by Jillian Hart
Jonah's Bride
Jillian Hart
Bound by Duty
Army Major Jonah Hunter has spent his lifetime answering the call of duty, but when he returns to the Connecticut village where he was raised to be at his dying father's bedside, he faces his biggest challenge yet; finding a bride. Jonah's father's dying wish is to see his oldest son married and settled down, and although Jonah has no desire to do either, he is duty bound to honor his father's wish. While all of the village's marriage-aged women are throwing themselves his way, Jonah is drawn to the one woman who wants nothing to do with him; the sharp-tongued, spinster Tessa Bradford.
As the village healer, Tessa has spent many days and nights in the Hunter home caring for the Jonah's ailing father and watching as local women throw themselves at the Army hero. Labeled as harsh and severe, Tessa knows there is no way the village's most eligible bachelor will be interested in her. But sparks fly between the unlikely couple. When Jonah proposes to Tessa, she must decide whether his offer was made out of love or simply because his father needs a nursemaid. Unwilling to be stuck in a loveless marriage, Tessa must decide if there is more than passion drawing her and Jonah together and if the feelings she has for him can ever be returned by the war-hardened soldier.
Jillian Hart
Jonah's Bride
Chapter One
Movement caught his eye. A trickle of leaves. A sway of a bough in the nighttime forest. Jonah Hunter gripped his musket by the wooden stock, his senses alert. Perhaps it was his years serving in the militia, fighting Indians, fighting the French, that made his blood turn to ice and awareness prickle down the back of his neck even here in these peaceful Connecticut woods. He was battle weary, and yet the soldier within him still lived.
Danger. He sensed it as surely as a wolf scenting prey. Snow shifted through the reaching limbs overhead, blotting out the half moon's light. A chill raced through him. He stepped forward, following instinct and the soft, barely audible pad of footsteps.
"State your business, man." Jonah braced his feet, musket already loaded, his hand steady.
No answer. No sound other than the wind through the trees and the snow tapping to the frozen ground. This was Puritan land, bound by a nine o'clock curfew. No decent man would have midnight business to conduct on these roads-but he did.
Jonah Hunter was no decent man.
"I have little patience. Show your face, coward."
Still no answer.
The wind stilled. The night silenced. Tiny hairs on his forearms and the back of his neck stood. Something felt wrong. Deadly wrong. And it wasn't the soft pad of timid footsteps trailing through the forest, one step at a time away from him. Jonah hefted his musket and followed the coward's path.
A damned clever coward, winding through the trees with hardly a sound and a lightness of step. It was the whisper of fabric that took him a moment to place-then he recognized the rustle of a woman's skirt. He could feel her presence like the shadows of the trees crowding him. Not so far away she stood, there by the old alder, fear drawing her breath shallow.
"What foul business are you about tonight, mistress?" he asked, highly amused he was chasing nothing more than a woman through the forest.
A twig cracked. Her footsteps stormed nearer. She rose like a shadow from the ink-black night. "Jonah Hunter. I recognize your voice, you scoundrel in a gentleman's cloak."
He chuckled and lowered his musket. Lord, had it been a lifetime since he last laughed? Jonah shook his head and stepped back lest she stormed right over him. "Tessa Bradford. Only you would be so bold as to call me scoundrel."
" 'Tis only the truth." She stormed to a stop before him, chin high, yet her voice wobbled when she spoke. There was no hiding some fear. "I am quite capable of spotting a devil when I see one."
"A devil?" Intrigued now, Jonah reached out and snared the angled shadow of her elbow. Beneath woolen cloak damp with snow, he felt the flesh and bone of a woman. Solid. Intoxicating.
Hell's hounds! If he thought this female attractive, he'd been traveling too bloody long without food. Hunger was sure to be affecting his reasoning.
"Jonah, get your hands off me." She fought, trying to twist her arm from his grip with a surprising amount of strength. "I will not have you compromising my reputation."
