Free The Captive Heart by Michelle; Griep Page A

bed.”
    White knuckles gripped the chair arms, and she shot forward—which only widened her eyes farther when she nearly touched him, nose for nose.
    He stifled a laugh as she shrank back, one hand flattened against her chest, the other choking life from the chair’s arm.
    “It’s been a fair long day for you.” He kept his voice even, using the same low tone as when he tamed a horse or stopped Grace’s tears. “This is your home now. You needn’t sleep in a chair.”
    Her blue eyes took on a grey color, like the first billows of a spring storm, then she turned her head aside. “Clearly I am able to.”
    “You’re able to what?”
    “Sleep in a chair.”
    “It won’t do for you to walk with a hobble come morning. Grace is … well, she can be a handful, sweet as she is.” He rose and swept out a hand toward the bedstead. “Go ahead and stretch yourself out. Get some rest.”
    She snapped her face back to his, her cheeks flushing as if he’d bruised her. “Thank you.” She snipped out the words. “But I prefer to remain as I am.”
    Interesting. Something he’d said or done had perturbed her, but what? He rubbed his jaw, going over the past few minutes, and came up empty-handed. “Listen, woman—”
    She shot to her feet. “I have a name, sir!”
    “So do I, and it’s not sir.”
    Her eyes glittered with unspoken terror. This was about more than a name. He stepped toward her, and she retreated, bumping against the chair.
    “Mr. Heath, I believe I made it plain that I will not …” She pinched her lips and looked at the bed.
    Ahh … of course. He should’ve thought. Her conditions for marriage, the way she recoiled whenever he drew too near, the measuring and weighing of every glance all made sense. She’d never been with a man, and he chided himself for not thinking of it sooner.
    “
Tatsu’hwa
.” The name rolled off his tongue, clear and true, feeling as fitting as if she’d been called so from her first breath—and far less dangerous than calling her wife.
    She whirled, the hem of her skirt swishing in a whirl above her feet. “Pardon me?”
    “You’re stubborn as a mule, determined as an oxen, but anxious as a wild bird.” With each word, he took a step closer, until he reached out and snagged the loose piece of hair off her shoulder and held it up for her to see. “A red bird. And so I’ll call you Tatsu’hwa.”
    “Tot-soo-wah?” She jerked away, brows weighted with a fierce glower. “I do not understand you. If you so disdain the English language, then why take on an English wife?”
    The question cut, and the answer drew blood. None of the other women in town would have a murderer.
    Shoving down a growl, he stalked over to the pile of pelts and worked one loose. The accusation fit him like a well-worn moccasin. He clutched a fur and strode to the door.
    “Where are you going?” she asked.
    The question followed him outside, unanswered. The day had been hard enough as is, but his gut told him the night would surely prove to be a devil.

Chapter 9
    E leanor woke with a start. She shot up from the chair, then grabbed the side of her neck where a wicked muscle stabbed pain clear into her shoulder. The sting was nothing, though, compared to the torment of her dreams….
    A beast of a bear had been chasing her, pawing the hem of her skirt until she fell face-first into the dirt. Even now she could feel the grit in her teeth, the scrape of her chin against gravel, so real had it been. When the bear roared, she’d turned, only to stare into the dark depths of a worse nightmare—the all-consuming gaze of her new husband. He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her, but she could only see half his face—the half she’d yet to see.
    Claw marks ran the length of it, leaving trails of pooling blood….
    She shivered and rubbed her hands along her arms. When she worked up enough courage, she dared a glance at the bed. No bear. No man. The tightness in her shoulders