Chapter Two

Rowena’s Journal, November 1, 1875

I am so excited. Blair will attend the fall harvest dance with me tonight. How foolish of me, but I cannot help it. Are we officially walking out, or is he only being kind? As a spinster in this strange country, I have no idea what my fate may be should I not find a suitable husband. Yet I do not want a man I cannot love. And as long as I live I know I shall love Blair. If only he could overcome what haunts him. It would kill me to watch him drink himself to death.

He is the only man I want, and he may not be attainable. Is there a chance that’s the only reason I want him? Am I afraid to love after what happened at St. Ann’s? Can I only love this man I can never have because he is unattainable? Considering that possibility could drive me quite mad. Drat, why do I need a man, anyway? I’m perfectly capable of…of what, exactly? Driving one of those dreadful freight wagons? Taking in laundry for filthy ranchers? Whatever sent me thinking in this direction?

I hear from Grady that Calamity Jane is visiting Hays City. Now, there is a woman who relies on no man to sustain her. Though it is said she is the paramour of Wild Bill Hickok, she goes her own way and asks nothing of any man. In fact, she shuns their assistance. I should try to become like her, but I do not think I have the stamina. My sister Wilda better fits that role. I want to marry and love a man who loves me, and someday have children. What is so wrong about that?

A drop of ink darkened the question mark and Rowena laid down her pen. Enough of this nonsense. What she needed was something to do. She would go downstairs and help Annie tidy the kitchen after breakfast.

A fist hammered on her door.

“Let me in. Hurry!” A breathless Tyra. Goodness, what was the child up to now? She had been absent for several days.

Rowena unlatched the door and was nearly knocked to her backsides when her cousin flew into the room.

“Thank God you’re here.” The young woman stood near the bed, hands on hips. She wore men’s breeches and a chambray shirt with the tails out, and her long red hair was frizzy from neglect.

“Well, of course I am here. Where would I be? And what have you been doing? You look like an urchin off the streets of Hays City.”

“I need you to ask his lordship for something. I need some money.”

“Why do you need money? You have a perfectly good place to stay, you have all your meals provided. What could you possibly need?”

Tyra tilted her head and an incredulous look passed over her face. “You mean you have everything you want and need living here like some prisoner?”

The question cut right to the core of her recent problems, and Rowena could not answer for a moment. “It’s better than whatever it is you are up to. Where do you stay? What dangers do you put yourself in, a young woman wandering around like a vagrant?”

“No one’s after me. I have a friend who needs to get away from an ornery husband. I thought if you could get me some money, I could give it to her and she could go home to her family ’fore he kills her.”

“My goodness, child. What have you gotten yourself mixed up in? And who is teaching you to speak like a western ruffian?”

“I’m not mixed up in anything. I just want to help her.” Tears filled her eyes, and she backed out of reach of Rowena, who picked straw out of her curls. “Please? Blair could afford to give me some money. Talk to him.”

“You should ask him yourself, but I understand your reluctance. You would do well to treat him with more respect. I will help you, if you agree to do me a favor. Stay here and get yourself cleaned up. If you were to do that, it would go a long way toward convincing Blair to help you.”

“Shit.” Tyra frowned.

“Where do you hear such language?”

“Why, from my western ruffian friends.” Tyra sighed and glared at Rowena. “When did you become such a prude? Why do I have to change who I am for you to care about me? And to hell with what your precious Blair thinks of me. He’s going to have to earn my respect, and that’ll take him a spell.” She stomped a foot. “Are you going to ask him, or not?”

“Yes, okay, I shall ask him. But I do wish you would not use such vulgarity.”

Tyra grinned. “But you’ll ask anyway, even if I don’t take a bath or clean up my language?”

“Fine, even if you do not bathe. But I’d be happier if you did. You stink, and that’s disgusting, as is your way of speaking.”

Tyra leaned against the door frame. “I’ll take a bath. For you. But I like the way people talk here. They don’t sound like they’ve got prunes in their mouth. Hurry and ask him, please, would you?” Her eyes sparkled, and she literally danced on the balls of her feet.

“Yes, now, go on. Tell Simmons to get you some hot water, and I shall go see if Blair’s awake.” Prunes in her mouth, indeed. Rowena wanted to give her a slap, but refrained.

“Awake? It’s almost noon. Why would he still be laid up in bed?”

“Never you mind. Get going.”

