Free Gillian: Bride of Maine (American Mail-Order Bride 23) by Kirsten Lynn Page B

arrived. “Well, it’s good to see you Gillian…”—he gave Rhys the once-over—“and Rhys. How is everything at the lighthouse?”
    Gillian’s cheeks turned a bright red. Rhys gave a low chuckle. The good priest wouldn’t need to hear her confession; he could read it in her eyes. “I owe you an apology, Father, an apology and my thanks.”
    The priest held up a hand. “Let’s call it even. It’s not like you had no cause for anger. But I am happy to see you both happy and truly married.”
    Gillian’s hand squeezed his. “Thank you, Father.”
    “Bless you both.”
    “Daughter!”
    Rhys hooked his arm around Gillian’s waist and ran the back of his other hand over her pale face. Her flesh was like ice and her eyes dead.
    “Please, Rhys. Please don’t let him take me.”
    A cold chill settled over his heart, and he looked over her shoulder. At the same time, Father McDonald followed the bellow.
    Edgar Nulton and Miriam Nulton sauntered toward them, the smile of vermin spreading across their faces.
    “Gillian, daughter. I know that’s you. You owe me an explanation and the money you stole when you fled like a thief in the night.”
    Rhys tucked Gillian behind him feeling her body shaking against him. “You are mine, Gillian Chermont, and you will stay with me.” His voice was rough and harsher than he intended, but her tremors eased.
    “I owe you nothing.” Her voice was surprisingly strong as she addressed her father. “In fact, I saved you the money you were going to pay that wretched old lecher to take me away.”
    Edgar and Miriam stopped in front of them, and Father McDonald slipped between the two couples as though guarding Rhys and Gillian. Rhys could fight his own battles, and taking on Nulton would be an easy task, but he appreciated the gesture from the priest. Joining the Father was Wee Jacques. Rhys didn’t know which of the three was enough of a threat, but Nulton stepped back.
    Edgar removed his hat for a second to run his palm over his oiled hair. He tried to clench his jaw, but the effect was lost due to his flopping jowls. “I wasn’t going to pay him, you little fool. He was paying me.”
    “No!”
    Gillian’s gasp drove Rhys forward. “This is what you wanted, Miriam? An old, flabby man who would sell his daughter?”
    How he ever thought Miriam pretty attested to the fact he’d spent too much time alone at the lighthouse. Oh, if a man just looked at her, he’d think her attractive. Her cheekbones were high, nose straight, and her blonde hair and green eyes could be considered striking until a person looked at Gillian. But inside was rotten, black and foul, and anyone who knew her could see it beginning to leak into her outward appearance as well.
    “I was the one who suggested it.”
    His blood curdled, and Father McDonald mumbled something in Latin. Gillian had no reaction, as if she’d suspected it all along.
    Rhys tipped his hat to the filth. “I’ve had enough of this reunion. I’d wish you a nice day, but frankly, I hope you both sink to the bottom of the Atlantic.”
    He took Gillian’s arm and turned. “Who are you to my daughter?”
    “He’s my husband.”
    Edgar and Miriam’s laugh trailed their steps. “How can she be your wife?”
    Rhys stopped short. Father McDonald interceded. “I married Rhys and Gillian on Christmas Eve.”
    “That sounds mighty fine, Father, but I’m sure Gillian’s been using a false last name, and therefore, she’s not legally married, but she is legally mine.”
    Rhys acted in blind rage, and his fist connected with Edgar’s mouth. The older man spit blood, and his dark eyes narrowed. Eyes that in Gillian, held truth, love, trust and beauty; however, in her father, they held nothing but greed and hate.
    “You’ll pay for that, and it doesn’t change the fact my daughter hasn’t been your wife for these days, but your whore.”

CHAPTER TWELVE
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    R hys lifted his fist again, but Gillian covered it with both of her