"Yes, after all, we must protect your pristine reputation." He tightened his hold. He would not release her. Danger still pricked his spine. The night was as silent as death and that worried him. "Tell me, what is such a proper woman doing alone and unescorted at this time of night? Up to mischief, no doubt, and I-"
Something hard struck him above his left temple. That hard something splintered, and he recognized the scent of rotting wood as pain ricocheted through his skull. She'd hit him. And damned hard. Jonah's knees wobbled. His grip eased. And she fled, crackling through the forest with the speed of a bird.
What the devil was the woman about? He'd been gone from this backwoods village for over ten years-hadn't thought of her for more years than that and wouldn't have wanted to. Now, his first night back to the township he called home, he had to endure-
A swish of a shadow caught his eye, hugging the ground, moving fast and low, trailing after her.
Tessa Bradford, the most sharp-tongued, stubborn woman in all of Connecticut Colony could rain down more trouble on a man than she was worth. Jonah snatched up his musket and bounded after her, reaching for his horn of gunpowder, cursing her with each step.
Harebrained. Infuriating. Troublemaking.
He fell to his knees, straining to see through the sting of heavily falling snow. The woods had given way to meadowland-and he easily spotted Tessa's dark figure silhouetted against the snow-laden ground. Without doubt, he aimed his musket and squeezed. A flash of fire, a roar of thunder, and the wooden stock kicked hard into his shoulder.
In the deafening silence, the snow clouds overhead broke apart, unveiling the half moon. Light washed across her back as she turned to face him. Her mouth opened, her mittened hands balled into outraged fists.
That was a gunshot. Tessa's gaze froze on the sight of broad-shouldered Jonah Hunter kneeling in the snow, reloading his musket.
Panic froze her up like an icicle. The man was daft. Much worse now than he was before he left the village. What sort of man shot at a woman? Surely he didn't-
Across the meadow Jonah Hunter lifted his musket and aimed it. Directly at her. For the second time.
"Jonah!" She opened her mouth, but her throat tightened. She could not scream, could only whisper as the eye of his musket found her. Sensation crawled across her skull. Time froze as she felt the shadow rise up behind her. Fire and thunder flashed through the night and a heavy weight struck her between the shoulders. Air rattled from her lungs. Pain slammed down her spine. She fell face first into the snow, driven there by the dead weight on her back.
Big black boots thudded closer. Tessa concentrated on Jonah's approach, her chest convulsing, tears rolling down her face. She couldn't breathe. Air knotted in her throat. She could not draw it deeper. She coughed and sputtered, certain she'd drawn her last breath. Had this madman shot her? Pain cracked like thunder through her chest and up her windpipe with each coughing gasp.
Tessa lashed out when his big hand touched her forehead. She didn't want his help. Not now. Not ever. God, she was going to die, an unremorseful spinster, right here at the feet of wicked Jonah Hunter, without family or friends who would mourn her. Somehow a sob wedged itself in her broken chest. How could he do this to her? How could he-
The weight lifted from her back. Tessa raised her chin from the snow and eyed the dark shape lifeless on the earth beside her.
"Be grateful I am a damn good shot, Tessa Bradford," Jonah's rumbling voice filled the sile
nce of the night. "Or you would be supper for a pack of hungry wolves. And what a poor supper you would make, you are such a tough, skinny little thing."
Oh, she would set him straight with a few choice words if she could catch her breath. Eyeing the dead wolf, her panic eased. He hadn't shot her after all. He hadn't-
Relief slipped through her, cold and sustaining. The spasm in her chest eased some. She felt the damp night cold penetrate her woolen cloak, and the smell of winter earth filled her nostrils. Thankfully, she drew a single shaky breath.
"Of all the damn fool things to do," she sputtered, hoisting herself up on both elbows. "You could have missed and shot me instead."
" Tis a comfort to know you can use your tongue as a weapon even with the wind knocked out of you." Jonah's big fingers curled around her upper arm.