Tyra ran down the hallway. Rowena stepped in front of the mirror, tucked errant strands of hair off her neck and into the bun, smoothed her skirts, and headed toward Blair’s rooms. At his door, she leaned an ear against the paneling and listened. Silence. She rapped softly. No reply. Drawing in a deep breath, she rapped harder.

“Who is it?” A gruff voice filled with impatience.

Her heart pounded. She did not want to disturb him or anger him, yet this was important. “It is I. Rowena.”

Silence prevailed for so long she almost walked away, then the lock disengaged and the door creaked open a few inches. His eye appeared in the slit. A decidedly bloodshot eye. “Surely it’s not time for the dance already.”

“No, no, it is something else. Could I speak to you for a moment?”

“We are speaking.”

“I need to come in.”

“I’m not clothed.”

“I could wait.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” He swung the door open, and she gasped.

“Well, you asked for it.” Scowling, he stood before her, wearing nothing but a pair of unmentionables.

Despite his gaunt appearance of late, he was still a fine figure of a man. Tall, broad-shouldered, his flat stomach tightly muscled. A scar that matched in color the one on his face curved from his lower rib cage to disappear beneath the waistband of his drawers. She whirled quickly so her back was to him, and took a deep breath.

“Well, madam, what is it?”

There was no way she could speak, he had taken her so unawares. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“I apologize.” The gruffness was gone from his voice, replaced by the earlier tenderness of when she helped him during his nightmare. “I should not have done that.”

“No, you should not have,” she managed to croak.

“Wait. I will put on a robe. You may come in, if you wish.”

His behavior swung between polite and rude so quickly she never knew what to expect. She stepped inside, fearing what she might find, but he had shrugged into a knee-length robe and tucked his feet into slippers. A contrite expression framed by rumpled dark hair gave him a boyish look.

“Sit. Again, I am sorry. What is it you want?”

“It is Tyra.”

His eyes widened as if startled. “Is she all right?”

“Oh, yes. I did not intend to upset you. She needs some money.” She continued to stand, feeling a need to be able to escape quickly.

“I am not surprised. Is she in trouble? Please sit down, Rowena.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Trembling knees dumped her into one of the two chairs arranged by the front windows. Because of his soft kiss of the night before, being in his bedchambers alone with him made her nervous, and she cast about for something to pin her gaze on. Her search ended in studying him, and those bloodshot ebony eyes.

He sat opposite her and leaned back casually, the slightest curl to the corners of his mouth as if he were amused. The pose annoyed her. Was he laughing at her? Or did he just feel superior? Which, of course, he was. How did he accomplish that so easily, becoming lord of the manor when only minutes earlier he’d been an ill-mannered dirt farmer?

“Why does she want money? I give her everything she needs, if only she would remain here at Fairhaven.”

“I have no answer for her absence. She says the money is for a friend who is in a dreadful marriage and needs to escape. You know Tyra…or perhaps you do not, but she has always been a soft touch. Well, at least since her parents, and ours, were killed. Always collecting strays, and I hope this is not someone who will take advantage of her good nature.”

He raised an eyebrow and studied her, then gazed out the window into the bright afternoon sunlight. “I do not begrudge her the money, but I would like to meet this person first. What do you think of that idea?” He swung back toward her.

“Why, I, uh, think it’s a fine idea.” His suggestion, plus asking for her opinion, so shocked her that she couldn’t think what more to say.

He stood, slapped his thighs. “Well, that’s settled, then. Tell Tyra to fetch this woman and bring her here. If she truly is in need of help, then I will be pleased to lend a hand.”

Rowena leaped to her feet. Stricken speechless by his offer and his total change in demeanor from the past few days, she wondered if there were two men living in the same body.

“Well?” he said when she stood staring at him, mouth agape.

“Hmm? Oh, yes. Fine, I will tell her.” It was difficult not to run from the room, and his next question halted her at the doorway.

“The harvest celebration? Is it tomorrow night?”

Deep inside her something stirred that had lain asleep so long she had a problem naming it. “No, it’s tonight.” Amazing she could still speak.

“Then I’ll remind Simmons to order the carriage for quarter-past seven. Is that acceptable?”

Hope, it was hope, and it rejoiced. “Yes, that is completely acceptable. Thank you, Blair.”

As she swung the door shut, he said so softly she barely heard him, “No. Thank you, Rowena.”

