by Tarah Scott
Annabelle shrugged. “We were skipping stones.”
Calum’s brow rose and she braced for recrimination. Instead, he said, “I used to skip rocks as a lad. I was a fair hand.”
“Lady Annabelle has proven herself the champion,” Miss Duncan said. “She beat Lord Ruthven.”
Calum’s gaze shifted to the viscount. A hint of amusement lifted one corner of his mouth. “My condolences, sir.”
Lord Ruthven canted his head. “She won by two skips.”
Calum looked at her, brows raised. “Well done, my dear.”
“A lucky throw,” she said.
Was she daft? With Lord Ruthven, she’d felt the need to trounce him. With Calum, she became Miss Fletcher and Lady Hilary.
“On the contrary,” Ruthven said. “It was a good throw.”
Annabelle wanted—again—to throttle him. But she angled her head and said, “You are too kind, my lord.”
“I wish I had arrived sooner to see the contest,” Calum said.
“It was quite a heated game,” Miss Duncan said.
“Indeed? Perhaps next time I can take part.”
“I doubt I’ll be skipping any more stones,” Annabelle said.
“Of course,” he said, and she realized her mistake. He wanted to be a part of the fun and she had excluded him.
“Perhaps you will show us your skill?” she said.
He shook his head. “I think not. The game is finished.”
“Next time, then.”
“Of course.”
“Perhaps we should return home,” Nick said.
“I didn’t mean to cut short your outing,” Calum said.
“Not at all,” Annabelle said. “We don’t want to delay supper. You will sup with us, I hope?” In fact, she hoped he wouldn’t, for if Lord Ruthven was staying then… Lord, she was an idiot.
“I would be pleased to stay,” he said.
She smiled, but her stomach knotted.
“Ladies,” Nick said.
He started away and Miss Duncan fell into step alongside him. Lord Ruthven started forward and Lady Hilary and Miss Fletcher drew up alongside him. Calum extended an elbow and Annabelle hurried to his side. His gaze flicked to the hem of her dress and her cheeks warmed. She’d known he wouldn’t miss her dirty skirt. This time she couldn’t say she slipped and fell. She reached Calum’s side but didn’t slip her hand through his arm. He frowned.
“My hands are shamefully dirty, my lord. I was digging in the ground for rocks.”
He smiled. “I’ll take your hand, clean or soiled, Lady Annabelle.”
She dropped her gaze, too ashamed and too...cognizant of Lord Ruthven’s presence. She was a despicable woman. Calum was a good, kind man, and she wished him anywhere but here.
They started walking, her grimy hand in the crook of his arm, her fingers covered by the warmth of his hand. Only a week ago, his hand atop hers had made her wish for his kiss.
Ahead of them, Lady Hilary and Miss Fletcher prattled on about the weather, growing roses, and planned parties to which they would invite Lord Ruthven.
“You are looking well, Annabelle,” Calum said.
She wasn’t looking well. “You are too kind, my lord. I am, in fact, a mess.”
“A beautiful mess,” he murmured.
Annabelle snapped her head up. He smiled, as he had a thousand times, soft and attentive. The sudden pressure of tears caused her to drop her gaze.
“Are you all right?” he whispered.
She nodded.
“Then why won’t you look at me?”
“As I said, I am a mess.”
He squeezed her hand. “You have not been quite the same since the ordeal with Lord Harley,” he whispered.
A tremble began in her stomach. True, she hadn’t been the same since that night. Since Lord Ruthven had wrapped her in his arms and carried her back to the carriage.
Calum slowed, let the others pull ahead a little, then whispered, “You need never fear again, Annabelle. I will protect you.”
Her heart began to pound and she had to look away.
He squeezed her hand again and, to her relief, said no more.
The other ladies chatted with Lord Ruthven and Nick until they reached the castle’s drive. Annabelle couldn’t halt a glance at Lord Ruthven. His head was tilted toward Lady Hilary. She spoke low, as if for his ears only, and he seemed thoroughly engaged by the conversation. Annabelle dropped her gaze to the ground. So what if he found her attractive?
