Julia London 4 Book Bundle (106 page)

There was no other option. As much as she had captivated him, had sparked his dying imagination, deep down inside he knew that very well.

————

The feel of the sun on her skin forced Kerry to open her eyes. Her head ached something awful; her arms and legs felt leaden. The cloying scent of boxwood and moldy clothing made her queasy and she moaned, slung an arm across her eyes to shield the sun, felt the ache spread to every conceivable fiber of her body. She had never felt so battered in all her life.

“I daresay I’ve never known anyone to sleep quite like the dead as you do Mrs. McKinnon.”

Oh no.
Kerry peeked from beneath her arm at the scarred and muddied boots next to her face. Shifting her arm just a bit, she looked higher, past the sullied trousers, the stained silk waistcoat flapping open in the morning breeze, and what was once a very fine white lawn shirt opened at the neck. She blinked, tried to focus on the handsome face shadowed by a two-day growth of beard, but was suddenly besieged by the memory of her appalling behavior the night before and quickly covered her face again.

He sank down onto his haunches, pushed her arm a bit and bent to one side to peer into her face. “Do you intend to sleep all day, then?”

“No!” she croaked irritably and came to her elbows, ignoring his chuckle. “What time have you?”

He popped a dark purple berry into his mouth and shook his head. “I’m afraid I haven’t any idea,” he said, pulling his watch from his pocket. “That little swim of ours seems to have mucked up the workings of this thing.” He frowned, shook the watch violently. “If I had to guess, I’d say the sun has been up an hour, no more.”

An hour.
She never slept so late. She suddenly bolted upright and attempted to stand. “We must be on our way!”

Arthur caught her arm and helped her to her feet. “Yes, well, we’ll go soon enough. First, you will eat this.” He held out a bunch of wild berries.

Amazed, Kerry stared at the berries. Berries that
looked like a feast for kings. Her belly rumbled loudly in response. “Where did you get them, then?”

“The market stalls,” he said, and laughing, casually smoothed his hand over the top of her head. “It’s the best I can do short of pine bark, but you must eat something before we continue.”

She did not reply—her mouth was full of the wild berries. Arthur chuckled again and turned away from her, walked down to the river’s edge, and went down on one knee to dip water to drink.
“Ach!”
he spat. “Foul stuff!” But he dipped his hands again.

Devouring the berries as if they were her last meal, Kerry watched the muscles of his back as he dipped his hands into the water and brought them to his mouth to drink, then thrust his wet hands through his hair in an attempt to bring some order. The effect was not what he undoubtedly intended, but made him look wild and masculine—

The memory of his kiss suddenly flared, inflaming the skin beneath her collar. She turned away from the sight of him, but the memory stubbornly lingered on her lips. That extraordinary kiss had awakened something dead inside her, something that was now ascending to her throat.

“I must say you look no worse for the wear, madam—as lovely as the moment you shot me.” That backhanded compliment only made her flush deeper. She turned halfway toward the sound of his voice and self-consciously put a hand to her unruly curls. “You’ll be pleased to know that I am healing nicely.” He handed her the clothing she had discarded last night, and the smile he gave her made the blood in her veins feel as if it thickened.

She abruptly took the clothing and looked over her shoulder into the woods. “I, ah, I’ve got to …”

“Righto. I’ll wait down by the river’s edge.”

Kerry scarcely heard him—she was already moving for the cover of the trees, afraid she was making a
complete fool of herself. She was acting as if she had never been kissed before!
But she had never been kissed like that.

She did not know men like Arthur Christian.

And he undoubtedly did not know women like her. She forced herself to regain her composure, managed to don her damp clothing and stuff her hair into another thick knot, then cautiously emerged from the woods. Arthur had donned his coat again. It was remarkable that despite the ragged appearance of his clothing, he still managed to look terribly aristocratic. It was his bearing; the grace came naturally, patently oblivious to the ungodly circumstance in which she had put him.

He smiled in that devastatingly charming way of his when he caught her staring. “I know you had your heart set on a leisurely riverboat ride, but I’ve determined we should follow the river’s course on foot. If the foliage doesn’t kill us first, I believe we should stumble upon the main artery of the River Tay ’ere too long.”

