Innocent Fire by Brenda Joyce Read Free Book Online

look meant, exactly, but she knew it was rude, insolent, and related to the unspeakable things men did to women. She shivered again, at the same moment involuntarily wondering how his skin felt.
    “Aunt Elizabeth?”
    “Yes?”
    Miranda knew that her aunt was furious, for she had not called her “dear.” “Maybe there’s a church in this town. I would like to go to church tonight. Or to Mass tomorrow morning.”
    “That is an excellent idea,” her aunt said. Although Elizabeth was Protestant, she was very religious. “Mr. Bragg?”
    “I heard,” Bragg said, riding up to them. Miranda wondered how he could have possibly heard their low whispers. His gaze found her face, and their eyes met just for a moment. “The answer is no.”
    Miranda gasped. “But I must go to confession,” she cried, angry and dismayed.
    He scowled. “You have nothing to confess, princess,” he said. “And there’s no mission in Natchitoches. You’ll have to save your confessions for San Antonio del Baxar.” He clucked to his horse and rode ahead.
    Miranda felt tears come to her eyes. “Oh, Papa,” she whispered, “why did you do this to me?”
    Bragg wheeled his horse again, having heard her anguished comment, and he stared at her. But she was brushing a tear from her cheek while her aunt took her hand in a gesture of comfort.
    “Don’t be angry with me, Aunt Elizabeth,” Miranda cried brokenly. “Please don’t be angry. I’m so…” She leaned against her aunt’s shoulder, fighting the urge to cry in exhaustion, despair, fear, and confusion.
    “Hush, dear, everything will be for the best, you’ll see.” She stroked Miranda’s back.
    “Why does Papa hate me so? Why? Why wouldn’t he leave me be?” She couldn’t help letting a few tears escape her tightly shut lids.
    “Your papa loves you, Miranda, very much.”
    “Papa is a beast!” Miranda cried. “I hate him, I’ve always hated him for what he did to Maman—for killing her!” She started to cry in earnest. “And God is punishing me by sending me to this barbarian because I have such hatred in my heart.”
    “Your father didn’t kill your mother!” Elizabeth gasped, horrified. She shook her niece. “How can you say that?”
    “He did! He even admitted it.” Miranda gulped and pulled herself together.
    “Your mother died in childbirth, Miranda,” her aunt said sternly. “It was God’s will. Your father loved her deeply…”
    “No! Do you think I’m a child?” Miranda whirled on her aunt. “I saw how he treated her—how he hit her. She hated him. He forced her to return to him. I know it.”
    “You are nothing but a foolish, frightened child,” Elizabeth said. “And you are talking nothing but nonsense. I will write to your father and tell him that you harbor these ugly misconceptions!”
    Miranda bit her lip and looked ahead, to see Bragg staring at her strangely. She frowned at him, upset that he had heard their private conversation. That was her fault, not his. The topic should have never come up in public. She stared at the forested hills on either side of them.
    About an hour later they pulled into the courtyard of an inn in Natchitoches, which was a rambling, wooden town. The inn was one of the best the town had to offer, but it was rough and shabby compared to England’s fine old establishments. Bragg left Welsh with the team and wagon, and led them into a common room.
    “Why don’t you eat while your baths are readied,” he suggested pleasantly. “I’ll take care of it now.” He smiled at Miranda almost warmly.
    Miranda felt surprise as he walked away, and she sat down with her aunt at an empty table. The dining room was quite full, and she was embarrassed about her appearance until she realized that nearly everyone was as travel-stained and weary as she. Still, she decided she would rather eat in her room, after her bath, and she told her aunt so.
    “A wonderful idea,” her aunt agreed.
    “I’ll go tell Mr. Bragg,”