Hilary had acted silly earlier, but what woman wouldn’t act foolish around a man like Lord Ruthven? Look at her own earlier actions. Annabelle’s chest tightened. Her actions? Had she acted as foolishly as Hilary and Leslie? Worse. She’d used a child’s game to snag and hold Lord Ruthven’s attention. Dear God, she was to marry the Marquess of Northington. She couldn’t be in love with Lord Ruthven.
* * *
Five-year-old Ally MacBain shook with a wet cough that caused Annabelle to frown. Curse the former Lord Ruthven. He had gambled away his money and left his tenants to live in leaky, drafty cottages. Mrs. MacBain’s home was just such a one. As a result, her youngest daughter lay in bed struggling to breathe. Mrs. MacBain should have called for a doctor a week ago, but she feared the new viscount she’d not yet even met, so hadn’t dared ask for the doctor.
“Ye have done enough, my lady,” Mrs. MacBain said.
Not nearly enough, Josephine thought. She smiled. “Trying to get rid of me, Mrs. MacBain?”
The woman’s eyes widened. “Nay, my lady. I wouldna’ do such a thing.”
Annabelle laughed. “I’m teasing. I know you wouldn’t. It is time I take my leave, however. Remember, Dr. Terris will be coming around any time.”
She wrung her skirt. “I wish ye wouldna’ bother the doctor, my lady.”
Annabelle laid a hand on the fingers that worked the skirt. “The new viscount is not his uncle.”
The woman hung her head. “If ye say so, my lady.”
Annabelle released her. “I will visit again tomorrow—if that is all right with you.”
Her head snapped up. “Ye are always welcome.”
Annabelle crossed the room to the small bed and sat on the mattress beside the little girl. “You will be good for your mother until I return tomorrow?”
Alley’s gaze fixed on the sash Annabelle wore and she touched the end hanging from Annabelle’s shoulder. Annabelle reached to unpin it from her shoulder, but the girl began to cough even worse than before. Annabelle reached toward her, then drew back and rose when her mother hurried over with a cup of water. Mrs. MacBain sat, then slipped a hand beneath Ally’s shoulders and lifted her to a sitting position. Patiently, she waited until the coughing eased enough to allow the girl to drink. After several sips, Mrs. MacBain lowered the child back to the pillow, then stood.
“When the doctor comes, do as he instructs,” Annabelle said.
She nodded. “Aye, my lady.”
Annabelle smiled. “Good.”
She started to leave, and Mrs. MacBain hurried past and opened the door. Annabelle stepped into the afternoon sun and Mrs. MacBain followed.
“Och, I dinna’ see Peter.” She hurried forward and glanced left, then right down the lane. She glanced both ways again, then turned to Annabelle. “I will find him and bring my sister to accompany ye.”
Annabelle shook her head and joined her. “No need to bother. It’s an easy walk. I will reach Aeckland Castle well before dark.”
“Nay, my lady,” she exclaimed. “Ye should no’ walk.”
Annabelle laughed. “I have two strong legs. The walk will invigorate me.”
Mrs. MacBain shook her head. “The sky doesna’ look good.”
“If any of us waited for a clear day to leave the house, we would grow moldy indoors.”
”There is a chill in the air.”
“I have my sash, if I grow cold.”
Before the woman could argue further, Annabelle set out at a brisk walk. She
reached the main road minutes later, crested the second incline, and noticed an unaccustomed weariness in her legs. She grimaced. She had gone too long without hard work. The walk would do her good—if, in the solitude, she could keep her mind from returning to yesterday’s stroll and Lord Ruthven.
When she reached home, she would secure supper, then fall into bed with a good book. If God was merciful, she would be asleep inside of five minutes. Tomorrow, she would rise early and return to Mrs. MacBain’s home.
Bits of Dornoch Firth glistened between the tree covered hills to the north. She last visited Aeckland Castle two years ago. She missed the beauty of the firth and the clean air. Of all her father’s properties, this was her favorite. The castle was the oldest of all the homes he owned. As a girl, she had played hide-and-seek with Josephine in the castle. Seeing Josephine did her good. Since her and Nicholas’s marriage, Annabelle had seen her only once.
