Lost Baroness

B Glad Judith

Description

In all his wanderings, Buffalo Lachlan has only once before seen eyes winter-sky blue like Siri Trogen's. He promised a dying man he'd find a lost twin, and he's been following nebulous clues and vague rumors halfway around the world ever since. His search leads him to Astoria, Oregon, the cold, rainy winter of 1873.Could Siri be the lost sister, heiress to a barony? Before Buff can find proof, he becomes caught up in her hunt for her stolen children. Inexplicable accidents and unexplained disasters complicate their efforts. Is someone trying to prevent Siri from finding her children, or him from finding the missing heiress? Shared danger drives them into each other's arms. Shared adventure teaches them that they each have a streak of recklessness, a core of courage, and a heart full of love to share. But before they can make any decisions about the future, they have to find Siri's children, prove she's the lost baroness...and stay alive.

Sujets

• Westerns
• Historical romance
• Western (genre)
• Western

Informations

• Publié par: Uncial Press
• Date de parution: 13 octobre 2006
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781601740144
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE LOST BARONESS
Behind the Ranges, Book VI
By
Judith B. Glad
 
Something hidden. Go and find it. Go and look behind the Ranges-- Something lost behind theranges. Lost and waiting for you. Go.
Rudyard Kipling: The Explorer
 
Uncial Press       Aloha, Oregon 2006
 
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events described herein are products of the author'simagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events,locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2003, 2006 by Judith B. Glad
ISBN 13: 978-1-60174-014-4 ISBN 10: 1-60174-014-X
Previously published by Awe-Struck E-Books
Cover photography and design by Judith B. Glad
All rights reserved. Except for use in review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part inany form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden withoutthe written permission of the author or publisher.
Published by Uncial Press, an imprint of GCT, Inc.
Visit us at http://www.uncialpress.com
Dedication
My grandmothers became hotel maids after being widowed and forced to support themselves with noskills beyond housewifery. My daughters were hotel maids because such work was easy to find while they werelearning other skills. They soon moved on to jobs that paid better. Many women can't move on because, like mygrandmothers, they are all that stands between those they love and the wolf at the door.
This book honors my grandmothers, my daughters, and all the women who daily perform the menial,invisible, and so necessary tasks that keep the rest of us comfortable.
And let's not forget Neil, who does floors so I'll have time to write.
 