Given her own keen navigational skills, Kerry could hardly argue with him. He bent, then straightened, holding her satchel. The sight of the tattered red bag astounded her—he had even saved her sorry belongings.

“Shall we?” he asked pleasantly, and Kerry nodded.

So they walked—she, admiring his movement from behind, he noting various genera of fauna to her, giving her a bit of a botany lecture. When even he tired of that, he asked about Glenbaden. Kerry told him what she could, but it seemed impossible to impart the beauty of her home, of the often-fierce winters that brought glorious springs. She tried to explain those of the McKinnon clan who remained scattered across the glen, decades removed from the powerful clan they once were. She did her best to avoid speaking of the hard times that had befallen them, but inadvertently, she mentioned a gaping hole in the roof of her house.

“A hole? I should think the lot of McKinnons would
come to your aid,” he said, pausing idly to examine the leaf of an ancient oak tree.

“That they would, had I the means to purchase the lumber,” she said absently.

Arthur stopped his examination of the leaf. “What? You’ve still a hole in your roof?”

Kerry shrugged. “We’ll patch it, we will.”

Frowning, Arthur dropped the leaf, put his hands to his hips and looked down at his boots for a moment. He suddenly lifted a worried frown to her. “Pardon my asking, but is there no one who can help you?”

“Help me?”

He glanced at the river. “I mean to say, is there no one you can turn to for help with your … financial situation?”

Ah God, how pitiful must she appear to a man like him. Her face flamed with shame at her circumstance. “I manage quite well on my own,” she said stiffly.

“What of your father? Can’t your father—”

“He is dead.”

That garnered only a moment’s hesitation from him. “Your mother, perhaps.”

Kerry unconsciously raised her hand to her cheek; her fingers cool against her skin. “My mother,” she forced herself to say, “has married a reverend who prides himself on austerity. I appreciate your concern, but I will manage.”

He made no reply, just turned away to stare across the river to the other bank.

“It’s not as bad as it must seem to you now—I’ll not be destitute.” She laughed, trying to cover that obvious lie, but her voice, her laughter, sounded hollow to her. It
was
as bad as he apparently thought, and in fact much worse. But she’d not disgrace herself further by letting him know just how bad it was. She had suffered enough humiliation for one outing and had no desire to suffer any more in the eyes of this beautiful stranger.

“We should walk on,” she said, motioning ahead. He seemed to hesitate, if only for a moment, but he turned and walked on, leading the way through the undergrowth.

Suddenly anxious to turn her thoughts—and his—to anything else, she blurted, “What would be your friend’s business?”

Arthur glanced over his shoulder. “Pardon?”

“You said you came to attend a business matter for a friend.”

“Ah, yes,” he said, still walking. “My friend met with an untimely death and left behind some property here. His father has no wish to keep it. I am merely acting as his agent.”

“I am sorry,” Kerry said, but her curiosity was piqued. “How did he die?”

Without missing a step he said simply, “He fell in a duel.”

A duel!
She almost gasped aloud—she had only heard of them, had never known anyone who had even seen one. The very thought of it made a shiver run up her spine; a million questions tumbled in her brain, but she kept silent, as his powerful legs were suddenly surging ahead.

By midmorning, the heavy underbrush had given away to sloping fields of heather dotted by the occasional black-faced sheep. The River Tay tributary snaked alongside the meadows, meandering north. By midday, they stumbled upon a series of small, cultivated terraces that caused Arthur to let out a
whoop
of laughter. “By God, it appears as if mankind actually
does
reside in these godforsaken hills!” he exclaimed happily, and grabbing Kerry’s hand, forged ahead.

It was Kerry who saw the mule grazing across one field. When she stopped, Arthur, walking behind her, almost plowed over her. He caught himself on her shoulder.
“What?” he demanded, his hand immediately going to his pistol.

She turned and looked up at him; a smile slowly spread her lips. “A
mule.
”

Arthur jerked his head to the left, saw the mule, and shifted his gaze to her. “Splendid! That would suggest a settlement of some sort—”

He stopped, looked quizzically at Kerry as she shook her head. “They roam far from home. The grass, you know, it’s not enough. He’ll make his way home eventually, when he’s had his fill.”

