Page 25
Hunched over, she wrapped her arms around them.
Her bonnet had come loose and hung by its ribbons around her neck. Several strands of shiny hair had shaken free from her chignon, sable curls trailing along her neck and framing her face and shoulders. Pale, her cheeks flushed from exertion, she closed her eyes and laid her cheek on her knees, her shoulders rising and falling with heaving breaths.
Shelby sank to the ground beside her, scooting close and sitting tailor-fashion. For extra measure, he pulled some of the underbrush around them as cover.
The warmth of the early May afternoon wrapped around him like a comforting cloak, the scent of sun-warmed earth mingling with the crisp tang of hawthorn blossoms. In Oxleas Wood, insects hummed, and a woodpecker drummed in the distance, its rhythm disrupting the steady birdsong drifting through the canopy.
The air carried the sweet perfume of wild primroses and violets, their delicate petals vibrant against the greenery. Bluebells swayed gently under the dappled sunlight, their bell-shaped blooms adding a touch of ethereal beauty to the forest floor.
A faint breeze rustled through the branches of ancient oaks and beeches, their dense foliage creating a soothing whisper that almost masked the bubbling murmur of a nearby stream, its soft trickling blending with the melody of the woods. Somewhere in the distance, the eerie cry of a barn owl cut through the hush, adding an ominous note to the otherwise tranquil scene.
Ideal for a romantic picnic, but not so idyllic when fleeing for one’s life.
The unmistakable rustle of movement nearby made him stiffen, and his pulse spiked. It could be anything—a fox, a hare—a…
A slight movement caught his eye.
Too small for a full-grown deer, too still for a fox.
He scraped his practiced gaze over every inch of the surrounding wood.
Shelby’s breath caught.
Ten feet away, nestled between the exposed roots of an ancient oak, half-hidden beneath a tangle of ferns, lay a tiny fawn. Its dappled coat, a mixture of russet and white, blended seamlessly with the speckled light filtering through the leaves above. It remained motionless, except for the rapid, nervous flutter of its breath.
He leaned closer, but the fawn did not flee.
Its dark, liquid eyes blinked slowly, ears flicking at the sound of his movement. The young creature—probably a newborn—kept its legs tucked neatly beneath its body, as if trying to disappear into the earth itself.
A doe hid her fawn in deep brush, returning only when the forest fell silent. An instinct meant to keep the vulnerable creature safe.
Still, the fawn’s fragility unsettled him.
A twig snapped in the distance.
His pulse quickened, and he signaled Roxina to stay still, much like the fawn, not daring to risk exposure. For a long moment, he remained watchful, the distant rustle of leaves and birdsong the only sounds in the still air. Then he leaned back, leaving the fawn undisturbed in its sanctuary of moss and shadows.
As he turned, he caught Roxina watching him, her expression unreadable.
“I still do not understand how you came to be abducted too.” She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, regarding him expectantly.
She appeared remarkably stalwart after what she had just endured. But that didn’t surprise Shelby. Roxina had always been one of the bravest, most levelheaded women he had ever known.
She cocked her head, her chestnut-brown eyes direct and inquisitive.
Shelby rubbed his nose. “The man responsible for abducting us is Rufus Desmond. He also has a bounty on his head.”
“And you collect bounties,” she said.
Another little-known fact about him, although Roxina had learned about his clandestine thief-taker profession last December.
“Collecting bounties is how I have survived. These past few months, unlike in previous years, I’ve taken care to hunt less dangerous criminals with smaller bounties to maintain my secret identity.”
“It sounds dangerous.” Roxina gave a rueful shake of her head. “I appreciate what you’ve done for me and am sorry Mitchel put you in this horrid predicament.”
Shelby gave her a long look, part of him wanting to blurt his feelings, but another wiser part knowing this was not the time to declare himself.
Truth be told, that time might never come.