****

Now, why the bloody hell did he thank her? Odd, how lightheaded he felt, how his heart pounded. Beyond the window, he actually noticed the beautiful day. Anticipation of something. Of all things, the harvest celebration. Or more correctly, squiring a beautiful woman who actually seemed eager to accompany him. Almost like being young again, before the war. Well, there, he’d gone for several minutes without thinking of the war. All the while she’d been in the room, he felt enclosed in her warmth. Protected from those brutal memories that hovered around him constantly.

He hurried to dress, taking great care with his white shirt and vest, then stepping into trousers and mid-calf boots. At the mirror, he combed his unfashionably short hair and rubbed at his stubbled jaw. He could use a shave, but it would have to wait. He wanted to join Rowena for tea. Perhaps she would forgive a slight shadow if he was otherwise properly attired. Besides, a late afternoon shave would assure no shadow during the ball. Pouring himself a double shot of whiskey, he downed it quickly, then, after one last glance at his reflection, turned and left the room.

Before he reached the staircase, she swept from her room into the hallway, saw him, and smiled. As always, she wore a simple frock, this one of an azure color that matched her eyes. It was buttoned up the front to a lace-trimmed collar and fell softly to the floor. No stiff petticoats held it away from her long legs, and he suspected no stays to push her firm breasts upward.

He smiled back at her and reached a hand out. When she came to him, he wrapped her delicate fingers around his elbow and they walked down the stairs together. The light scent of her rosewater and the soap she must have bathed in mixed with her feminine essence. And he wanted her. Fool that he was. A fragile woman like her deserved more than a damaged man such as himself. But what did he deserve? The answer terrified him.

“Have you spoken to Tyra about bringing her friend here?”

“No, she’s bathing and probably won’t join us for tea. You know how she is. But I’ll speak to her. You know, Blair, that’s very kind of you.”

He chuckled. “Unlike me, hmm?”

“Of course not.”

Nice of her, but he didn’t think she believed that for one minute.

“If she is in dire straits and seems honest enough, I see no harm in giving her some money to go somewhere away from this bully and start her life over again.”

“Be careful. You could get a reputation for being a soft touch.”

“I seriously doubt that. What sort of celebration is this harvest ball? It’s certainly not an English tradition.”

“I think Mr. Grant wants to develop some traditions that will embrace both worlds, as long as we remain very English.” She put an accent on the last two words that made him laugh.

“Well, it’s better than being an ornery, no-account cowboy.” His voice mimicked the western drawl so closely they both laughed, which felt damn good.

Simmons, who had laid out tea for Rowena in the small breakfast room, turned with an expression of surprise when Blair walked in with her on his arm, and hurried to set another service. It had been many days since he’d shown up for tea, asking instead that the man bring his meal to his room every afternoon. Not that he ate much of it. But today he found himself hungry. Very hungry indeed. And for a lot more than was on the table.

He pulled out a chair for Rowena before Simmons could do so, then kissed her lightly on one cheek before taking his own seat. When he looked up, a blush flamed her throat and face.

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It’s simply that you look so refreshingly pretty, I could not help myself.” He flipped a napkin into his lap and picked up the tray of sandwiches, offered one to her before taking two onto his plate.

She watched him in silence, ignoring the food on her plate.

After a while he picked up one of the carefully cut triangles and took half of it in his mouth. “They’re good. Eat.”

She jumped, as if returning from another place. “Are you all right?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I have no idea. It’s so good to have you join me for tea.”

“I apologize for my treatment of you lately. I’m afraid I allowed Wilda’s bad behavior to influence my own. You’ve been good to me, and I’ve treated you abominably these past few months.” He sipped at his tea, intense dark eyes watching her over the rim of the cup. Measuring her.

Tears glistened in her eyes, but she blinked them away. “I’m so happy to hear you say that.”

“Oh, then you agree that I’ve treated you badly?” He meant it as teasing, but it didn’t come out that way, and her eyes darkened.

“No, of course not. No.” She looked down, played with her sandwich.

“Rowena?” He laid a hand over hers. “I want us to be friends. I truly do. I’ve been a bastard, which I readily admit to. I’ll try to do better, if you’ll forgive me.” If that damn darkness doesn’t come over me.

The feel of her hand under his sent a jolt straight through him, and he pulled away. This was too fast. He must be careful not to rush her…or himself. Take his time. Not hurt her. God, what was he thinking? He couldn’t start this with her. Getting too close to this woman would be a mistake, just as getting too close to Wilda would have been. Yet she wanted him, he could sense that. Wilda had taken an instant dislike to him, so it was easy to push her away. Not so with Rowena.

