Chapter Thirty-Nine #2
She blushed under his scrutiny, probably fully aware of what he was thinking. The idea that she was thinking the same thing did little to stem his desire. She turned away, her cheeks scarlet, and pretended to be interested in the view.
He looked at the woods through her eyes.
The forest was cool and dark and smelled sharply of pine.
Above the treetops, the old tower stared down at them.
He led the way along the path, intent on guiding her back to the others before he gave in to the desire to steal a kiss, or do far more than that.
They walked in silence, the mossy ground muffling their footfalls.
A hard punch to the shoulder knocked Alec backward. His teeth knocked together as the force of the blow pressed the air from his lungs. The hot spurt of blood came next, just as another bullet whizzed overhead, then the pain.
“What—” Caroline began. The next shot hit the tree beside her face. He grabbed her hand and dragged her to the ground.
“Someone’s shooting at us!” she said breathlessly. “Hello!” she called to warn the hunter of his mistake.
The next bullet hit the ground beside them.
His right arm felt like lead, and he felt blood flowing under his jacket, down his sleeve, a red-hot river.
He circled his left arm around her waist, hauled her against him, and dove for the sheltering trunk of a fallen tree.
The exertion made his head spin, and he fought the sudden dizzy rush of pain.
“Who’s out there?” she whispered, peering around, her eyes wide as saucers. “Surely it’s a mistake,” she said again, but yet another bullet whizzed past, and she gave a muffled cry. He scanned the dense undergrowth, but saw nothing. His gun lay where he’d dropped it, a dozen feet out of reach.
“Alec, you’re bleeding!” she said, her cry soft, but still loud enough to attract yet another bullet.
It thunked into the wood of the tree next to their hiding place.
A wave of pain washed over him as her hands roamed over his limbs, searching for the wound, still hidden under his coat.
Her expression changed to fear, and concern.
Gentle as her touch was, it was still agony.
“Leave it,” he said more gruffly than he intended. “It’s my shoulder. A graze, probably.”
She saw the blood on his hand, and cried out when she peeled back his coat and saw his bloody shirt. “This isn’t a graze. We’ve got to get you back to the castle.”
“That’s three miles away, at least,” he muttered.
“Then I’ll go for help,” she said desperately. Was it his imagination or were there tears in her eyes? They were glittering, but her chin was set in a determined point, not wobbling with fear.
“No,” he said through gritted teeth. “Not with people shooting. We’ll have to wait for Leith and Jock.”
Caroline took out her handkerchief, and pressed it hard against the wound. He drew a sharp breath through clenched teeth at the pain. The flimsy lace was soaked in an instant. She tossed it away.
“I need to take my petticoat off,” she murmured, and Alec managed a lopsided grin.
“I thought we agreed . . .” he said. She blushed.
“Don’t be silly. Your very life might hang in the balance.”
She stood up and began to raise her skirt. She hadn’t gotten it up past her booted ankle when another shot rang out. She dropped to the mossy ground beside him. “I think they’re getting closer.” They lay side by side in silence, ears pricked, listening as footsteps crunched through the undergrowth.
He heard voices now, male voices. “Did you hit him?”
“I’ll know when I see his corpse, won’t I?”
Alec braced himself. They were coming closer.
Caroline’s eyes burned like firebrands as she scanned the undergrowth.
“Caroline . . . stay here,” he whispered.
She was wearing a green riding habit borrowed from Lottie.
She nearly blended into the mossy trees.
Perhaps, he hoped, if he drew his pursuers away, they wouldn’t see her, and she’d be safe, but she shook her head, her expression fierce, looking as protective as a mother wolf.
She began searching the ground around her, digging her fingers into the leaf litter. She came up with a small rock.
A twig snapped, and she drew a sharp breath. She raised herself just enough to wind up and throw the rock into the undergrowth downhill. It bounced through the leaves, making an unholy clatter in the grim silence.
“There!” he heard the call, listened as his pursuers rushed toward the sound.
“Can you stand?” she asked, putting her arm around him. “We need to move.”
“And go where?” he asked.
“There.” She pointed to the old Grange. He hadn’t known they were so close to the abandoned house, hadn’t been here in years. It stood shrouded in ivy, locked up tight, almost invisible amid the trees that were doing their best to choke it out entirely.
“Caroline, it’s locked. There’s no way to get inside,” he said. “It’s safer to stay in the woods.”
She looked at him as if he were daft, and hauled on him, trying to help him rise, though her slender frame was fragile compared to his. “Oh? The door’s wide open, Laird.”
Alec looked at the old house, and blinked. A few moments earlier, the door had been shut, locked tight, overgrown with vines. Now it stood wide open, and the vines beckoned in the breeze.