Read Online Beauty in Disguise by Mary Moore - Free Book Online Page A

finally seemed to turn the tide. While Dalton prepared for whatever response the cutthroat threw at him next, Jack Dawkins turned on his heels and dashed away, doing the one thing Dalton did not expect. And Dalton had not been granted near enough time with the villain to assuage his anger.
    As he prepared to follow the man, he took a quick look over his shoulder and stopped dead in his tracks. The brave young woman so recently in his arms had quietly slid to the ground into a sitting position, her back against the stone wall of the bridge. Her head was down on her pulled-up knees, and she was shrouded in her cloak. He could see, even from where he stood, that she shivered uncontrollably in silence. He had witnessed many shattering experiences in battle, but his heart had never been touched so deeply by any sight.
    He lost all thought of pursuit, which angered him but did not eat at him as it once would have. Dawkins would more than likely not expire from his injuries, but he could never stop for a doctor. Not, at least, until he was very far from Trotton, and by then Dalton knew he would suffer a great deal, almost enough to make up for the lifetime of suffering he had caused Dalton and this woman in a matter of moments.
    He very quietly went to her side and lowered himself onto one knee beside her. Dalton wanted so badly for her to know he was there to protect her as long as she wanted him. But he knew in his heart that she probably had little awareness of him as she dealt with her own inner struggles. He gently put one arm under her knees and the other around her back as he slowly, tenderly lifted her from the ground. She did not raise her head, and he tried not to be overly encouraged when she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, as if holding on to him for dear life.
    He walked off the bridge and over to a tree with a divided trunk, allowing him to settle them both between the huge limbs, almost as if wrapping themselves in another pair of arms: God’s arms. The swaying branches effectively blocked them from any view and he leaned back, allowing her legs to settle on his lap as his arms tightened around her, holding her close to his chest, willing life back into her.
    Her hands were fisted against his breast as if in perpetual preparation for a fight, and her head rested uneasily against his broad chest. He began to stroke her back, realizing as he did so that her hood had slipped down, and he rested his chin against the top of her head.
    He whispered over and over, in the quietest of voices, “It is all right now. Nothing will hurt you. I have you safe.” His mind raced for any comforting words that he might murmur to her, at the same time feeling so inadequate in his attempts to soothe her. Lord, help me! Give me Your words, Your own comforting touch, whatever You feel she needs now; instill it in me for her benefit.
    Unable to bear her reticence any longer, and worried about the injury to her neck, he spoke to her in a voice filled with awe, against the top of her head. “You are the bravest woman I have ever seen. You were magnificent, my fairy, you were smart and wonderful in a terrible moment.”
    Dalton was wholly unprepared for the response his words wrought. It was as if actually speaking out loud broke her out of some protective shell she had placed around herself, and the floodgates opened. Her fists unclenched only long enough to grasp his lapels in a lifeline grip, and she turned her face into his chest and sobbed, a heart-wrenching pain...all in complete silence. He had never been so scared in all his life, fighting Bonaparte included.
    He could feel the unrelenting rise and fall of her chest as she pulled in and released great breaths of air. But it was her tears, the silent sobs already dampening his shirtfront, that grabbed his heart with an emotion he had never felt before.
    He only held her tighter, rocking gently as his cheek rested against her hair. Could he give her what she needed to get