From somewhere in the house came a loud crash. Simmons hurried to cross the room toward him. Rowena looked up. The room exploded, as if hit by a cannon ball. Her lovely face disappeared into a cloud of black smoke.

Gunfire rumbled in the distance. Men screamed. Closer and closer came the booming of cannons, until he could no longer catch his breath. The stench of death filled his nostrils. Blood marred his vision. Where was he?

He stumbled to his feet, the napkin floating to the floor, one foot catching the table leg so it jarred, spilling tea onto the white cloth. “Good Lord, they are everywhere. Get down, get down!”

Hands covering his ears, he bent over and staggered toward the doorway. Turning for one last look, he expected to see the dead and dying. Through a curtain of blood, he saw instead Rowena, frozen in place, her expression one of horror. He cried out, reached toward her, had to save her, help her flee the ensuing battle. He had killed and mutilated so many he’d lost count, and now they pursued him up the incline into the darkness, where he crouched in terror. He’d lost his weapon, had nothing to fight back with.

They came for him, blades hammering, voices shouting, and he curled into a ball in the shadowy corner and took their brutal blows. Hoped for death to put an end to this horrific battle. Once and for all.

****

Blair’s shouts and stumbling footsteps disappeared up the stairs before a startled Rowena could bring herself to rise. Simmons ran out the door behind his lordship. Her napkin fluttered from her lap to the floor as she hurried across the room, sliding in spilt food and tea.

What had happened? Had she said something, done something?

Simmons stopped her at the doorway, touched her arm. “I’ll see to him, madam. He would not want you to see him like this.”

“What is wrong with him? Please, can’t you tell me? What happened?” Tears spilled down her cheeks, but she ignored them. “Please. What is wrong? What did I do?”

“Nothing, madam, you did nothing.” He lowered his gaze. “I must go to him.” From upstairs came crashing and the sound of glass breaking. “I’d better go. You might get hurt, and he would never forgive me or himself.”

He wouldn’t hurt me. He wouldn’t. She was crying so hard the words didn’t come out but remained in her heart. Yet she could not forget the man marching up and down the dark hallway, swinging a sword at anything that moved.

Simmons disappeared into the shadows at the top of the stairway. At that moment Tyra appeared, taking the steps two at a time. “What’s going on? Such a ruckus. Who’s being killed?”

She ran down to meet Rowena and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “What is it? What’s happened? You look like death warmed over.”

More yelling, then a sinister silence. Rowena stood frozen in place, Tyra’s embrace all that kept her from toppling.

“If you don’t tell me what’s up, I’m going up there.”

“No, don’t. Please.” Rowena took a deep breath. “It’s Blair. Everything was fine. We were having tea, visiting, talking about the harvest dance tonight, and suddenly, he exploded. It was horrible. He was terrified of something, covering his ears, speaking words I didn’t understand. Oh, I wish I could help him, but I don’t know what’s wrong.” She pinched her mouth with spread fingers to keep from crying out.

“Oh, honey,” Tyra said. “My goodness. You love him, don’t you?”

She nodded, unable to say another word. A sickness roiled in her stomach, and she fought nausea.

“Let’s go to your room. I’ll help you. Come on. We can talk about this.”

Sitting on her bed, dabbing at her eyes, Rowena stared at her cousin. “You look beautiful. So beautiful. Stay at Fairhaven, please. I need you.”

“I will, at least for a while. I don’t suppose you had a chance to talk to him about Lizza?”

With a sniff, Rowena nodded her head. “Lizza? Oh, yes, your unfortunate friend. I did. And he said he wanted to meet her. If she could come here where he could speak with her, he’d see about helping her. But, now, I don’t know.” She stuttered the words out, two and three at a time, before she covered her face with both hands and wept.

She awoke sometime in the night lying across her bed, not knowing how she got there. Tyra was curled in the big chair nearby, sound asleep, red hair tousled all around her face. She wore one of her simple evening frocks bought by Blair, and looked more like the child who had accompanied her and Wilda on the year-long trip from Ireland to America than she resembled the rough-and-tumble American she had become.

Blair. Poor Blair. What demons haunted him? What had set him off? There had been a loud noise from somewhere in the house. No doubt a servant had dropped something. But why would that upset him so badly? She sat up on the bed, yearned to go to his rooms, wrap him in her arms. Her heart ached so for him.

