by Brenda Joyce
Brenda Joyce
Innocent Fire
To
Michelle and Sid
for absolutely everything.
And a very special thanks to
Meg O’Brien.
Contents
Prologue
She pressed her small body against the wall. She could…
Part One
The Bride
Chapter 1
Miranda was afraid.
Chapter 2
Derek Bragg wanted a woman.
Chapter 3
They didn’t see Bragg again until noon, and Miranda was…
Chapter 4
“Excuse me, Captain Bragg. When can I bathe?”
Chapter 5
The next three days passed without incident, and soon they…
Chapter 6
The rest of the way to Natchitoches passed in a…
Chapter 7
“Miranda, what’s wrong?”
Chapter 8
Bragg was annoyed, even angry.
Chapter 9
Miranda felt ill again, actually feverish. There was a warm…
Chapter 10
Bragg caught her just before her head hit the ground.
Chapter 11
Bragg settled himself comfortably at one end of a trestle…
Chapter 12
Miranda stole another glance at Bragg. He was eating rapidly,…
Chapter 13
Miranda awoke to the early morning sunlight. Something wet and…
Chapter 14
Chavez rolled off the other side of the bed, taking…
Chapter 15
They rode until dusk. Bragg did not head directly north,…
Chapter 16
That day was nothing like the one before. Miranda sat…
Chapter 17
Bragg stopped whistling the moment he saw her. True to…
Chapter 18
Miranda had never felt so completely alone in her life.
Chapter 19
The next morning Miranda rode with both her legs dangling…
Chapter 20
No matter how often Miranda asked, Bragg would not let…
Chapter 21
“Sun’s coming up, Miranda,” Bragg said cheerfully. “Up and at…
Part Two
The Promise
Chapter 22
“That’s it,” Bragg said casually as the horse shifted beneath…
Chapter 23
Bragg poured himself another brandy, sipping this one. The living…
Chapter 24
Bragg sank deeper into the tub, thoroughly relaxed, and became…
Chapter 25
They discussed the wedding the next morning. John was kind,…
Chapter 26
The Texas Rangers were always busy. There were always Indians,…
Chapter 27
It was truly ridiculous, but as Bragg dismounted in front…
Chapter 28
Miranda finally forced herself to stop weeping. How had she…
Chapter 29
John closed the doors to his study, and Bragg felt…
Chapter 30
Guests began arriving a few hours after sunrise. Miranda stayed…
Chapter 31
She eased under the covers, pulling them all the way…
Chapter 32
John wanted to make love to his wife, but he…
Chapter 33
Miranda didn’t mind being married. There was plenty to do,…
Chapter 34
“Wake up.”
Chapter 35
Outside, Miranda found Ben, who was indeed getting a spanking…
Chapter 36
Bragg paused outside Miranda’s bedroom door, his hand lifted to…
Chapter 37
Miranda stood in front of the hearth and stared into…
Chapter 38
Miranda was used to obeying. After all, she had spent…
Chapter 39
Bragg whistled tunelessly as he walked across the clearing between…
Chapter 40
Miranda had risen at the crack of dawn, after a…
Chapter 41
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” Father Miguel intoned.
Chapter 42
Boisterous male laughter rang out, deep-throated, a bit inebriated. Bragg…
Chapter 43
Bragg did not come to fetch her to return to…
Chapter 44
The next few days passed exceedingly slowly. Bragg was gone…
Chapter 45
“When are we going to San Antonio?” she asked cautiously,…
Chapter 46
A noise awoke her.
Part Three
The Squaw
Chapter 47
Miranda wanted to weep, but she didn’t. Tears were an…
Chapter 48
“He’s daydreaming again,” the rider said, chuckling.
Chapter 49
His touch on her shoulder awoke her.
Chapter 50
Walking Tall Woman’s attitude had changed after that first night…
Chapter 51
“Damn,” Pecos said softly but succinctly.
Chapter 52
Pecos wouldn’t let her turn around, and when Miranda heard…
Chapter 53
Bragg thought he did understand. She had been raped. Brutally,…
Chapter 54
Miranda felt as if everyone was watching as they rode…
Chapter 55
“Why are you looking like that?” Bragg asked.
Chapter 56
Derek was gone, and she wondered where he was so…
Chapter 57
That night he slept under the stars.
Chapter 58
Her happiness had vanished. She was tense and afraid and…
Chapter 59
As usual, Miranda didn’t hear him approach and didn’t know…
Chapter 60
He returned to their camp a few minutes later, whistling.