* * * *
 
Acknowledgements
No book stands alone. In writing The Lost Baroness I sought advice and information from manysources. These folks were particularly helpful and are deserving of special mention:
Bob Chehey, who knows just about every mushroom by its first name, and found me exactly the ones Ineeded.
Britt-Mari Lord, who took my poor attempts at Swedish and made them say what I wanted them to.
Liisa Penner, Clatsop County historian, who helped me 'see' Astoria in 1873.
Diana Steiner, who dug up some really interesting German words, some of which were a little too interesting to use here.
And of course, my critique partners, who find missing quotes, blue pencil unnecessary verbiage, and helpme keep my characters behaving themselves, even the villains. Mary, RubyLee, Norma and Kat, thanks somuch.
* * * *
A glossary of non-English words and phrases used in the story is at the end of thebook.
Prologue
Somewhere in Eastern Europe, January, 1871
Buffalo Lachlan stepped from the swift stream on numb, icy feet. Clumsy under his burden, he climbedthe shallow bank, eased between the close-spaced shrubs. He gave silent thanks to the mud that was too frozen totake footprints.
He hadn't heard the dogs since just after dawn. Maybe he'd confused them when he went into the water.Pausing briefly to draw a deep breath, he peered between the tangled branches. Beyond the band of shrubs, theforest was dim and shadowy. Patches of snow lingered where the dense canopy hid it from the sun.
Staggering, he emerged into the open. Few shrubs grew in the shade of the enormous fir trees, giving theforest a cathedral-like appearance.
"Damn little cover," he muttered.
Eventually he stumbled into a glade where a rotting snag stood. At its base, he eased his burden to theground and knelt beside the limp body, watching for any slight sign of life.
At last he saw the chest move, a shallow lift and fall. Moving carefully, stiffly, Buff removed his filth-encrusted jacket and laid it across Anders. He shivered as an errant draft found its way inside his raggedshirt.
Anders moved then, wrapped his arms around himself, as if holding in what little warmth he possessed.Buff saw he'd been bleeding again.
Shit! We probably left a trail a blind man could follow.
Wanting only to rest, to sleep, Buff forced himself to his feet and pushed his way through thesurrounding brush. He should go back and make sure they'd left no sign of their passing. But first he had to takecare of his friend. Within a few minutes he had gathered an armful of fir branches, never taking more than onefrom any tree, breaking them off carefully, so the white scar of torn wood would not be easily visible.
He covered Anders with the branches. His pa had shown him this trick a long time ago. Who'd havethought he'd ever use it here? And he had a hunch he'd be using more of the woodscraft Pa had taught him beforehe got himself and Anders to safety. They were still a long way from the border.
He tried to stand, for he knew he should fetch water. His legs refused to lift him. Kneeling there, he knewhe could go no farther until he had rested. With a sigh, he burrowed under the fir branches next to Anders andwrapped his arm around the unconscious man. It wouldn't be the first time they'd slept thus entwined. Thedungeon had been little warmer than the forest.
Buff woke once to moonlight-silvered night. Beside him Anders seemed to be sleeping naturally, but hisskin was still icy and his breathing shallow. He thought again of water, for his mouth was dry. Anders' wound,where the guard's thrown knife had buried itself deep, should be cleansed. In a moment he would rise, wouldfetch what he could carry in his cupped hands. In a moment...
Birdcalls woke Buff before sunlight pierced the forest canopy. Immediately he checked Anders, who stilllay in the curled-up position he'd taken when Buff put him down. To Buff's surprise, the younger man opened hiseyes.
"Buffalo?" He paused, licked his lips. "Are we safe?"
"For the time being. How are you doing?"
"Thirsty. Give me a moment and I will be ready to travel." He rolled to the side and tried to push himselfupright. He fell back and lay still, his eyes closed. "I am sorry, Buffalo. Had I been quicker, we would have beenaway without notice."
"Not with the moonlight. The guard would have seen us, sooner or later." They'd had to cross almost amile of open ground before they reached the edge of the forest. "I'll get water," he said, rising.
"No--" Anders lifted a hand to catch his pantleg. "No, stay, please."
Kneeling again, Buff said, "You need to drink. There's a stream not far away."
"Water will do me no good, my friend. I fear I am dying."
"No you're not--"
"You know I am." He coughed.
Buff saw a froth of blood on Anders' pale lips. He wiped it away with a corner of his jacket. "Not if I canhelp it."
Anders had been growing weaker, more ill, for some time. The months in the cold, dark dungeon hadsapped his vitality, and the poor diet--some days they had bread with their water--had been hard on the slim youngman who had grown up to a life of privilege. But he had never complained, and had often cheered Buff when itseemed as if they would die, forgotten, in Festung Uberderwelt's dungeons.
The information they'd acquired before being caught would be old news by now. Still, as soon as he sawAnders to a safe haven, he'd report to Lord Heatherwood. Perhaps the Coalition could salvage something. SurelyRuprecht wouldn't have halted his very profitable operation because two inept young tourists had stumbled uponit.
At least he and Anders had managed to convince their captors that they were merely tourists gone astray.Otherwise they'd not have lived a day.
A low groan reminded him they'd have to be moving soon. But could they? Anders must have concealedhis failing health for months. In the dim light of their underground prison, Buff had not seen how thin hiscellmate had become, or how pale and infirm.
Just as he had. Buff knew he wasn't the man he'd been when they were tossed into the dungeon--how longago? It had been early summer when they'd been caught at their surveillance of the Festung. His reflexes were slowand his thinking dull. If he'd been more alert, the guard wouldn't have been alive to see them.
At least the bastard would never abuse another prisoner.
A hand plucked at his sleeve. He looked down at Anders. The man's gaunt but still aristocratic face wasdrawn and twisted with pain. "Sleep," Buff said. "We'll be here a little while yet."
"Buffalo, promise me..."
He caught Anders' hand, held it tightly. He could feel life slipping away.
"Promise me you'll look for her." Anders' voice was stronger, his grip on Buff's wrist tight. "She's alive. Iknow she is. I can feel--"
A shudder shook his body.
After a moment Buff took back his coat and laid the lifeless hand across his friend's body.
"I'll look for her, my friend," he vowed, knowing Anders Thorssen could no longer hear him. "I'll findher."
Chapter One
Columbia River Bar, January, 1873
Eyes narrowed against the salt spray, Buffalo Lachlan stood at the rail of the Chinese Duchess, straining for a first glimpse of the shore. The waves crashing against the hull were a sure sign the ship wasapproaching the bar that made entering the Columbia River a challenge to even the most skilled seaman.
He was almost there. Almost home.
Home! He could be there in a week, if he traveled fast.
If he didn't have a promise to keep.
"The mate said we ought to be in port by sundown."
Buff replied without turning his head. "It won't be soon enough for me. My feet are itching for solidland." The ship had been standing offshore for nine days, awaiting a break in the weather. This afternoon thewaves were merely half again as high as the ship, the wind only a mild gale. Fairly calm conditions for the mostdangerous bar in the world, according to the captain.
The priest grabbed the rail as the ship shuddered, then dove into a trough. "Please God, we'll get theresafely. This is like nothing I've ever seen."
"Captain Hanks says our pilot is one of the best," Buff said. Right now he just hoped the captain hadn'tlied. Even the