Outside the windows, a bright moon shone, and she slipped from bed and padded across the room to lean on the sill and stare out into the night. A figure moved across the lawn and toward the large stone barn, recently completed. The drifting dark form resembled a wraith. Hugging herself, she stared until her eyes blurred. It must be Blair, but she could not be sure. On the verge of moving away, she caught sight of a horse and rider as they emerged into the dappled light and galloped off across the prairie.

No doubt Blair, fleeing whatever pursued him. She whispered a prayer recalled from her days with the nuns at St. Ann’s, then crept back to bed, where she lay for a long while before going back to sleep. Thinking of Blair. Wondering if there was anything she might do to help him.

The next thing she knew, sunlight lay across the bed, warming her. Tyra was no longer in the chair, but a note lay on the table nearby. Taken from her stationery drawer, the piece of paper was folded once. She opened it and saw in Tyra’s perfect penmanship a few words: I’ve gone to fetch Lizza. Be back soon. Love, Tyra.

Oh, no. She shouldn’t have. Surely she understood that Blair might not be up to a visit from this poor girl, no matter how urgent it might be.

Touching up her hair and ignoring her wrinkled clothing, she hurried downstairs to find Simmons. He was in the library, supervising a new servant in dusting the bookshelves that lined all four walls. The girl looked to be all of fifteen, and she was tanned and fit, like so many of the young people living on the plains.

“And you must be quiet while working here. Noise cannot be tolerated by his lordship,” he was saying when Rowena burst into the room.

Both turned to stare at her. “I apologize if I interrupted anything. Could you tell me how Blair is this morning?”

“His lordship,” said Simmons, emphasizing the title, “has not awakened. And I would appreciate it if you did not disturb him.” The tone of the man’s voice surprised her. She had thought they had become allies, but obviously not.

“Then could you tell me if you have seen Miss Tyra? Has she gone already?”

“She took that strange little spotted horse from the barn right after breakfast and rode away. She did not bother to tell me where she was going.”

Rowena wanted to reprimand him for speaking to her so sharply, but didn’t. It was not worth the effort. “Then, if you would not mind, I’d like to use the buggy this morning. Would you see to that for me, please?”

Without waiting for a reply, she whirled and left them staring at her, ran up the stairs, and went to her room to dress for a trip to town. She donned a clean frock and did the best she could to pin her unruly hair into a knot, not wanting to beckon Annie to help her. Out in the hallway, she hesitated for a moment at the top of the stairs, then turned.

Simmons be damned. She had to make sure Blair was well. At his door she hesitated and, as was her habit, listened a moment before knocking. She could hear something like the drone of someone talking. At least he was calm. Did he have visitors?

Tapping gently, she waited, heard everything go silent but no bid to enter, then tapped harder. “Blair? It’s me. Rowena. May I come in?”

“Not now. Go away.”

“Who is in there with you?”

“I’m alone. Go away, Rowena. Please, just leave me be.” He sounded rough, angry, hurt.

“I just want to make sure you are all right.”

“I am.”

With one hand, she twisted at the doorknob. Locked. “Blair, please.”

“God dammit, I said go away.” Then softly, so she could scarcely hear, “I am sorry.”

For a long while she waited, forehead against the cool wood paneling. She was doing no good hovering there like a complete fool. He didn’t want her, didn’t need her. Tears in her eyes, she turned and walked away down the stairs to wait for the buggy to come around. It was only then that she remembered the harvest ball they were supposed to have attended the previous night. Before Blair had that dreadful attack.

Marguerite must come to Fairhaven and see to him. Clearly he needed more than Simmons’ stoic restrictions, and someone had to help him, though he did not appear to want help.

Victoria City was bustling, this mid-morning—well dressed English men and women walking the boardwalks, in and out of establishments, many chatting about the celebration the evening before. Rowena alighted from the buggy, told the silent Grady she would soon return, and hurried straight into the Chesshire’s shop, where she found her friend busy with customers. Marguerite raised one hand and gestured for Rowena to go to the back of the shop. She did so, and saw the bolt of blue silk she’d chosen earlier standing in the corner. This time she would remember to take it with her, though why she desired a new dress, under the circumstances, was beyond her.

While she waited she wandered the aisles and found spools of matching thread, a pair of shears, needles, and a thimble. These she would need if she were going to take up sewing herself.

It was nearing noon before the store emptied of customers and Marguerite joined her.

With a hug and a kiss, Marguerite remarked, “You look wan, child. Would you like some tea?”

Rowena nodded, eager to get on to the reason for her visit. But her friend was not to be rushed as she put water on, spooned leaves into the teapot, fussed about with a tray of biscuits and jam, then poured the hot water into the pot and covered it with a cozy.