Annabelle shivered, suddenly aware the air had chilled considerably. She unfastened her sash and drew it around her shoulders, then pinned it in place over her breasts. She looked at the sky. Dark clouds gathered over the firth, blown in her direction by the wind. Mrs. MacBain might have been right. The weather—
A horse’s shrill cry brought her alert. She spun as a horse broke from the cover of trees that cloaked the dip between hills. Annabelle watched the rump of the riderless animal gallop down the road until it disappeared around a bend. Then broke from the Startlement and ran down the road toward that saddle between the hills. Annabelle veered off the road where she thought the horse had left the woods and raced through a smattering of trees out into the open. Up ahead on the left a man lay unmoving amongst tall grass. Annabelle reached him and dropped to her knees.
She laid a hand on the stranger’s chest and nearly cried when a strong heartbeat thumped against her palm. Annabelle quickly felt around his head and found no blood. She rose, then hesitated. Did she stay and try to wake him or go for help? Even if she could wake him, he might not be able to walk. She turned and raced back the way she’d come. Cold, misty rain began to fall. After ten minutes, her sleeves grew damp enough to chill her arms. How much farther was it to home? Should she have gone to the village instead?
A rider came into view over the next rise. His horse cantered, but the man must have seen her, for the horse broke into a gallop and the man’s plaid cloak whipped behind him in the biting wind. Breathing hard, Annabelle pumped her legs faster to intercept him. They neared one another at the bottom of the hill and her heart leapt into her throat when she recognized the broad shoulders and tall frame. Good Lord, of all the men she might meet, why Lord Ruthven?
He reached her seconds later and leapt from the saddle. “What has happened?”
Annabelle gripped her side and leaned forward in order to ease the cramp that twisted the muscle.
He seized her shoulders. “Are ye hurt?”
She shook her head. “Not me.” She drew a breath. “An accident—a man.”
His head snapped up, dark eyes scanning the road before they came back hard on her. “Where?”
“Off the road. Between the hills.”
He vaulted back into the saddle. “Which hills?”
“Half a mile,” she said. “Maybe a little less. East of the road, in a field.”
He frowned. “The road runs east and west, lass. On the left or right?”
“The right.” She pointed right. “Beyond the saddle.”
“That is my left,” he said in a mutter. “Come.” He extended a hand.
She stared, caught off guard.
He gave an impatient wave of his fingers to indicate she should take his hand. “Ye can ride?”
Annabelle scowled. “Of course.”
She grasped his hand and barely had time to yank up her dress before he pulled her into the saddle behind him. Annabelle threw her arms around his waist to keep from slipping off, then clamped tight when the reins snapped and the animal lunged forward. Her cheek, pressed tight against his muscled back, warmed through his cloak. Surely, he must notice the pounding of her heart? Cold air whipped across her face. Annabelle shivered. The sky had grown darker in the few minutes since her discovery and a misty rain still fell.
“Where is he?” Ruthven shouted when they’d gone a quarter of a mile.
“Up ahead. I will direct you.” They neared the spot and Anabelle pointed. “There, on the left, between those hills.”
He angled off the road. The horse flew through the copse and burst from the trees into an empty field.
“Where is he?” Ruthven demanded. “This is no’ the place.”
“It is,” she insisted.
“It can no’ be. There’s no one here.”
“I tell you, this is the place.” She leaned away from him and started to swing her leg over the horse’s rump.
“Stay where you are, Annabelle,” Ruthven ordered.
She froze.
“You are certain this is the place?” he demanded.
“I am not a ninny. He was lying in the grass there.” She pointed to a spot of crushed grass a few feet away.
He urged the horse closer.
“Look,” she said. “The grass has been trampled.”
Ruthven swung his leg over the beast’s neck and slid from the saddle. He walked around the spot, then threw the left side of his cloak over his shoulder and dropped to one knee.
He ran his fingers over a trampled spot, and murmured, “Blood.”
Annabelle drew a sharp breath. “He wasn’t bleeding. I searched him for wounds.”
He shook his head. “He wasn’t hurt so badly that he could no’ get up and walk.”
