier than he’d believed possible. And if it chose to chew itself
up and spit itself out, the blame couldn’t be laid at his feet.
    Later that day, he watched out the window as
Seattle came into view.
    Ah, Seattle. It had been a long time. In fact, it
had been a long time since he’d left Portland at all. But with the new routine,
and his men taking turns at playing Phantom, it was the perfect time for him to
take a little break. His men could handle any trouble. And it wouldn’t hurt to
let someone else play God for a while.
    He was tired of deciding who lived, who died, and
who was sacrificed to the monster.
    Alone again, for the first time in weeks, he was
even able to forget he’d been married. What he would do about that marriage was
a worry for another day, though. For now, he was on vacation.
    On holiday, the Brits would say. But he didn’t
care about the Brits. The one he had cared for, temporarily, hadn’t really
existed in the first place. So she didn’t count. And the one on paper would be
annulled shortly.
    He supposed he had decided what to do about her
after all.
    But what did it matter? He was a reasonably wealthy,
reasonably young man. He could find another wife to put on his mantle. Maybe
that Bride School in Wyoming was still in business. If so, he could send a
letter and find a woman who fit the bill perfectly. And at that place, he’d be
able to meet the candidates before picking