At last seating herself, she said, “It’s good to see you, child. I had hoped you would attend last night’s celebration. It was an enormous success. Nearly everyone was there, and several asked about his lordship. You look upset. Is Blair still causing you problems?”

“It’s not so much that. Blair has problems and I want to help him, but he won’t let me.”

“Then what do you propose I do? I have told you how I feel about inserting myself in his business.”

Before Rowena could reply, the front door flew open and Tyra hurried inside. “Rowena, you’ve got to come. Right away. I saw the buggy outside. I’m so glad you’re here. Please, hurry.”

She grabbed Rowena’s arm and pulled her from her chair.

“Whatever is the matter, child?” Marguerite said. “Slow down and tell us.”

“No time. Come on! It’s Lizza. I think… I mean… Please come. Now.”

“I’ll be back shortly, Marguerite.”

Tyra dragged her from the store and out onto the boardwalk. “This way. Hurry.”

Trotting along at her side, Rowena said, “I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m not sure. I went to get Lizza.” She grabbed her arm and steered her into the alley. “I found her lying in her bed. Rowena, I think she’s dead.”

Rowena stopped, tugged Tyra to a halt. “Dead? My God, what happened?”

“I don’t know. Come on!” Again the tug of war, which the frantic Tyra won. “I think he killed her.”

“Oh, surely not. You need to tell someone.”

“I am. I’m telling you.”

“No, I mean the sheriff, the law. Isn’t there law in this town?”

“There’s a county sheriff over in Hays, but Grant doesn’t like him sticking his nose into our affairs. Just as well, since he’s the one who treated Calder with such contempt. Poor Wilda. That was a dreadful time.”

Did the founder of Victoria have that much power, to turn away the local law?

Tyra halted. “Here. This is her flat. Through this door and up the stairs. They live over the millinery.”

“Let’s tell someone. What if we go up there and whoever killed her is still there? Are you sure she’s dead?”

“For the last time, no, I’m not sure, but she looks dead. I need you to tell me for sure. Then we can tell someone.”

“Tyra, make sense. We need to get someone who will know. There’s surely a doctor in town.”

“No, no.” The child screamed, tugging at Rowena’s hands and dragging her up a few steps.

The door to the millinery shop swung open, and inside a bell tinkled. A petite woman stuck her head through the doorway to the stairs. “What’s going on? Sounded as if he was killing her up there.”

“Why didn’t you do something?” Rowena accompanied the excited Tyra up the stairs, and the small woman shouted an epithet in a Cockney accent. Obviously a servant.

The flat was strewn with clothing and trash. A slight, pale girl lay on a dirty mattress, one arm hanging down to the filthy floor. Rowena hurried to her side. There was no blood, but her face was bruised and so was her frail body. Her clothing had been ripped to shreds. One small breast was visible, and it had a bite mark on it.

“Oh, dear,” Rowena murmured. She leaned her ear to the battered chest and heard a steady heartbeat. Slow breaths huffed from the open mouth. “She’s alive, Tyra. Do you know where the doctor’s office is?”

Shifting from one foot to the other, Tyra nodded, eyes wide.

“Well, then, go fetch him, girl. And stop acting so idiotic. Go. Now. I’ll stay with her.”

She sank to the floor, took the small hand in both hers, and spoke softly to the girl. “Don’t worry, no one will hurt you again. Help is coming.”

A whimper was all the response she received.

Poor wee mite. How could anyone be so cruel to someone so small and frail?

Steps pounded up the stairs. Thank goodness, the doctor had arrived. She leaped to her feet and ran to the door, only to meet up with a rough-looking man who shoved her aside with one sweep of his large hand.

“Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?” He headed for the bed and the unconscious girl. “Get your ass up from there and stop playacting. Time you got to work.”

When he grabbed the girl’s arm, Rowena launched herself across the room and leaped on him as hard as she could. “Leave her alone. Can’t you see she’s injured? I’ve sent for the doctor. Let her go.”

She pulled at his arm to make him release the girl, but he backhanded her. His hard knuckles caught her jaw. Pain blossomed, and her face felt as if it had been struck with a poker. She hit the far wall and slid down to sit on the floor, blackness closing in around her. The room swayed, then fell from under her. Spiraling, grasping for a hold, crying out. From somewhere voices shouted, boots scuffled. All she could do was cradle her head and deal with the throbbing pain.