Chapter Ten #3
He’d stopped at the commotion, one hand still firmly upon the gelding’s reins, watching the mare disappear into the rain.
For several long seconds he remained unmoving, watching.
When at last he turned his attention upon Anna, his mouth flattened into a hard line, a muscle in his jaw jumping as he ground his teeth together.
“I’m... oh, my God.” Heat rushed into her cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” she called. “She’ll come back, right? She won’t go far...?”
“Nae,” he answered at last, his nostrils flaring, his voice carrying easily through the steady rain. “She is frightened, riderless, and loose. She’ll run until she sees fit to stop.”
Anna’s stomach dropped. “I’m sorry.”
“Ye’ve loosed a good horse,” he called out, “our food, the blankets, and near all we possessed.”
Anna realized then, or was reminded of the items that horse had carried. She swallowed, her dismay growing rapidly, even as she was relieved that only her own bag was attached to the gelding.
Just as she opened her mouth to give another wretched apology, Bram gave the gelding’s reins a firm tug, and barked, “Come.” Without waiting to see whether she followed, Bram turned and resumed the careful descent, leading the gelding after him.
Anna huffed out a breath she’d been holding. Fine. If he intended to be angry, she allowed that it was certainly justified. Muttering a decidedly unladylike curse beneath her breath, she shifted onto one hip and reached for the foot that had started the whole miserable affair.
What she found there made her features twist in greater alarm. Embedded deep in the ball of her foot was a long, wicked black thorn, its point buried so completely that only a short length remained visible above her skin.
“Oh, good God.” Grimacing, she pinched it between trembling fingers and gave it a careful tug, but it didn’t move.
She squeezed her eyes shut, braced herself, and pulled again.
A low whine escaped her lips as the thorn slid free.
She opened her eyes to stare at the thing—nearly half an inch of it had been buried in her flesh.
A single drop of blood welled from the wound before the rain washed it into a pale red stain against her skin.
Anna examined the menacing thorn. The end that had been buried in her flesh was blunted, which made her wonder if it had broken off inside her foot.
Gingerly, she pressed her thumb to the tiny hole in her foot and winced immediately, deciding that yes, something still remained inside.
She tried digging for a moment with her fingernails, to no avail.
She squeezed the skin around the hole, which managed to produce another drop of blood, but failed to bring the rest of the thorn to the surface.
It would have to wait, since Bram apparently would not.
She sighed, wanting very badly to remain where she was and indulge in a proper fit of self-pity, but Bram was still descending, and she had no intention of irritating him even further. Losing one horse was enough for a single afternoon.
With considerable reluctance and a great expectation of pain, she planted her good foot beneath her and rose. She touched the injured one to the ground and slowly shifted her weight onto it. Pain shot through the ball of her foot so fiercely that her knee buckled almost at once.
“Oh...no.”
She tried again, more carefully this time, trying to keep the ball of her foot and her toes off the ground. But the descent made that awkward and nearly impossible, and she feared she’d end up falling again before she made it all the way down.
Bram had yet to look back, and she was arrested by a new worry—that he might simply keep going without her if he were that upset about her losing the horse.
She drew a long breath and tried limping again, but after three miserable steps she gave up.
Grumbling again, Anna lowered herself carefully to the wet hillside, extending her injured foot before her, and planting both hands behind her.
Slowly, she began easing herself down the slope a foot or two at a time, scooting awkwardly over the slick grass and patches of exposed stone on her butt.
It was awkward work. The rain-soaked grass offered little purchase, forcing her to brace herself against rocks and clumps of thistle while she scooted from one relatively level patch to the next.
More than once she slid farther than intended, stopping herself only by digging both hands into the muddy ground.
It was humiliating, and sadly, the progress was considerably slower than walking, but at least she was moving.
Far below, Bram reached the valley floor a moment later.
He turned almost at once, presumably to see where she was, and though he was more distant now, she was still pretty sure that another fierce scowl twisted his features upon seeing that she still had a third of the way to go.
For a long moment he merely watched, rain dripping steadily from his hair and beard, before he secured the gelding beneath the shelter of a broad oak, winding the reins twice around a low, sturdy branch, and giving them what appeared to be a firm tug before turning back toward her.
“I’m fine!” she called out when he began to march with angry strides back up the hill, toward her. “Honestly,” Anna muttered under her breath, “I’m perfectly capable of embarrassing myself without an audience.”
Still she continued scooting downward, determined that by the time he reached her she’d at least have covered another several yards. She managed perhaps only another six feet or so.
Bram climbed the hillside with long, economical strides, hardly seeming to notice either the mud beneath his feet or the rain still falling steadily upon them.
Anna looked up with what dignity she could muster while sitting rather inelegantly in the mud.
“I don’t need help,” she said, a bit breathlessly.
His angry eyes dropped to her legs.
Her skirt, soaked through hours ago, had ridden scandalously high from all the awkward scooting, exposing all of her calves and much of her thighs.
She felt the warmth rush immediately into her cheeks as his gaze lingered there, not boldly, nor exactly appreciatively, but with the unmistakable attention of a man who had just realized how much of her he was seeing.
She tugged the damp fabric down at once, accomplishing very little since it was mostly caught beneath her.
“Don’t,” she gritted, though she wasn’t entirely sure whether she meant don’t look or don’t notice.
His gaze finally lifted to hers. There remained irritation in his expression, certainly, but something else now as well—something that didn’t seem to be connected to anger.
He presented his back to her and tapped at his own shoulder. “Up.”
Anna blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Upon my back.”
“Omigod no,” she said emphatically. “I can manage—”
“Today?” he challenged, all ill-humor returned. “Before the mare gets too far, mayhap beyond our ability to reclaim her?”
Anna opened her mouth and then closed it again, and almost instantly gave in to his very unsubtle manipulation—as if she didn’t already feel guilty enough!
With a huff, she scrambled to her feet, reaching for his broad back to steady herself and keep weight off the ball of her foot.
She tried as well to keep as much of her own weight as possible upon her good leg while slipping her arms around his shoulders, but the effort proved futile.
The moment Bram rose, lifting her as though she weighed little more than one of the wet blankets they’d lost with the mare, she had no choice but to cling to him.
Heat enveloped her almost immediately. His linen shirt was soaked through, yet the man beneath it seemed impervious to the cold, the warmth of his broad back and shoulders radiating through the rain-chilled linen.
She became acutely aware of the powerful muscles moving beneath her forearms, of the strength with which he carried her down the hillside.
He bore her weight as if the wound in his shoulder was a memory and the heavy iron shackle on his wrist was nothing but a grim ornament.
Anna rested her chin, only for a moment, against the back of his shoulder, and told herself she hated how comforting it felt. More troubling still, a small, treacherous part of her wished the hill were steeper, the valley floor much farther away.