Tessa tilted her head back. Filtered moonlight silvered the black length of his hair and shadowed his strong-planed face. Oh, how he'd changed over the years. Grown wider of shoulder and girth, become more handsome. It was his eyes she remembered, brown like the earth and more elemental.
"Slowly, now," he said, almost kindly, as he helped her to her feet.
Jonah Hunter kind? As if the devil could change sides.
"I needn't your advice," she said quietly. It would be so easy to lash out at him, but her gaze landed on the lifeless animal's body. "You shot twice."
"And killed two wolves." His hand lighted on her shoulder.
Heat seared through layers of wool and flannel to scorch her skin beneath. Tessa managed a shallow breath. "Two wolves?"
"Seems you attracted the attention of the entire pack." Low, powerful, Jonah's voice sailed. He studied the ground behind them. "See? The wolves have already claimed the first body. There are tracks."
Tessa was not interested, but her gaze slid downward, past the width of Jonah's chest to the snow-covered earth. A maze of prints covered her own in the moonlit snow. Maybe a dozen creatures, she guessed. Made bold by hunger.
Icy fear shivered over her skin. "They would have-" She couldn't finish the sentence. Her knees began to wobble. Her eyes teared. Death had been so close. The wolf-the one that had landed on her back-it must have been pouncing when Jonah's bullet snatched it out of the air. She would be dead, gone without a trace or a proper burial, if not for Jonah Hunter.
"You are safe now." His second hand landed on her shoulder and he drew her against him.
Locked in his arms, her cheek pressed against his snow-damp cloak and the solid chest beneath. Tessa closed her eyes. Silly to let him hold her this way. Silly to think she needed any comfort. But her fists filled with his cloak and she could not force herself to step away.
"You saved my life," she whispered. "I-"
"Jonah!" A faraway voice split the night's air.
Only after Tessa stepped away from his solid chest and out of his comforting embrace did she hear the drum of footsteps on the frozen earth. Her senses spinning, panic rising, she took another step back toward the heavy shadows.
The boys who'd been skating on the frozen pond at the far end of the meadow heard the shots and were coming to investigate.
Boys from the village. Would they recognize her even in the dark? Would they talk? And would that talk get back to her grandfather and every one of the selectmen of the village? Fear quickened the beat of her heart. Oh, why had she been so foolish? Even to escape the prison of her grandfather's home?
Jonah shielded her with his big body, casting her more deeply in shadow. The din of the approaching boys shattered the forest's peace and frightened her more.
"Go," he said. "Before you land yourself in more trouble."
Her heart twisted. So, he understood. To be caught with him alone in these woods would mean nothing short of disaster. "Th-thank you."
Even in the dark, the light in Jonah's eyes gleamed. "Remember this. You owe me, Tessa Bradford. There is no good deed done without a price."
A chill snaked down Tessa's spine. His words frightened her. He frightened her. What did he mean? What price would he expect for saving her life? Feeling as if she'd just bargained with the devil, Tessa slipped into the shadows and escaped just as the boys gathered around Jonah, already spinning tales of heroism.
Chapter Two
Jonah stepped foot in the pitch-black room, apprehension a tight ball in his chest. He'd been too long from this house in which he'd grown from boy to man, too long disappointing the one man he loved above all. "Father?"
"I am here, boy."
Jonah's conscience twisted at the raspy sound of his once strong papa's voice. He stepped carefully, moving by feel rather than memory through the parlor. Strange to think he'd come home for good.
"I have been awaiting your return." Father's breath drew short and shallow, filling the dark room.
I have failed him. The knowledge defeated what still lived in his heart. Jonah's throat filled. I should have come home. I should have made Fathers life easier. And yet being a soldier, that's what Father had wanted for his firstborn son.
"I would have been home sooner." Jonah fisted his hands. "There were… complications."
"Always are in war."
"I was wounded," he confessed. But held back the truth that would shame his father, that he had not liked soldiering.
"As long as you have all your parts, son." Father's chuckle came like a cough, but humor still sparkled in his voice "I can think of only one appendage a man cannot live without."
