The Saxon Brides: Mistaken Mistress. Tessa Radley
“Come on,” Joshua said, putting an arm around her, “Heath is taking you home.”
Amy blinked. “Where’s Roland?”
Joshua answered, “In surgery.”
There was a moment’s silence. “Will he be okay?” There was fear in Amy’s voice. “There was so much blood … and he was so quiet.”
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Heath said soothingly. “You know Roland, he always bounces back.”
Amy didn’t look reassured. “When will I be able to see him?”
“We don’t know yet.” Joshua’s frustration added a hard edge to his voice. “But I’ll soon change that.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Amy said with a stubbornness that belied her delicate appearance. “Not until I’ve heard what’s happening with Roland. And Heath won’t want to leave, either.”
“Don’t be a child, Amy,” Heath sounded exasperated. “You heard what the doctor said, you need rest and observation. There’s already one—” He broke off.
“Patient?” Amy’s chin lifted. “Don’t worry about me, I won’t collapse. You can observe me here. I’m not going anywhere until I’ve seen Roland.”
Alyssa suppressed the urge to cheer the other woman on for standing up to the overbearing Saxons. She knew exactly how Amy felt. She, too, wanted to see Roland with a deep, driving ache. She shifted restlessly.
Joshua’s gaze flickered to her before returning to Amy. “Can I get you anything while we wait?” His tone was gentle, not hinting at the frustration he must be feeling at Amy’s intransigence.
Amy shook her head violently. “I’m fine.”
But even Alyssa could see that the other woman was far from fine. How must Roland’s fiancée be feeling, waiting to hear the extent of her beloved’s injuries?
The waiting was bad enough for her. She’d only met Roland once. Very briefly. The man she’d been seeking for years …
A strand of hair fell forward. She stared at it. It was dark red—thankfully not the bright red that topped Roland’s head, more of an auburn shade. But it was something tangible that she shared with him.
There would be more links to discover once they got to know each other. There must be. After all, Roland was her brother and they shared the same DNA.
A stir at the doorway caused Alyssa to lift her head. Kay and Phillip Saxon—Roland’s adoptive parents—had arrived.
“How is he? Can we see him?” Kay’s eyes were frantic, and the powerfully built, gray-haired man beside her looked shattered. Everyone swarmed around them. Alyssa saw her chance.
She stopped a passing nurse. “Roland Saxon … where is he?”
“What’s your relationship to the patient?” The nurse glanced at the clipboard she held. “Are you the fiancée?”
She hesitated, glancing quickly back to where Kay Saxon was bending over Amy, patting her shoulder. It would be better if she didn’t lie outright and simply let the nurse assume she was Roland’s fiancée.
“My name is Alyssa Blake, I’m—”
“Alyssa Blake?” Joshua had come up behind her, unheard. Now his angry gaze impaled her.
Uh-oh.
“Are you the fiancée?” The nurse looked confused.
“No! She’s not my brother’s fiancée,” Joshua hissed from between clenched teeth.
Alyssa’s heart crashed to the floor as she read the disdain and rage in his eyes. Game over. She could kiss her hopes of seeing Roland tonight goodbye.
“So you’re Alyssa Blake, the journalist?”
Suddenly everyone was gathered around. Heath, his eyes almost as glacial as his brother’s. Kay and Phillip Saxon. Only Amy remained seated, her face cupped in her hands.
Alyssa’s gaze flickered from face to face. “Yes, I’m Alyssa—”
“You told me your name was Alice,” Joshua interrupted.
“It is—”
“Alice?” Kay Saxon had gone so white that her lips appeared bloodless.
“Don’t worry—her name isn’t Alice. She’s Alyssa Blake, that bloody journalist who—”
Alyssa cut across Joshua’s rant. “What does it matter right now what my name is? Roland is hurt.”
“You’re right! I’ve wasted enough time on a journalist in the business of telling lies.” Joshua’s gaze scorched her. “It’s my brother who’s important right now. Come, Heath.” Joshua stormed past her, his brother in his wake.
Feeling sick, Alyssa started to follow.
“Wait.” Kay Saxon grabbed her arm.
Alyssa stopped. Maybe Kay would let her see Roland if she told the older woman the truth. That Roland was her brother. That she’d dreamed for so long of this day … of finding her brother … of meeting him. Warily, she searched Kay Saxon’s face for a hint of softness.
“Did Joshua call you Alice?” Kay’s eyes held desperation.
“Yes.”
“But you introduced yourself as Alyssa Blake to the nurse.”
“Yes.” Where was this going? Alyssa could feel impatience rising in her. She needed to find a way to get to Roland’s side. To hold his hand, absorb his pain.
“Does that mean you’re Alice McKay?”
Alyssa froze. “What do you know about Alice McKay?”
“You contacted Roland.”
“Yes. He told you?” She’d wondered how Kay and Phillip would feel about her contacting Roland. It looked as if she was about to find out.
Phillip stood behind his wife, a solid wall of powerful flesh she’d have to scale to get to Roland. “Darling, the doctor will be here in a minute to talk to us.”
“Phillip …” Kay’s hand rested on his arm and Alyssa could see that the fingers were shaking. “Didn’t you hear? This is Alice McKay.”
After one startled moment when everything seemed to freeze, Phillip recovered and in a low voice demanded, “What are you doing here?”
Roland’s parents definitely knew who she was. But neither appeared welcoming. A sinking pit opened in Alyssa’s stomach. She lifted her chin. “I wanted to meet my brother.”
From across the room, she saw Joshua reappear and an ugly frown disfigured his handsome face when he saw her talking to his parents. Clearly he didn’t want them talking to the notorious Alyssa Blake.
“Now is not the time for this. We want you to leave,” Phillip ordered.
Alyssa stiffened and fisted her hands at her sides. “Now is exactly the time for me to be here—my brother is in surgery. I have every right to be here.”
Kay Saxon took her clenched hands. “I understand how you feel, but Roland wouldn’t want you here.”
Alyssa’s throat closed and she felt perilously close to the tears that she’d been fighting. “What do you mean?”
“He never responded to your letters or e-mails, did he?”
With heavy reluctance, Alyssa choked out, “No, he didn’t.”
“Doesn’t that tell you something?”
“That he didn’t get them?”
“He