This would be a good time to pray, to plead for this man’s life. She’d seen enough death and felt the stab of it too keenly when she’d lost her brother. But her lips remained sealed, trapping the prayer on her tongue. Would it really do any good to beg for mercy now, when her past prayers had fallen on deaf ears?
Then again, could it hurt?
With a jolt, he sucked in air, eyes flying open. “What—what happened?”
Shaking his head slightly, he pushed up to his elbows.
She drew back, relieved beyond measure. “You were thrown. You could have split your skull.”
His white teeth flashed in the dark, a devilishly handsome smile. “You underestimate how hard my head is.” He sat up fully then, brushing away leaves and dirt from his trousers.
“Are you sure you are all right? Perhaps you ought to take it easy for a moment.”
“I am fine. The only thing damaged is my pride.” After a roll of his shoulders, he held out his hand. “Though I wouldn’t mind a shoulder to lean on as I stand.”
Still jittery from the whole affair, she steeled herself and helped him to his feet. His fingers wrapped around hers, and despite the thin leather of his gloves, something sparked between them—warm, steady, real. Not at all like Colin Chamberlain’s touch, which had always felt like a performance meant to charm but never truly reached her.
When Henry pulled away, he teetered a moment before regaining his usual confident stance.
“So.” She cleared her throat. “What spooked your horse?”
“I do not know. I came wide around the bend, yet I saw nothing.” He rubbed his temple, wincing slightly. Evidently he was not quite as fine as he claimed to be.
“I’ll take a look.” She retraced her steps towards the curve, scanning the brush. That’s when she spotted it—a thin, frayed line hanging from a trunk, tied at chest height for a horse. She crouched, fingering the dangling twine now broken.
“Over here,” she called. “Looks like someone rigged a snagline. Wouldn’t hurt a horse—but enough to spook it.”
“No wonder Apollo bolted.”
She straightened. “It is fresh, barely weathered. Someone was here not long ago.”
Henry planted his hands on his hips. “Who the devil would set something like this?”
“Good question.” Juliet scanned the darkened woods—eyes more than adjusted to the lack of light. “Whoever did it might still be nearby.”
Henry caught up to Juliet as she mounted her horse, unease churning in his gut. The woman’s determination both impressed and concerned him. She was fearless—too fearless—but now that true danger might be afoot, ought he really subject her to such a threat? What had at first seemed like providence when she’d been caught poaching—an answer delivered at just the right moment—now felt dangerously close to presumption. Had he mistaken a convenience for a godsend? Had he foolishly leaned on human help rather than waiting for a wiser course? And if he had … would she be the one to pay the price for it? Thank God he’d been in the lead instead of her! If she’d been thrown … well, he would not even think of it.
“Perhaps you ought to wait here while I ride on ahead.” He offered his hand to help her down.
She glanced from his fingers to his face, a slight shake to her head. “I am no wilting flower, Mr. Russell, and I intend to keep my end of the bargain. I will help you find this villain.” Instead of accepting his hand, she held out her own. “We will make better time if you ride behind me. I realize it will not be proper nor comfortable … that is, unless you prefer to wait here while I go?”
A wry smile tugged his lips. Stubborn, unconventional woman! He accepted her steadying grip and swung up behind her.
The moment he did so, he realized what a grave mistake he’d made.
She smelled of the air just before a rain, hinting at storms and life and promise. Though she kept a rigid back, there was softness beneath that woolen coat—more than he might have expected. A week of steady meals had already begun to fill out the angles left by too many months of hardship. His hands barely touched her waist, but even that light contact was dangerous.
And far too memorable.
She urged the horse into motion, and Henry sucked in a breath. Each stride rocked her body against his, the rise and fall maddening in its rhythm, intoxicating in its innocence. Heaven help him, but he could not help wondering if she felt it too.
Bah! Banish the thought. This was a woman of wind and steel. She’d said herself her brother had made her into a tomboy. She probably thought of him as nothing other than a sibling seated behind her.
Yet … had she not called him by his given name when he’d fallen from his horse? True, it was a small thing, but it had stuck with him. And it might do him a world of good to think of her as simply a sister.
He leaned forwards a bit, speaking quietly. “You called me Henry earlier.”
She tensed. “I … I meant no disrespect, Mr. Russell.”