" Tis true." Jonah saw nothing humorous about his father's health, about the sadness filling the room like smoke. "I have come to care for you, Papa."
" 'Tis high time too, boy." Withered hands, once so powerful, gripped his-hard and needy, the way a child might. "I have missed you, Jonah."
"That is why I've come home." He felt both the aching loneliness and the weakness in his father's grip. All these years while he'd been gone proving himself, his father had turned into an old sick man.
I never should have left him. I never should have-
"Now that you are here, will you stay, boy?"
"I intend to be the son you need, as always." Jonah felt resolve ball in his chest, tight and sustaining. Promises. They did not come easy to him, but when he gave his word, he would die before breaking it. "Tell me what you want, Father, and I will do it."
A cough rent the air, filling Jonah's heart with dread. The frail man sputtered for breath, then settled back in his chair, exhausted. The moonlight slipping through the diamond shaped windowpanes illuminated the weary circles beneath his half-closed eyes.
When he spoke, his voice was a scarce whisper. "This land is everything, Jonah. My father claimed this piece of earth not by handing over money in exchange for it, nay, he paid for it with his life, with the strength in his back, clearing this wilderness with naught more than an ax. He braved starvation and illness and wild animals. He earned this land with every drop of his blood and sweat shed for it. I have fought my battles for this land, too."
"Father, I-"
"Jonah, I raised you to be independent, an American, to think for yourself. When you, as a grown man, asked to leave, I let you go. For ten long years you have made your way in the world and I asked nothing of you until now."
Admiration for his father burned in his chest. Jonah's throat closed, and he tightened his grip on the old man's hands. He loved his father, who had loved him all his life no matter the mistakes he made, who always forgave him. A son-a man-could not ask for more.
"Find yourself a wife, Jonah, bring her here before I die. Fill this house with children. Promise me. You are my first son, Jonah. This land is your inheritance, and family is your duty."
Father fell silent, yet the moonlight did not hide the gleam of tears on his cheeks.
Jonah settled heavily to his knees. The words balled in his throat, words he'd meant to tell his father. Of the killing a soldier had to do. Of his life. Of why he could truly never call any place home again.
But duty-and the sadness on
his father's face-kept him silent about his past.
"I vow it, Father. I will take a wife."
* * *
Her cloak was ruined. There was no saving it. The thick stain of blood from the wolf had soaked into the weave of the fabric. No amount of her homemade lye soap would remove it, even though she'd been scrubbing for two long hours.
Tessa hung her head, defeated. Dawn would come and with it a new day. How would she explain the ruined garment? She had no other. Surely Grandfather would notice her lack of a cloak during this morning's frigid walk to Sunday meeting.
She stood and hung the ruined length of wool to dry in the cow's stall. No one in the family would notice it there. With a heavy heart, she lifted the bucket of lye water.
Did she regret last night? She was foolish for her adventure, but she'd only wanted a brief escape from her grandfather's unhappy home. To skate on the ice and be free, just for a spell. Then the boys came and she had been scurrying off when Jonah Hunter found her.
Jonah Hunter. He was a handsome one. And what a foolish thought! She was too old for romance. No one, especially one so fine, would marry her. She was lucky to live under her stern grandfather's roof, even if she still wished… oh, how she wished, for what could never be.
But what if Jonah Hunter spoke of her midnight adventure? Tessa's meager hopes sank. If he did and Grandfather learned of what she'd done, then there would be no more midnight adventures, no swirling alone on the ice beneath the stars.
The cow shifted in her stall. The horse kicked, hoof against wood. Something was wrong. It was too early for Grandfather to be up for his chores. A scraping sound rasped along the edge of the stable.
Another hungry wolf? Mayhap a bear? She gripped her pail more tightly and hurried toward the unbolted door. The rasping sound ceased. Tessa froze, listening. Mayhap whatever it was had vanished, been frightened by the sound of her approach.