William’s face went from scarlet to snow white in an instant, and he hurried up the slope to his fiancée.
“Ihave decided that you are quite right, Alec. Brodie is not the man for me.” Megan put her arm through Alec’s as they strode through the heather.
“Oh? And what’s made you decide that?” he asked. He glanced over his shoulder to the place Caroline walked with William Mears, noted the high color in her cheeks, and felt a flush of desire. He swallowed a groan and concentrated on his sister instead.
“He’s rather silly, isn’t he? He doesn’t read books. He doesn’t even know clan history, and to think his grandsire used to be our grandfather’sseannachie! Grandfather would not rest easy in his grave to think the old stories were about to be lost.”
“And what do you propose we do about that?” Alec asked.
“Would it be difficult to learn the tales? Not just for telling aloud. I could write them down, keep them, pass them on to my own children—and yours.”
Alec looked at her in surprise. “No, it wouldn’t be difficult. I daresay there are plenty of old folk who recall the stories well enough. Are you saying you wish to be the next MacNabbseannachie? It will take time to put all those stories together. Not to mention that some folk might remember the same tales differently than others.”
Megan smiled. “I want to. I love Glenlorne—and it will be a long time until the London Season.”
“And what if you marry an English lord?” Alec asked.
“Then he’d best be prepared to spend summers here in Scotland, hadn’t he?”
Alec scanned her young face, saw the confidence in her eyes. He kissed her forehead. “Whomever you wed, lass, he’ll be the luckiest of men.”
She beamed at him, then shaded her eyes with her hand and looked toward the ghillies, halfheartedly beating the bushes. “I think I’ll start by asking Jock,” she said. “He knows everyone. D’you think he’ll mind?”
Alec laughed. “Mind? I think you’ll have trouble getting him to stop talking once he starts.”
He watched his sister hurry down the hill.
“Oh.” Caroline found Alec leaning against a tree, staring into the woods. “Oh.” She stopped where she was, feeling her skin heat. “I was looking for Megan. I thought she was with you.” He put a finger to his lips and pointed. In a small clearing, a doe and her fawn were grazing. His gun stood leaning against the tree beside him. She felt a thrill as she looked at them. He waited until they moved on.
“Megan’s with Jock and Leith. She’s safe enough,” he said.
The mist had lifted, and the sun was starting to come out. Her face was flushed with the growing heat of the day. Alec felt his heart constrict, and he curled his hands into fists to keep from reaching for her and tumbling her here in the heather.
She blushed under his scrutiny, probably fully aware of what he was thinking. The idea that she was thinking the same thing did little to stem his desire. She turned away, her cheeks scarlet, and pretended to be interested in the view.
He looked at the woods through her eyes. The forest was cool and dark and smelled sharply of pine. Above the treetops, the old tower stared down at them. He led the way along the path, intent on guiding her back to the others before he gave in to the desire to steal a kiss, or do far more than that. They walked in silence, the mossy ground muffling their footfalls.
A hard punch to the shoulder knocked Alec backward. His teeth knocked together as the force of the blow pressed the air from his lungs. The hot spurt of blood came next, just as another bullet whizzed overhead, then the pain.
“What—” Caroline began. The next shot hit the tree beside her face. He grabbed her hand and dragged her to the ground.
“Someone’s shooting at us!” she said breathlessly. “Hello!” she called to warn the hunter of his mistake.
The next bullet hit the ground beside them.
His right arm felt like lead, and he felt blood flowing under his jacket, down his sleeve, a red-hot river. He circled his left arm around her waist, hauled her against him, and dove for the sheltering trunk of a fallen tree. The exertion made his head spin, and he fought the sudden dizzy rush of pain.
“Who’s out there?” she whispered, peering around, her eyes wide as saucers. “Surely it’s a mistake,” she said again, but yet another bullet whizzed past, and she gave a muffled cry. He scanned the dense undergrowth, but saw nothing. His gun lay where he’d dropped it, a dozen feet out of reach.
“Alec, you’re bleeding!” she said, her cry soft, but still loud enough to attract yet another bullet. It thunked into the wood of the tree next to their hiding place. A wave of pain washed over him as her hands roamed over his limbs, searching for the wound, still hidden under his coat. Her expression changed to fear, and concern. Gentle as her touch was, it was still agony.
“Leave it,” he said more gruffly than he intended. “It’s my shoulder. A graze, probably.”
She saw the blood on his hand, and cried out when she peeled back his coat and saw his bloody shirt. “This isn’t a graze. We’ve got to get you back to the castle.”
“That’s three miles away, at least,” he muttered.
“Then I’ll go for help,” she said desperately. Was it his imagination or were there tears in her eyes? They were glittering, but her chin was set in a determined point, not wobbling with fear.
