Chapter 3
Thank God for Hunter.
And Hunter’s reflexes.
If Helena had been alone, she would’ve stood there like a ninny while the thief ran her through with that murderous-looking blade. As it was, she’d frozen in shock at the sight of the masked man—
Until Hunter yanked her out of the lunatic’s path, more or less throwing her onto one of the padded benches. She hit the fabric with a startled squeak, then bounced—or perhaps it was more of a roll—onto the floor.
A foot came down hard on hers and Helena hissed an angry curse as she yanked her leg and traveling dress out of the way, only then to look up.
Oh.
Oh dear.
Hunter and the masked man were…grappling? Is that what they were doing? As the train slowly picked up momentum and rocked its way out of Lochearnhead, Hunter mercilessly slammed the other man up against the window.
In a blink, her pretend spouse had his own knife in his hand—where had he been hiding that?—and slashed at the masked man. He must’ve hit the man’s wrist or arm, because with a muffled curse, the man dropped both his hand and his blade.
Thank goodness.
Helena pressed her hand to her mouth to hide her shriek as blood blossomed—no, that was entirely too polite of a description.
Gushed? Exploded. Blood exploded from the man’s forearm.
Goodness, wasn’t there an artery near the wrist?
Did arteries carry that much blood? Oh, why hadn’t her teachers covered useful subjects like What To Do If A Thief Ambushes You In A Train Compartment Moments Before You Allow Your Entirely Unsuitable Escort To Kiss You?
Perhaps an upper-level niche subject matter she might have encountered if she’d stayed another few years at Miss Fidget’s Decorum and Decorating Finishing School for Genteel Young Ladies.
The intruder clasped his other hand to the wound and whirled to face Hunter…just as her protector’s left fist slammed into the man’ jaw. The thief’s head jerked back, and in the pause, Hunter tossed his knife to his left hand, hauled back with his right, and sent a powerful blow to the man’s nose.
More blood. How unpleasant.
Oh dear God—was this Huffington’s work?
Helena was staring, still in shock, as Hunter slid his knife back into his belt—was that a hidden sheath?
—and took a step across the compartment toward her, hand outstretched.
By the time the masked man had slid his way, unconscious, to the floor, Hunter had her lifted upright and away from the miscreant, and was reaching over her head for her valise.
“Are you hurt? Nay? Good, come on.”
Without giving her a chance to answer—perhaps for the best, since she was only planning on drawing in breath to list her many grievances about the last two minutes—Hunter yanked open the door, looked both ways down the corridor, and dragged her out of the compartment.
“Where are we going?” Helena huffed as she struggled to keep from tripping over her skirts.
“Find a hiding spot.” His tone was curt as he glanced in each compartment, then plastered them both to the wall when they reached the junction with the next car. “Clear. Let’s go.”
What was going on? “Hunter, what—”
“If that bastard had accomplices, ye cannae be there waiting for them.”
“But Mister—”
“She’ll be fine, he wasnae after her. In fact…ah, good,” he muttered as he pulled open the door to what was obviously the baggage car. “Sit down,” he commanded powerfully, nudging her toward a set of trunks. “I’ll reconnoiter.”
“You most certainly will not leave me here alone!” Helena realized she was wringing her hands, but couldn’t make herself stop. “Hunter, what was that?”
His expression changed from determined to sympathetic. “Och, lass.” He clucked his tongue as he went to one knee in front of her, his hands cupping hers and chafing them. “Ye did so well. I ken that was a surprise.”
“Seeing you kill a man? Yes, rather.” Her tone was dry, but her heart was pounding double time.
From the way he winced slightly, perhaps he could see through her bravado. “He’s no’ dead, Helena. Just unconscious.”
“All that blood—”
“He’ll no’ bleed out before—ah.” He cocked his head as distant screams began. “Right on time. I suspect Mister came back with young Wulfric and found our visitor. Sorry, assailant.”
Helena realized she was clutching Hunter’s hands tightly, refusing to let him go. “We have to go back and help her! Wulfie will defend her, but the man had a knife!”
From Hunter’s slight grin, he didn’t believe in Wulf’s ferocity. Well, he’d never forgotten to give the poor dear his midnight munchie, had he?
“The man is unconscious, Helena, I promise ye. When I punch someone, they stay punched—that’s why ye hired me, remember? Mister’s screams will bring the authorities, and—aye. Feel that? We’re slowing. Which is good.”
“Where are we?” she whispered.
“I’m guessing a handful of miles outside of Killin.” Shrugging, he stood—and since he was still holding her hands, he pulled her up with him. “Are ye strong enough to run a bit, lass?”
