It was nearly dark when David made out the rambling outline of a sizable house ahead. There were no signs of life but even if Miss Caitlin hadn't come here, at least there was shelter for him and his weary horse.
The stables were behind the house. No footprints showed in the snow that led to the entry door, but with this wind, any prints would have long since vanished.
He hauled the door open against the drifting snow and smiled when he heard the whicker of a horse.Sahib!The lady had made it safely home.
Giving a silent prayer of thanks, he spent a few moments greeting Sahib, who was happy to see him. The horse had been properly cared for. Caitlin might be mad, but she knew how to treat her mount. That made sense if she was an excellent horsewoman as Sally had said.
As he settled Benjie in the adjoining stall, he thought how Miss Caitlin Wallace had stolen his pocket knife, escaped, stolen his horse, and safely made a dangerous trek through a vicious winter storm. She was becoming increasingly interesting.
Wrapping his scarf around his face again, he left the stables and made his way through the blowing snow to a door at the back of the house. He guessed that it entered the kitchen, and swing marks in the snow showed that it had been opened recently. He tried the knob and found that the door was unlocked. It took effort to open it against the wind, but he managed.
The room was indeed the kitchen. He stepped inside--and found himself facing an ice-eyed young woman who was aiming a rifle aimed right at the center of his chest. Her red hair was wild with curls and she wore trousers, a heavy knitted jersey, and several layers of oversized shirts, topped off by a very large man's jacket.
She was adorable, in an unfortunately threatening way. He'd assumed that when he left India, he'd left strange adventures behind him.
Obviously not.
4
After returning home, Caitlin had slept like a felled tree for several hours. When she woke, she dressed in layers of her warmest clothing, then unlocked her uncle's gun closet and pulled out a rifle, a shotgun, and ammunition. She checked that the weapons were clean and ready, then loaded each and set them on the kitchen table along with extra ammunition.
The next most important matter was food. As she'd hoped, there were root vegetables in the cold cellar, a well seasoned ham in the pantry, and jars of herbs she'd raised and dried herself. She gave thanks that the house hadn't been broken into and robbed, but her uncle had been much loved by the people on his estate. She was sure that Fergus, his best friend and closest neighbor, had been keeping an eye on the house and livestock and was hoping for her return.
After his death, when the Dawsons had taken Caitlin away, people had assumed that she would be back soon. She'd thought the same. She swore under her breath at the memory of how she'd been betrayed.
She put together a simple savory soup and left it simmering over the fire. Then she lit a lamp in the kitchen because it was nearly dark and returned to the bed. Once more she fell into exhaustion.
The sound of the door opening and a blast of icy air brought her to terrified wakefulness. She dived from the bed and raced into the kitchen, grabbed the rifle, and aimed it at the door, her heart pounding. A man's broad shouldered, heavily swathed silhouette. If it was Dawson…
She barked, "Stop or I'll shoot!"
The man halted and raised his hands. "May I close the door?" he said in a deep voice with a slight Scottish burr. Not Dawson. "No need to invite the outside in."
"Move slowly," she ordered.
He obeyed and blocked the wind and icy particles. As he turned back to her, he drew down the scarf that had covered most of his face to reveal an unshaven jaw and wind-reddened cheeks.
It was the officer from the inn. Captain Cameron, he'd been called. He'd treated her gently despite what the Dawsons had said.
She'd been so frantic to escape that she hadn't noticed how damnably handsome he was. Strong, regular features, dark hair with glints of auburn, a face tanned under sunnier skies than Britain's, laugh lines around his grey green eyes, and an aura of peaceful strength.
He said, "If I promise I'm not here to drag you back to your cousins, will you lower that rifle?"
"Why did you come after me?" she asked sharply.
His gaze was steady on hers. "I'm a soldier. My job is to protect the innocent, so I'm incapable of standing by when someone is in deadly peril. I decided to see if I could find you. Sally McKay thought you might come here."
"A pity she was so helpful," Caitlin snapped.
"Let's declare a truce. Is there any chance of a cup of hot tea? After a dozen years in India, I'm no longer used to British winters."
Warily she said, "You risked your life to help me after I'd stolen your pocket knife and your horse?"
He gave her a swift smile. "Besides the general need to protect, I found your actions…intriguing."
He didn't seem inclined to seize her and she could use a cup of tea herself, so she lowered the rifle. After moving the weapons across the kitchen to a corner where she could grab one quickly if necessary, she turned to the kettle of water that had been simmering on the hob. "I don't have any milk, but I do have sugar."
"Tea with sugar would be very welcome," he said fervently.
