Chapter 11
The moment Cynthia took off after the puppy, Alexander took off after Cynthia.
He had no idea what he was doing.
This side of the mountain was nowhere near as smooth as the other, and he hadn’t been graceful on the easy slope. It took all his effort to maintain his balance as gravity did most of the work hurtling him down the mountainside after Cynthia.
He wasn’t as skilled as her.
He wasn’t as fast as her.
He had to watch in horror as he realized the haystacks she’d mentioned earlier were the targets set up for the archery tournament. Right in front of them.
Eighty yards away.
Sixty yards away.
Alexander winced as the puppy slammed into the base of a target and stopped moving.
Cynthia was there instantly, her knees bent and her back straight and her poles tucked to one side as she ducked down and scooped up the puppy as though the rescue maneuver came as natural as yawning.
She was the most amazing creature he had ever seen.
A guardian angel. A—
Thwack.
Cynthia lurched upward, all her grace gone. She jerked backward, with a long wooden rod protruding from her chest.
Terror ripped through Alexander’s veins like a flash fire.
Cynthia fell to the ground, motionless, the little brown puppy clutched in her arms.
“No!” he roared, not caring who heard him. He flew forward on panic alone.
He was going to kill all of the archers.
Right after he reached Cynthia’s side.
Twenty yards.
Ten.
His skis caught on who-knew-what and Alexander went sprawling, landing in an ungainly heap two haystacks down from hers.
People were running toward them.
They were still a hundred yards away.
He flung his poles aside and threw off his skis, half sprinting, half scrambling, across the ice-slick snow. He gathered Cynthia up and cradled her to his chest.
“I will kill you if you die,” he choked into her hair.
“Ironic,” she mumbled. “I like it.”
She was alive.
“I didn’t mean to!” came a panicked, desperate voice.
“Is that... the Duke of Nottingvale?” said another.
Alexander didn’t let go of Cynthia.
He wasn’t certain he ever could.
“If you take one step closer,” he snarled at the adolescent lad with the tear-stained face, “I will rip you asunder with my bare hands.”
The lad blanched and nodded jerkily, new tears escaping to join the others.
“Is she... dead?” he stuttered.
“She’s alive.” The look of abject relief on the boy’s face matched Alexander’s own. “Go and summon a doctor.”
The lad nodded and ran off, his thin elbows spiking into the air.
Alexander lowered his mouth to Cynthia’s matted temple.
“If you die...” he growled.
“You’ll kill me,” she mumbled. “I remember.”
“What the devil were you thinking?” His body still hadn’t stopped shaking. Might never stop shaking.
“It was Max,” she protested weakly.
A pathetic mewl sounded from the direction of her bodice.
“I got him,” she whispered.
“I don’t care about Max.” His body was definitely never going to stop shaking. “I’ve got you.”
“If it makes you feel better,” she said tentatively. “I think it’s a flesh wound.”
“It does not make me feel better. It makes me feel like throttling you.”
“I think I could walk. If you let go of me.”
“You are not going to walk. There is an arrow sticking out of you. I am going to carry you home and possibly everywhere else if that’s what it takes to keep you safe.”
She tugged at the wooden rod.
It didn’t come loose.
Alexander’s stomach roiled.
“Stop that,” he snapped.
“It’s not deep in me,” she said. “At least, not all of the way in. I think part of it is stuck on my petticoats.”
“Don’t touch it. I’ll summon every doctor for miles and they’ll sort out the right thing to do.”
“You know...” Her voice was faint, and her head lolled against his chest. “Maybe I can’t walk.”
“Damn it, Cynthia Louise!” He held her tighter, his throat tight. “You must stop acting as though your life doesn’t matter. I have a duty to my title, but you have a duty to the entire world. We would all be much poorer without Miss Cynthia Louise Finch.”
He lifted her up and stumbled down the road toward his cottage with half of the village trailing close behind.
“What about the skis?” she murmured.
“I don’t give a damn about the skis.”
The arrow wobbled with each step, making Alexander’s stomach churn in protest. It was not protruding from her chest, as he’d first feared, but rather from her shoulder.
Blood had seeped through all her layers of clothing to blossom around the arrow like a red rose of death.
“It looks like you’ll miss tea with the duchess,” he informed her.
“Don’t worry,” she mumbled. “Carole will definitely hear this gossip.”
He didn’t doubt that.
People appeared to be pouring from their houses to fall into step around them. Oswald had the door flung wide long before Alexander lurched up the path. His footmen spilled out of the open doorway and dashed up to him with matching expressions of alarm.
They held out their arms. “Can we—”
“No,” Alexander growled, muscling past them.
All of the female guests were packed into the entryway.
His mother stood front and center.
“What is the meaning of this?” demanded the duchess.
“There’s an arrow sticking out of her,” he said icily. “I’m trying to stop that.”
“Where were you?” stammered one of the debutantes.
“Skating down the mountain on skis,” one of the villagers replied helpfully.
The crowd immediately began talking over each other at once to recount the vivid tale of the archery contest, and the dog, and the lady on skis, who bravely rescued the dog, and the duke on skis, who then rescued her.
“You absented yourself from your own party,” the duchess bit out each syllable, “to play on skis with... this creature?”
“He saved my life,” Cynthia croaked out. “He’s a hero. He’s still marriageable. Go back to charades.”
The duchess’s voice was glacial. “You’re in his arms.”
“Pretend this is charades?” Cynthia offered in a small voice.
“Move,” Alexander growled. “All of you.”
The crowd parted, but barely.
“He’s here!” cried a voice from just outside the door.
The lad who had shot Cynthia with his bow and arrow skidded into the entranceway, wild-eyed and breathing fast.
“He’s here,” he repeated, pointing behind him. “The doctor’s here.”
“Good.” Alexander headed into the corridor. “You two can follow me.”