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Authors: Thief of My Heart
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hardly have abandoned the school either.
Dillon Lockwood would exact terrible revenge from her now. He couldn’t prove a thing; it was all just supposition, she reminded herself, but he would never let it rest.
Still, what else could he do?
Indeed, what he might do was precisely what worried her when she woke up once more from a fitful dream of rabbits and wolves. Although the eastern sky was just beginning to lighten in the hour before dawn, Lacie could not bear another moment in bed. Careful not to awaken the still-slumbering Nina, she eased from the moss-stuffed mattress and quietly donned a plain white blouse and a simple navy working skirt over her chemise. She did not bother with either petticoats or shoes and only smoothed back her sleep-tangled hair with one careless gesture.
She had no goal in mind as she went out onto the gallery that circled the house. She only knew that she needed some relief from her worried, restless thoughts.
At the gallery rail Lacie stopped and leaned out a little over the edge. In the dim light of predawn the school grounds appeared almost eerie. The trees were large shadows in a fuzzy gray world. The barn loomed almost indistinguishable from the haze, as did the smaller outbuildings. As her eyes grew accustomed to the light she saw the low layer of ground fog that so often blanketed the land in the early morning hours. Sparrow Hill might have been a land of dreams, floating on a cloud, not real at all.
How she wished that were so—that Frederick were still alive and the school just as it had always been!
But then a rooster crowed from somewhere near the barn, and reality intruded once more. With a sigh Lacie moved quietly along the gallery to where the outside stair descended to the ground.
Up till now, life at Sparrow Hill had been somewhat dreamlike, she admitted as she made her way silently down the stairs. It had been secure and comfortable, a haven from the war and its terrible aftereffects. Frederick had created his own little oasis at Sparrow Hill, and she had felt safe and insulated from the unpleasantries of life. Certainly she’d not had to deal with the Dillon Lockwoods of the world.
At the thought of Frederick’s half-brother, Lacie’s hands knotted in fists. Hang him and his ill-mannered ways! Who was he to come here and try to trample on her and this school? As she walked down the gravel path that led to the barn, she was hardly conscious of the dew that clung to her skirt and bare feet. She kept remembering his shocking audacity—and the way he had looked when he’d undressed for his bath.
Her stomach tightened at the memory—in anger, she told herself. Only anger. But angry or not, she could not pretend that he hadn’t affected her. He had sent her from absolute fury to cowering fear; he seemed more able to control her emotions than she was. To make matters worse, she was sure he knew it. Certainly he took great pleasure from it.
Determined to put such thoughts out of her mind, Lacie let herself into the feed room. With ease that came from long familiarity, she filled an old bucket with dried corn, then went outside to the chicken yard.
Summoned by the rooster’s earlier crowing, the hens were already scratching about in the dirt. At Lacie’s entrance they began to cackle and cluck in earnest, clustering about her in eager anticipation. One hen, however, stayed back, hopping slowly on one leg. Its other leg was bent back in a permanently crippled position.
Lacie flung the kernels about her quickly, and the chickens attacked them zealously. Then, as each tried to best its neighbor for the choicest seed, Lacie moved nearer the crippled old hen.
“Here, chick, chick, chick,” she called softly. “Come on, now. I’ve got a special treat for you.”
As if it knew this routine well, the hen cocked her head, hopping once or twice along the fence line but not straying far. When Lacie was close enough, she crouched down and placed a nice rounded handful
Dillon Lockwood would exact terrible revenge from her now. He couldn’t prove a thing; it was all just supposition, she reminded herself, but he would never let it rest.
Still, what else could he do?
Indeed, what he might do was precisely what worried her when she woke up once more from a fitful dream of rabbits and wolves. Although the eastern sky was just beginning to lighten in the hour before dawn, Lacie could not bear another moment in bed. Careful not to awaken the still-slumbering Nina, she eased from the moss-stuffed mattress and quietly donned a plain white blouse and a simple navy working skirt over her chemise. She did not bother with either petticoats or shoes and only smoothed back her sleep-tangled hair with one careless gesture.
She had no goal in mind as she went out onto the gallery that circled the house. She only knew that she needed some relief from her worried, restless thoughts.
At the gallery rail Lacie stopped and leaned out a little over the edge. In the dim light of predawn the school grounds appeared almost eerie. The trees were large shadows in a fuzzy gray world. The barn loomed almost indistinguishable from the haze, as did the smaller outbuildings. As her eyes grew accustomed to the light she saw the low layer of ground fog that so often blanketed the land in the early morning hours. Sparrow Hill might have been a land of dreams, floating on a cloud, not real at all.
How she wished that were so—that Frederick were still alive and the school just as it had always been!
But then a rooster crowed from somewhere near the barn, and reality intruded once more. With a sigh Lacie moved quietly along the gallery to where the outside stair descended to the ground.
Up till now, life at Sparrow Hill had been somewhat dreamlike, she admitted as she made her way silently down the stairs. It had been secure and comfortable, a haven from the war and its terrible aftereffects. Frederick had created his own little oasis at Sparrow Hill, and she had felt safe and insulated from the unpleasantries of life. Certainly she’d not had to deal with the Dillon Lockwoods of the world.
At the thought of Frederick’s half-brother, Lacie’s hands knotted in fists. Hang him and his ill-mannered ways! Who was he to come here and try to trample on her and this school? As she walked down the gravel path that led to the barn, she was hardly conscious of the dew that clung to her skirt and bare feet. She kept remembering his shocking audacity—and the way he had looked when he’d undressed for his bath.
Her stomach tightened at the memory—in anger, she told herself. Only anger. But angry or not, she could not pretend that he hadn’t affected her. He had sent her from absolute fury to cowering fear; he seemed more able to control her emotions than she was. To make matters worse, she was sure he knew it. Certainly he took great pleasure from it.
Determined to put such thoughts out of her mind, Lacie let herself into the feed room. With ease that came from long familiarity, she filled an old bucket with dried corn, then went outside to the chicken yard.
Summoned by the rooster’s earlier crowing, the hens were already scratching about in the dirt. At Lacie’s entrance they began to cackle and cluck in earnest, clustering about her in eager anticipation. One hen, however, stayed back, hopping slowly on one leg. Its other leg was bent back in a permanently crippled position.
Lacie flung the kernels about her quickly, and the chickens attacked them zealously. Then, as each tried to best its neighbor for the choicest seed, Lacie moved nearer the crippled old hen.
“Here, chick, chick, chick,” she called softly. “Come on, now. I’ve got a special treat for you.”
As if it knew this routine well, the hen cocked her head, hopping once or twice along the fence line but not straying far. When Lacie was close enough, she crouched down and placed a nice rounded handful
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