Chapter 61
Sleep left her in lazy, slow stages. She clung to…
Chapter 62
She could not spend the entire afternoon in bed. That…
Chapter 63
It was a glorious morning, Derek thought exultantly as he…
Chapter 64
That night, back at their own wichiup, they sat outside…
Chapter 65
He took her by surprise the next day, in the…
Chapter 66
The next morning Miranda awoke with love in her heart,…
Chapter 67
“Would you consider giving the child to some childless family?”
Chapter 68
He was bitter, still, that she was choosing the baby…
Chapter 69
Miranda sobbed helplessly. She had no strength left to fight.
Chapter 70
He didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious. That was…
Part Four
The Beloved
Chapter 71
“What’s wrong with her?” the woman asked suspiciously, her hands…
Chapter 72
Miranda looked up as Lil returned to the room with…
Chapter 73
Derek was too weak to search for Miranda, but he…
Chapter 74
He rode into Galveston with grim determination.
Chapter 75
Derek looked at Miranda, choking up from deep inside. They…
Chapter 76
He leaned on one elbow and smiled down at her.
Chapter 77
Derek took her back to San Antonio, then proceeded to…
&nb
sp; Chapter 78
“Derek, it’s beautiful!”
Chapter 79
A few days after he had brought her back to…
Chapter 80
The war party of Comanche, numbering five hundred, swept past…
Epilogue
“Pa, she’s following us!”
About the Author
Other Books by Brenda Joyce
Copyright
About the Publisher
Prologue
London, 1830
She pressed her small body against the wall. She could hear his shouting, and her mother’s soft sobs. She was frozen with fear, too afraid to run down the hall and into the kitchen, to the safety of nanny, cook, and the serving maids. Her small, pinched white face, with the huge violet eyes, was almost level with the door frame, and without meaning to, she moved her head slightly forward and peered into her father’s study.
He was a huge man. Tall and broad with black hair, he was dressed impeccably, as always. He was still shouting at her mother, who, like Miranda, was dark and pale and petite. She was standing in front of him, trembling and fighting back tears.
Miranda tried to understand their words. She rarely saw her father. When he was home, he was locked in his study, but he was often out, not coming in until past her bedtime. On the very few occasions she did see him, he was like this, huge and loud, terrifying both herself and her mother.
“When I say you will come, you will come!” he roared.
“Please, Edward, please,” her mother whispered. “Yes, all right, yes, I promise—”
“There is no promise to make! Am I not the head of this house?”
“Yes, yes, Edward. Would you like some coffee, or something to eat?” She looked at him hopefully, her eyes every bit as large and violet as her daughter’s.
“Are you accusing me of being drunk?” The new roar was the loudest. “You slut!” He backhanded her across the face, and she flew against a chair, almost collapsing.
“Edward, please,” she whimpered.
“I can’t stand the sight of you, you faithless bitch!” Edward bent down and yanked her to her feet, lifting her off her toes and holding her face close to his. She began to weep softly.
“Where were you yesterday afternoon? Where?” he shouted.
“I was at Lady Burrows’s.”
“Liar!”
“Edward—I swear it! That one indiscretion—so many years ago—a few kisses—mon Dieu, s’il vous plaît…”
Miranda heard the sound of material tearing as her father ripped open the front of her mother’s gown. Her mother cried out in protest as he began touching her.
“So you play the frigid virgin with me, bitch?” Pushing her onto the floor, he grabbed her thick black hair, coiled in a knot, and held her head still while he began to kiss her wildly. She struggled and moaned, but he ignored her flying fists.
Miranda could stand it no more. Her papa was killing her maman! She ran into the room, anger overcoming her fear, and grabbed her father’s arm. “Papa, no! Papa! Arrêtez-vous! Papa, non!”
The struggling couple ceased all movement, and her father lifted his head. His eyes were glazed, and then a look of rage crept into them, making Miranda shrink and drop his arm.
“Ca va petite, tout va bien, vraiment, leave now, quickly,” her mother said, her voice strange and choked.
But before the words were even out, her father had risen, grabbed her, and smacked her across the face. “Never interfere with me and your mother, Miranda!” he shouted. “Never!”
The slap knocked her off her feet. She had never been hit before. Her face throbbed painfully, and tears sprang to her eyes. “I hate you, Papa,” she sobbed, and then she ran out of the room, as fast as her long, skinny legs would take her.
Her father stared at the doorway, a stricken expression on his face. “Oh my God,” he moaned. “What have I done?” He turned to look at his wife.
She was sitting on the floor, making no attempt to cover her full breasts, which were heaving from exertion. She was staring, stricken.
His whole body tensed. “Get up,” he snarled. “I will deal with you later, Angeline. But know this. You go nowhere from this day forth without Whit to escort you. To protect you,” he added mockingly.
