Jane Bonander by Winter Heart Page A

deportment, and fine manners that her mother had instilled within her. As a patient, she’d had to protect her plate. She’d found herself doing that tonight, wrapping her arms on either side of it to keep it safe. She’d also tentatively taken a biscuit, half expecting Tristan Fletcher to snatch it from her, the way her fellow patients so often had stolen her food at mealtime at the asylum.
    With a sense of relief, she touched the bulge in the deep pocket of Daisy’s brown dress. If she forced herself to eat a little more at each meal, she hoped to stretch her stomach. She would need her strength for this job, of that she was certain.
    She’d enjoyed watching Tristan Fletcher eat. Though he had a healthy appetite, he hadn’t bolted his food. She snorted a laugh. Lord, this obsession with food simply had to stop.
    She thought, instead, about his firm, square jaw and his sharp cheekbones, his thick, black hair and his wide shoulders. As compelling as he was, he had sad eyes. She hadn’t seen him really smile.
    Spying a picture on the far wall, she stood and crossed the room, studying it as she got closer. It was of a young woman. Again, her neck hairs prickled. Instinctively she knew this was Emily, even though she was very different from her brother. He was dark, she was pale. His hair was almost blue-black; hers was golden. And Tristan Fletcher was tall, broad shouldered, and muscular; his sister was dainty and fine boned. And hauntingly beautiful.
    Dinah heard a soft sound behind her, and before she could turn, she was smacked on the head. She’d barely gotten her equilibrium when someone landed on her back, causing her to lose her balance. She clawed at the arm that pressed against her throat. Sharp fingernails dug into the thin flesh on top of her hand, drawing blood. Her heart hammered and her pulse raced, but she couldn’t scream, for the arm pressed harder, preventing her from making any sound.
    She stumbled forward, stepping on the hem of her gown. The searing noise of tearing fabric filled her ears as she tottered toward the hearth, swinging from side to side, in hopes of ridding herself of the weight on her back. She reached behind her, grabbed a thick braid, and tugged, eliciting a keening scream from her aggressor. A free hand seized Dinah’s short curls, yanking hard enough to cause tears of pain.
    Black spots danced before her eyes as she continued to claw at her neck. Suddenly she was free. Dragging in gulps of air, she turned, clutching her hand to her throat.
    Emily Fletcher stood across from her, her tiny bosom heaving as heavily as Dinah’s own. They squared off, neither speaking. The woman’s eyes were huge, and her fists were balled at her sides, as if she were waiting for Dinah to retaliate. Whatever Dinah had expected, it wasn’t this. It wasn’t a woman no bigger than a child with the strength of a burly asylum matron.
    “Did you know,” Emily began, fighting for breath, “that an aardvark and an aardwolf are two completely unrelated animals?”
    For one stunned minute, Dinah simply stared. Then she nearly laughed, for she understood. And that understanding frightened her more than anything. Whatever Emily Fletcher was, she wasn’t stupid. She could very well be insane, but insanity took many forms. And insanity didn’t mean stupidity. In fact, she would be wise to remember that some of the most brilliant people in history were labeled insane.
    Refusing to react the way Emily undoubtedly expected her to, Dinah answered with ridiculous calm, “Why, yes. One eats ants and the other carrion.”
    A flicker of surprise crossed Emily’s face before she swung away. “How did you know that?”
    Dinah massaged her neck, tempted to tell the woman she had a mind like flypaper, attracting all sorts of useless information. Instead, she asked, “How did you?”
    Emily toyed with her long, golden braid. “I don’t want you here.” Her voice had a deceptively childlike quality to it.
    I’m