The thought that he would think her not strong enough to run had Helena’s chin snapping upward. She would not permit a man—this man—to think she was not up to the task.
She pulled one hand from his to gather her skirts. “Of course I am strong enough to run. What kind of question is that?”
He grinned at her, and although she wasn’t sure if he was mocking her or proud of her, Helena’s knees went weak at the sight of that smile. Oh dear. Hold a man’s hands for five seconds and suddenly he is enough to make you go all gooey?
Hunter jerked his head toward the large door set into the side of the car. “Come on. We have to jump down before the train stops moving entirely.”
Since he tugged her in that direction as he explained—or at least, gave what was clearly in his mind an obvious explanation—Helena stumbled behind him. But she wasn’t going to go so easily. “What? You want to jump out of a perfectly good train? Whatever for?”
He didn’t pause to explain, but dropped her hand to wrestle with the latch. “Because that bastard was after us—after ye. He said he was there to stop us from reaching Islay, aye? What happens if he has friends on board?”
They would come after us. And it was a small train.
Helena didn’t say it. She didn’t need to. “So why should we not just stay hidden until we reach Crianlarich? Call for the police?”
Ignoring her, Hunter slid the door open with a grunt, looked both directions, then gestured her nearer. “I’ll jump down, run alongside, and ye need to trust me to catch ye, aye?”
Eyes wide, Helena just stared at him.
“Helena!”
She shook her head. Was he mad?
Hunter reached out, grabbed her by the back of the head, and yanked her mouth to his. The kiss was hard, sudden, and over in a flash, but it snapped Helena out of her shock.
In fact her hand rose to smack him, but in a blink he’d dropped his hold on her and turned for the door.
Her valise sailed through the opening and Helena had just enough time to shout, “My bag—” before he had vaulted out the door into the rushing landscape as well.
What in the world was happening?
Helena lunged for the door, one hand braced against the panel, and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Hunter sprinting closer.
“Come on!” he yelled, one arm reaching for her. “The train has slowed, see? Ye can do it.”
“I most certainly cannot!”
The wind didn’t quite pull her words away because, yes, fine, the train was slowing. But she wasn’t a lunatic. She wasn’t going to—
“Jump, Helena!” Hunter bellowed. “Now. We have to get out of sight! I’ll catch ye, sweetheart, I swear.”
“Oh, all right,” she muttered with a sigh, and threw herself from the train.
Like a complete idiot.
Slightly to her surprise, Hunter did catch her.
Well. Catch was perhaps too polite a term.
Helena slammed into him, limbs akimbo, and they both made a noise like a butcher slapping a dead pig, before tumbling to the ground. She felt him wrap his arms protectively around her head and shoulders, then they were rolling, rolling, rolling—
It took only a few heartbeats, and Helena didn’t have time to breathe before they were slowing to a stop, her back cushioned by grass and his arms and Hunter’s concerned face looming above her.
“Are ye aright, sweetheart?” His blue eyes darted across her face. “Helena? Anything hurt?”
Lying there, pinned beneath him, with the cloudless Scottish sky outlining his auburn curls and a dizziness in her skull, Helena wondered if perhaps she had hit her head.
“You kissed me,” she whispered.
He blinked, and she realized that hadn’t been what she’d intended to say at all.
“Should I be sorry?” Hunter murmured.
“You…” Oh dear. “Our relationship…”
Just business. Right?
Perhaps he heard the unspoken words, because Hunter suddenly nodded and loosed his hold on her as he rolled to one side. “Sorry, sweetheart. I kissed ye because I needed to shut ye up.”
“Shut me up—” Helena spluttered as the brute hauled her to her feet and began to roughly brush the crushed grass from her gown. “What are you doing? Stop that!” She slapped his hands away. “I can clean myself!”
“Right.” He was already striding away from her, away from the distant train. “Let’s go.”
Hunter scooped up her valise. “See, ye’ve got your things—and I’ve got my magic rock, so what could possibly go wrong!”
He turned away from the track, his long legs eating up the distance faster than she could possibly keep up.
So she didn’t. Helena folded her arms and stood there, glaring after him.
“Let’s go, Helena!” he called.
“Not until you explain some things!”
There was a sound like a loud huff, and Hunter came stomping back into view.
“I kissed ye because I wanted to, aright? And ye wanted me to, dinnae deny it! Yer husband’s a thoughtless arsehole, to leave a woman like ye all lonely for years on end, and unless ye can tell me ye didnae enjoy it, I dinnae regret it. ”
Oh.
That…hadn’t been what she’d wanted to ask at all.
But it was quite gratifying to hear, in a harsh sort of way.