Angeline rose shakily. “It is your unfounded jealousy that makes you such a monster and destroys any chance of happiness in this home,” she whispered bravely.
“Get out of here, you slut!”
Angeline gathered her torn bodice together and fled.
Miranda cried for a long while, hating her father more than ever, not so much for herself as for her maman, whom she loved and adored with all her heart. Poor Maman! She finally fell into an exhausted sleep, and soon the entire town house became silent and dark.
It was her mother’s gentle touch that awakened her, and at first Miranda was confused, because blackness shrouded her form. “Maman?”
“Shhh, ma petite. We must make no noise, chérie, and be very, very quick. Come.”
“Maman, but what?” Miranda was confused. Her mother had lit one lamp, and Miranda saw that she was dressed for travel. She was holding a similar gown for Miranda. Miranda became instantly awake as her mother helped her to dress. “Maman? Are we—running away from Papa?”
“Don’t ask questions, petite. Come.”
Miranda was afraid, and she could feel her mother’s fear as it coursed from her hand to her daughter’s. They moved swiftly and quietly downstairs, and out the back entrance of the house. A carriage was waiting, and a man descended. “Hurry, Angeline,” he said, and his familiarity—not addressing her mother as Lady Shelton—struck Miranda with shock.
They all climbed in and the carriage moved off.
“Thank God you came,” Angeline said to the strange gentleman.
“For you, dear heart, I would risk everything, even my life.” He took her hand. In the darkness of the coach, Miranda could only see that he was slim and well built.
Her mother started to cry.
“Angeline, please, dear, don’t cry,” the man whispered. “You and your daughter will be safe, I swear it. You will never have to endure that bastard again!”
Angeline moaned.
“You still love him, don’t you?” the man said after a moment’s hesitation.
“Oh, Harry! No, no, you’re wrong! It’s not true! I hate him!” Angeline began to sob uncontrollably.
Harry put his arms around her. “Oh, dearest, how I wish that were true. Hush, Angeline, you are frightening your daughter.”
Miranda was frightened because her mother was trembling with fear, and because this strange man had put his arms around her. Would he hurt her? Her mother’s words were ringing in her ears. Maman hated Papa too! Her mother disengaged herself from Harry, and moved quickly to her daughter, pulling her close.
“Chérie, everything will be fine, I swear it. We are going home, to France, to a convent, where we will both be safe.” She stroked her daughter’s hastily braided thick, black hair.
“I hate Papa, too, Maman,” Miranda said, clutching her mother. “He will be so angry! He will try and find us!”
Angeline choked back another sob, but her fear was completely communicated to her daughter.
The soft whispering between Harry and her mother, and the rhythmic motion of the coach, soon lulled Miranda to sleep. The next day they crossed the Channel. Her mother was deathly ill, but Miranda was excited, excited enough that she forgot her fear of Harry and stood next to him on deck, laughing with excitement.
That night they reached the convent. Miranda watched with fascination as Harry, who was blond and fair and so opposite her hard, bronzed, huge father, kissed her mother on the cheek. It was not the same kind of kiss that her father had given; it was soft and gentle. Miranda shuddered at the memory she wanted to forget forever—the memory of her father on top of her mother, pulling her arms over her head, his mouth on hers while she struggled.
“Angeline
,” Harry said, “if you ever change your mind—write me. I love you. I will come to you. We could go to the Americas, Mexico—I would make a fine husband, and a better father.”
“You are so kind,” Angeline said, touching his cheek softly. “You are such a fine, fine friend. You know I would never run away with you, mon cher. This”—she gestured in a French way at the convent—“is different.”
“How can you love that brute?” Harry said. He turned to Miranda, who was listening to everything, puzzled. Why did Sir Harry think Maman loved Papa? She hated him!
“Come here, little one, and say goodbye.” Harry’s eyes were warm and brown. “Maybe I shall wait for you. You are the image of your mother, sweetheart, and one day you will be the most beautiful lady in all France.”
“No, I shall be a nun,” Miranda announced with conviction.
He laughed and tousled her hair. “I hope not! What a waste that would be!”
The next few days passed in a strange haze for Miranda. Her mother seemed to know many of the sisters, and when Miranda asked, her mother told her that she had been raised at this convent, and had, indeed, wanted to become a nun before her father had arranged her marriage. Miranda was no longer frightened. And her mother, although very sad, no longer seemed frightened either. Miranda’s spirits rose. The convent had beautiful gardens, which she would play in when she was not praying. To her seven-year-old mind, everything here was peaceful and safe, although of course she did not put her feelings into those kinds of words.