He was right, but shouldn’t they have seen him on the road? Annabelle scanned the field, but only glimpsed Dornoch Firth through the misty rain. The horse abruptly gave a loud whinny and backed up. Annabelle seized the edges of the saddle to keep from falling. The horse neighed again and tossed its head. Lord Ruthven lunged for the reins, but the animal dodged and whirled. Annabelle’s grasp slipped and she slid from its back. She hit the ground belly first with a hrmph as the air rushed from her lungs. She wheezed in a harsh breath.
Her vision snapped into focus and she froze at sight of Lord Ruthven’s face inches from hers. She had landed on top of him! Annabelle gasped and her throat constricted. He jumped to his feet, pulling her up. She swayed, but he swung her into his arms and strode toward the road. He halted after a dozen paces.
“You may—” Her throat cracked and she swallowed, then said in a whisper, “You may put me down.”
He set her feet on the ground. She knew an instant of disorientation, then raised her head and looked at him. “Why did the horse spook?”
“There was an adder.” He nodded toward the place they’d fallen.
Annabelle glanced around. “Where is the horse?”
“Halfway back to the stables by now, I imagine.”
“Oh dear.” Tears rose unbidden. “I am sorry. Bad things seem to happen every time you are around me.” Or was it when she was around him?
Amusement lit his eyes. “This is the second time you have fallen on top of me.”
“What—” Horrified, she stared. He was right.
He laughed. “But ye are not to blame for the snake. I wager the creature spooked the horse of the man you saw and he was thrown just as you were.”
She nodded. “Of course, you are right.”
“Lady Annabelle admits I am right?” He lifted a brow.
She narrowed her eyes. “You are making fun of me.”
His face softened. “Teasing you, lass.”
Her stomach somersaulted. “Oh.”
Wind snapped her sash and Annabelle realized her sleeves were soaked even through her sash.
He looked up at the sky. “I do no’ like the looks of those clouds.”
He grasped her arm and they started forward. By the time they reached the road, tiny pellets of ice mingled with the rain.
“Ice?” Annabelle said
. “But it is March.”
“March in the northern Highlands,” he said.
“It doesn’t feel that cold.” But as she spoke, a blast of frigid air whipped the tiny ice pellets against her face.
Annabelle turned her head aside, unfastened the pin from her sash, lifted the fabric over her head, then started when Lord Ruthven whipped off his cloak and swung it around her shoulders.
“You will freeze,” she cried.
“Not if we walk quickly.”
“You must have a cloak.” She removed the cloak and thrust it toward him.
He kept walking.
Annabelle hurried after him. “You will let me carry it rather than wear it?”
“Aye.”
Ice stung her face and a shiver slipped down her back. If she was this cold, then he had to be freezing. Annabelle swung the plaid over his shoulders. He paused, shot her a sideways glance, then shrugged and fastened the cloak around his neck.
Triumph shot through her. “There, now—”
He whipped one side of his cloak around her and yanked her against his side, then began walking.
“How dare you?” she cried.
Annabelle tried to break free, but he held firm to her waist. She stumbled and he kept her upright.
“I canno’ help but notice that you are accident prone, my lady.”
She snapped her head up to meet his gaze, but turned her head aside when the freezing rain stung her face. It seemed the ice came down heavier. Lord Ruthven lifted the cloak over her head and warmth enveloped her. She tripped again.
“Wrap your arms about my waist. It will help you keep pace with me,” he said. “Elsewise, we will be forced to walk slowly.”
A tremor rippled through her. “The only way I can keep up with your long strides is if I sprout wings.”
He laughed. “I will slow down, lass. But we can walk faster if we match strides, rather than me dragging ye.”
“I think you will drag me no matter what,” she said under her breath, but wrapped her arms around his waist and fell into step with him.
Annabelle took three steps and realized she would keep tripping if she couldn’t see where she was walking. She tugged the plaid down past her eyes, then reached around him again. She intended to entwine her fingers together, but her fingertips just touched on the opposite side of his waist and she was forced to hold onto him. It seemed he slowed. Then his stride steadied and she realized she was mistaken.
