Journey to Bliss (Saskatchewan Saga Book #3) by Ruth Glover Read Free Book Online Page A

ye, jist like generations of lasses have had to do. What makes ye think it’ll be any different for ye?”
    And Pauly, hurting and bitter, refused to allow his sister to minister to his bloody face, and lay down on a pallet near the fireplace, put his head in his arms, and would say no more.
    When Tierney came, any notion of sharing her problems was silenced. Though she needed desperately to talk, it occurred to Anne that the long arm of the MacDermotts reached into the heart of Binkiebrae. Would the Caulders inexplicably lose their house? Would James find his boat confiscated for some vague reason? Would Tierney herself come under the scrutiny and attention of the loose-living, free-thinking Lucian?
    “I canna talk aboot it,” she had said to Tierney, and she would not be persuaded.
    Perhaps, with discretion and care, she could avoid any further contact with Lucian. Perhaps, before long, he would return to Edinburgh and society life, and all of them on the crofts and in Binkiebrae could breathe easily again.
    It was not to be.
    Evening was coming on, tea over and chores done, when Anne left home to make her way toward a small house on the edge of Binkiebrae, this time with several newly hatched baby chicks in her basket, a gift for old Maggie.
    She was absorbed in checking on the chicks, running a finger lightly over their downy heads as she went, and so heard the approaching horse’s hooves too late. Caution, ordinarily, would have sent her scuttling for the brush at the side of the road in time to avoid a confrontation with Lucian, if it were indeed he.
    By the time she recognized him, pride kept her in the middle of the road, kept her moving, chin up, eyes straight ahead, mouth suddenly dry, heart beating hard.
    Lucian drew his horse to a halt. When he saw that Anne continued on her way, he flushed an angry red, yanked his horse around so that he came abreast of her, and pulled in front of her.
    “Hold on, Fanny. Haven’t we got some business to take care of?”
    Still Anne did not pause but routed herself around Lucian and his mount, walking steadily, silently, though the hand on the basket shook and the chicks set up a twitter.
    Once again, now cursing angrily, Lucian yanked the animal around and came alongside the doggedly proceeding Anne. Again he pulled in front of her; again she attempted to sidestep rider and horse. She never made it.
    Curses exploding from his twisted mouth, Lucian removed his foot from the stirrup, pulled it back, and with a powerful kick from his heavily booted foot sent Anne staggering, stumbling back, turning an ankle badly in the process. Before she could right herself Lucian sprang from the saddle and, for no reason at all except meanness, kicked the fallen basket so that it bounced and rolled, the chicks escaping to run peeping into the grass. With surprising strength for one with his girlish build, he gathered a handful of Anne’s clothing into his fist and pulled her startled, wide-eyed face to within inches of his own.
    “This is as far as you go, Miss Hoity-toity!”
    Anne was small, Anne was womanly, but Anne was a fighter. The pain of the ankle was forgotten as she battled the raging, cursing youth. Lucian’s purposes seemed clear; he kept his grip on Anne’s clothes and began dragging her toward the weeds and brush at the road’s edge. With one booted foot he tripped her feet, already unsteady, and toppled Anne to the dusty road. From there it was simpler to drag her, with her torn hands grasping at the roadside growth and her feet scrabbling to gain leverage. Lucian’s punches, Lucian’s kicks, Lucian’s questing hands—all found more than they could deal with in the raging, spitting, fighting scrap of humanity that was Anne Fraser. When Lucian’s feet became entangled in the undergrowth and he lost his balance, falling heavily on the thrashing, heaving body, he lost his advantage.
    With a strength she didn’t know she had, Anne pushed with both hands, drawing up her