“What, then there is no one about?” Arthur asked, momentarily confused, and looked at Kerry. An understanding passed between them instantaneously; a devilish smile lifted one corner of Arthur’s mouth. “Madam, are you thinking what I am thinking?”

“A man will hang for stealing a horse,” she warned him. “I doona think the penalty is much improved for a mule.”

“Ah, but we should not consider this
stealing
exactly. Think of it as merely borrowing. Once we reach the River Tay, I shall hire a man to return him with a little gift for the owner. There, you see? Quite simple, really. So, madam, if you will kindly wait here while I fetch your mount.” And with that, he dropped her satchel and went striding across the field, his arms swinging wide.

Kerry didn’t object as she ought. In fact, she laughed as he strode purposefully toward the mule, walking right up to the beast as if he expected the thing to come docilely. And she couldn’t stop laughing as she stooped to retrieve her satchel and followed him across the field. Apparently, mules were not to be found in England, or the poor man might have known a wee bit better than what he was doing.

Mules did so inhabit England. Arthur knew this because he had seen them at a distance. Not that he had actually ever been
near
one, but that hardly seemed important. He had a particular knack with horses, and
quite naturally, he assumed that knack extended to the cousin mule. Which was why, therefore, he was so taken by surprise when the mule tried to butt him with its head.

Arthur jumped back, hands raised in a gesture of peace. “Come now, old boy, there is no call for that.” He extended one hand, intent on stroking the mule’s nose, but the beast jerked away. “Going to go like that, is it?” he asked, and began to slowly circle the mule, who glared at him over its shoulder.

“Now see here, Mr. Mule,” Arthur continued in a very low, very soothing, sing-song voice, “I have walked for what seems days now, I am quite ravenous, absolutely exhausted, and hardly in the mood for disagreement. I’ll just come around to your right flank and we’ll have a bit of chat about that ride, shall we?”

The mule responded with a loud snort and a hard flick of its head. Arthur paused only momentarily before continuing his slow, steady movement, thinking to catch hold of the mane first, then the nose. After that, he wasn’t quite certain what he’d do, but he thought he should at least be able to convince the beast that he was a gentle friend. On the mule’s right, he very carefully reached forward, caught hold of the mane—

“What would you think to be doing?”

The sound of Kerry’s voice startled the mule; it jerked around and snapped at Arthur, very nearly taking a bite out of his ribs. Arthur lurched to one side, just barely avoiding the enormous teeth, and seized the moment to clamp his hand down on the mule’s snout. For that, he was suddenly catapulted over onto his side with a mighty shove from the mule. The beast’s back hooves shot out, missing his head by a fraction of an inch. Arthur instinctively rolled into a tight ball and covered his head with his arms. The mule tried again, missed, and bucked away from Arthur before galloping to the far end of the field, braying as if he had been mortally wounded.

Slowly, Arthur unwound himself and pushed up on his arms, breathing heavily. Not only was he covered head to foot in dirt, he had eaten a mouthful of it. And judging from the particular odor he suddenly noticed, he had managed to stick his boot in a pile of manure. The muffled laughter he heard pierced his ego like a shot; he lifted his head and glared at Kerry. She was bent over, her shoulders trembling. When she at last raised her head, a hand clamped over her mouth, he could see the tears of her great amusement shining bright in her blue eyes.

That did it.
He would kill her, strangle the little wench like he should have done the moment he was introduced to her pistol. He was up like a shot, barreling toward her. With a shriek, Kerry whirled, picked up her skirts, and ran.

And good Lord could the lass run! Her speed surprised Arthur, particularly given that she held her satchel in one hand. Nevertheless, she flew across the heather, her hair falling out of its little knot and streaming behind her like a standard. He almost caught her at the edge of the field, but she dodged artfully to the right and ran, incredibly, even faster. He pitched after her, skidding on more manure and catching himself with one hand to the ground before gaining his balance and barreling down a small hill after her.

He finally caught her on the banks of the tributary by the waist, jerking her back hard into his chest before forcing her around to tell her what he thought of her interference. But laughter was bubbling out of the imp like uncorked champagne. Her eyes sparkling, she pressed her hands against his chest and laughed so hard that her head fell back with absolute glee.