The Outcast by Rosalyn West Read Free Book Online Page A

nights would be flooded with remembrances of what might have been?
    She should have been Mrs. Jonah Glendower, mistress of this house and heir to its fortune. She should have had no worries about a crop lying fallow, about a house crumbling in disrepair, about caring for her mother and assuming a man’s role. She couldn’t stand begging favors, especially from Reeve. Not when everything could have been … theirs together.
    She tossed her crumpled gown to the floor as angrypanic shivered along her slender form. Helplessness scared her. She’d always had the strength and judgment of her father and brother. She was too practical for a female, too independent-minded to do things the easy way. How she wished for an easier way now, and for a less realistic view of how things were and would be. It was no blessing to have an insight into the future.
    Sighing, she picked up the dress, brushed it out, and restored it to the clothes cupboard. She faced facts, unpleasant or no. Her mother couldn’t go back to the Manor, where there were few comforts and no safety. She was too frail, and Patrice was not fool enough to think she could protect and provide for them. The Glade was their only haven. No way would she let Reeve Garrett chase them out of it. He’d taken everything else, he and his repressive Federal bullies. He owed her the small sense of security she found under this roof.
    And she owed it to him to make the consequences of what he’d done a constant abrasion upon what little conscience he could claim. If he couldn’t—wouldn’t—change the past, she’d see he was ever reminded of it. Of the pain he’d caused. Of the ruination he’d allowed to fall upon them. She wouldn’t let him wear his guilt so casually. God, help her, she’d see he strangled in it.
    And there was only one place to sanction that promise. Not in any church, but rather in her own chapel. Her home. She’d feel better there, stronger, more certain of her choices. But getting there was a problem. The Manor was miles away, and the only transportation belonged to Reeve.
    Patrice smiled tightly.
    How fitting that he should provide for her travel after causing her distress.
    But she knew Reeve, and she knew he wouldn’t just saddle the animal for her and let her go on her way. Not alone. Not without explanation. Not without humbling herself to make the necessary request, which she was in no mood to do. So she watched and waited. And at last, Reeve left the barn area to return to his distant cabin.
    She ran quickly, lightly, with a trace of her old impulsive recklessness down to the paddock where Reeve had replaced broken slats and rails so Zeus could trot about the enclosure. The animal paused, pawing cautiously at the ground when she approached, bridle in hand. But, a well-trained beast, it came at her soft whistle and allowed her to slip the straps into place. She’d ridden all her life, both with ladylike decorum and hoydenish disregard. She chose the later, vaulting up onto the horse’s wide back in an awkward bunch of petticoats to sit astride.
    The big stallion responded easily to the pressure of her knees and guiding movement of the reins, but when Reeve’s shout—at first anxious, then angry—sounded behind them, the animal hesitated, drawn to its master’s voice. A brisk thump of her heels sent them galloping down the road, leaving Reeve behind in whorls of dust.
    The sight of fire-scorched brick brought back an unexpected rush of horror and helplessness. Patrice slid down off Zeus’s back, her knees buckling weakly. Gripping the animal’s mane, she pressed her face against the beast’s warm flesh until the anguish ebbed, until the panic subsided and the nightmarishpictures stopped replaying in her head. Only then could she look up and see what could be, what once was, instead of the sad neglect that stood before her now.
    Still, it hurt. It pained to see her beloved home abandoned in disrepair.
    “Dat you, Miz