Blue Bonnets by Marie Laval Read Free Book Online Page A

are no better than the post-guard and his accomplice, are you?’
    He flinched, his jaw locked. ‘No, I suppose I’m not,’ he conceded. His fists balled at his sides, he turned away.
    â€˜Please do as I say,’ he finished. ‘Go to bed now.’
    Moving away from the door, Rose didn’t argue this time but wrapped herself into the plaid and lay down on the filthy straw mattress.
    Bruce sat down, pulled his flask and poured himself a drink. It was going to be a long night.

Chapter Four
    Her eyes flicked open onto thick, velvety darkness. Outside the wind howled and swished, and for one terrifying moment she thought she was back on the Sea Eagle in the middle of the storm. Then she remembered. She wasn’t on the clipper but in a cottage in the forest and a blizzard raged outside. Inside however, everything was still, silent and empty.
    Her heart leapt with panic. She was alone in the dark. Again.
    With Lord McGunn’s plaid still tightly wrapped around her, she jumped off the bed and walked to the fireplace where a few embers still cast a weak glow from under a pile of ashes. She grabbed hold of a stick and poked at the embers until they gave out enough light for her to see that the candle’s stump stood in a pool of congealed wax on the table, next to Lord McGunn’s open flask and his pistol, but where was he?
    She spotted the shape of a body stretched out on the floor behind the table and her eyes skimmed over a man’s riding boots, black breeches, a white shirt.
    â€˜Lord McGunn, I don’t think sleeping on the floor is a good idea,’ she called.
    He didn’t move, make a sound or open his eyes. And he called her a deep sleeper!
    â€˜At least put your jacket or your coat on…’
    He didn’t even stir. Was he even breathing? By Old Ibrahim’s Beard, what if he had drunk too much whisky and had passed out? Or even worse, what if he was dead and she was on her own in that abandoned shed in a middle of a snowstorm?
    In a panic, she knelt down at his side, slipped her hand over his shirt to pat his chest. He wasn’t dead. His heart was beating, faint and erratic. Her hand slid up to his shoulder and she gave him a shake.
    â€˜Lord McGunn. Wake up.’
    His breath caught in his throat and he moaned.
    â€˜Wake up!’ She shook him harder.
    He opened his eyes and grimaced in pain, his hand clasped his chest.
    â€˜Hell, it hurts,’ he groaned.
    â€˜What’s the matter with you?’
    He heaved a few laboured, raspy breaths.
    â€˜I think it’s over…this time.’
    â€˜What do you mean, it’s over? You drank too much whisky again, didn’t you? Don’t even think of denying it. Your flask is over there, on the table. That’s the second time I’ve seen it happen. You should know it doesn’t agree with you.’
    â€˜Quiet. Stop chattering… and let me… let me die in peace.’
    Panic squeezed her chest in a tight, cold fist.
    â€˜Nonsense! You’re not going to die and leave me all alone here, do you hear?’
    He blinked. ‘Would be hard not to, with you shouting in my ear.’
    At least he was talking, even if he sounded weak. That had to be a good sign.
    She rose to her feet and looked around the room.
    She needed more light, and to get the fire going again. She searched his bag, pulled a new candle out of the front pocket and lit it. Her throat tightened when she looked at him again. In the glow of the candle, his face was gaunt, his lips grey and his eyes dark, so dark they were almost hollow. He did look ill, more than ill. He looked haunted.
    What if he really was going to die? Fear tightened her chest, panic made her heart flutter. She threw a handful of twigs and a couple of logs on the fire, struck a match. Flames rose, curled timidly around the logs at first, then jumped higher.
    â€˜Let’s get you warm,’ she said, hurrying to his side. ‘Can you