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

hands and lowered his hand. He’d defended her long enough. It was time she defended herself. Her heart tore at the distance in his eyes when his gaze met hers. Yes, there was still love, desire, and admiration, but she could see the reminder of who she was resurrecting the wall.
    “We are legally married, Mr. Nulton.” She refused to call him father. She turned to meet him face to face. “Yes, I did use my mother’s maiden name for the years since fleeing your house, but I did not want Rhys to enter into an illegal contract. So, not knowing the law, you will find I signed all documents as Nulton, loath as I was to do it. I did it though, because I was casting you aside forever by legally changing my name to Chermont. You have no hold over us.”
    “With that, Mr. and Mrs. Nulton, I think it’s time you leave Bass Harbor.” Father McDonald once again stood between her and Edgar Nulton.
    “You can’t run us out of town, priest. Miriam wants a home built here near family.”
    Gillian’s blood ran cold. She could never leave Rhys, but she couldn’t live where this vile man resided. Miriam was a good match for him, heartless and evil clean through.
    Rhys’ hand curled in a fist under hers. “I’ll see you dead before I see you living here.”
    Father McDonald lifted a hand. “Rhys that’s enough. Mr. Nulton, I cannot run you out, but I assure you, you’ll find any stay here most unpleasant. Our restaurants mysteriously close at all hours of the day as do our other shops. Supplies can be in short order and run out at a moment’s notice. And don’t forget, I have our Heavenly Father on my side; don’t make me bring Him into this.”
    Nulton jabbed a finger at Rhys. “I’ll see him arrested for attacking me before I go.”
    “No you won’t. I witnessed it all. You called his wife a whore; no man in this village would let that stand.”
    “Thank you, Father McDonald.” Gillian wrapped her arms around one of Rhys’ and practically dragged him down the street. Wee Jacques stood with Father McDonald as if both would make sure they weren’t followed.
    “I am not him.”
    Deep wrinkles formed in Rhys’ forehead. “I know that.”
    “Then stop looking at me as if you think you’ll see a part of him in me.”
    He stopped and cupped her face, his warm blue gaze locked with hers. “I’m sorry, Gillian, I didn’t know I was. That was something about the legal papers. Is it true?”
    She peeled his hands from her face. “Of course it’s true. I don’t lie, Rhys Chermont, I am not Edgar Nulton, and I am not Miriam Nulton.”
    He didn’t say anything to that, but headed toward the first shop they’d stopped at that morning. “We should start gathering our packages and cast off. Looks as though clouds are rolling in.”
    “Don’t you want to eat?”
    “I don’t think I could. Do you?”
    Gillian was starving, but didn’t want to eat with him on high alert watching for the Nultons. “You’re right; we’d best be on our way.”
    Gillian walked into the house and almost cried at the sight of food spread out on the dining room table. She dropped the packages she carried and followed the smell of fish and potatoes with green beans. Alice smiled and then frowned. “Why Gillian you act as if you’re starving.”
    “I am. Please, tell me there’s enough.”
    “Of course, I thought you and Rhys could have leftovers tomorrow if you didn’t need supper tonight.”
    Disregarding any etiquette lessons from the past, Gillian started loading her plate. “Thank you a million times over.”
    Rhys joined them and scowled at her from across the table. “I asked if you needed something. Why didn’t you tell me?”
    “Because you were in such a foul mood, and I couldn’t stomach sitting across from you trying to eat while you looked at me as if I’d turn into the devil at any minute. And if you’re going to continue to scowl at me, Rhys Chermont, please leave the table. I want to eat.”
    His forehead