Megan Chance Read Online Free Page A

"Yes. His friends."
    "You think he is strong enough to stop them if they want vengeance?"
    "I don't know."
    " Ja ." Charles paused. He stabbed a dumpling with his fork and stared thoughtfully at it. "I know you do not like to hear this, Liebling , but perhaps it is a good thing Roarke came. He can protect us, and you need a man like him. A man to give you back your spirit. You are more like yourself when you speak of him."
    "It's not spirit, Onkle , it's anger."
    "It is something. I have been worried, watching you waste away, never smiling, never eating. It is not good. It is not the Sari I know."
    Sari studied her hands. "Perhaps it's a better one."
    "No." The quietness of his answer underlined his conviction. "I cannot believe that. But I do know God has reasons for everything. Even for Conor Roarke to return."
    Sari met her uncle's eyes. "A reason? Of course there's a reason. He never did anything without one. But protecting me isn't it."
    "Are you sure?" he asked slowly. "Perhaps he tells the truth. I can see he cares for you, Liebling . It is in his eyes."
    Sari turned away. "Eyes lie, Onkle, just as he does. He's not here to protect me from the sleepers. He wants something else."
    "What has he to gain by lying to you about this?" Charles pursed his lips in concern. "I, too, have worried about the sleepers. I would rest easier if you were protected."
    She leaned across the table, covering his hand with her own. "I am protected, Onkle ."
    "I am too old, Sari. I am no match for those men."
    "Don't say that."
    "I am an old man." He patted her hand, smiling wryly. "I wish it was not true, but it is."
    "You're all I need." Sari smiled gently. "Believe me, Onkle , I—"
    The sharp whinnying of a horse cut her words dead. Sari dropped her uncle's hand in confusion. "Is Marta in the barn?"
    " Ja ." Charles frowned and turned to the window. "I have ..." He stiffened. "There is something out there. Get—"
    The window cracked. Charles jerked, stumbling backward onto the floor, stopping Sari's scream half in her throat.
    "My God, Onkle ,” Sari scrambled to him. " Onkle !"
    "Douse the lamp!" Charles gasped. "Douse it!"
    She reached for it, but in her haste it slipped between her fingers, crashing against the table, spreading oil, fire, and glass over the surface. Sari lunged at the flames, batting at them with her sleeve.
    A bullet sang past her. Sari wrenched back, struggling to see through the darkness. But there was nothing. Only the pounding of hooves.
    "Get down!" Charles yelled.
    She threw herself to the floor beside her uncle.
    "It is the Mollies," he whispered harshly. "Roarke was right."
    "It could be anyone."
    "I feel Michael's hand in this," Charles said.
    "How can you?" Sari asked, but almost in answer she heard the murmured voices outside, the sound of nervous horses. Her uncle was right. This was like Michael. A surprise visit, shots in the dark. But it couldn't be him. It wouldn't be. Surely he wouldn't hurt his own sister....
    But she hadn't thought he would kill a man either, and she'd been wrong about that. So wrong.
    Charles motioned toward the loft, his hand a shadow in the darkness.
    "No," Sari whispered, understanding him. "I won't leave you."
    "Go!" The word forced out in a breath. "You must hide. They want you, not me."
    "I won't leave you—"
    "Go!"
    Sari recoiled, the desperate tone in her uncle's voice unfamiliar and frightening. He was right, she knew it and yet she couldn't move from this spot, couldn't leave him.
    There were footsteps now, and she felt Charles's panic. She felt his push; her own feet seemed numb as she stumbled toward the ladder.
    She pulled herself up without conscious will, scrambling toward the back comer of the loft, behind the sacks of flour. The sound of the front door wrenching open had Sari pulling aside the heavy bags, her fingernails tearing on the burlap as she squeezed between them.
    Her heart was pounding in her chest. Sari curled into a ball, burying her head, willing the