By Winter's Light: A Cynster Novel (Cynster Special Book 2) by Stephanie Laurens Page B

on the side away from the manor lands brought Lucilla’s head up—and had Sebastian swerving his heavy hunter to a stamping halt, facing the unknown threat.
    Both Lucilla and Marcus likewise veered to come around, flanking Sebastian.
    Prudence, having sunk into being one with her mount as she usually did when riding, yelped, swore, and diverted around Sebastian, then expertly wheeled to come back and take station beside Lucilla, with Michael—who had called a warning to the others before swinging his mount around—at her heels.
    The five cousins reined their skittish horses in. They were sitting their stamping, shifting mounts, eyes trained on the source of the noise, when a man in rough homespun came crashing through the bushes beneath the trees.
    The man looked up and saw them. He halted, his wide eyes skating over their line, but then his gaze landed on Lucilla and his fraught expression dissolved into one of abject relief. “Oh, thank God, and the Lady, too.”
    Whether from relief or exertion, the man—a crofter, by his clothing—swayed. Abruptly he crouched, head down, breathing hard.
    For an instant, no one moved, then Lucilla nudged her horse forward.
    Sebastian’s hand rose as if to hold her back, but then he let his hand fall and instead set his horse to pace beside hers.
    Without looking, Lucilla knew Marcus was following at her back.
    Reining in when she was closer, but not too close to the affected man—his chest was working like a bellows—she gave him a moment more, then said, “You were seeking me.” No question about that. “Why?”
    The man was exhausted, but he got to his feet even though he weaved. He raised his head, met Lucilla’s gaze and gasped, “Lady—I—my Lottie—we need your help.”
    Now they were closer, Lucilla could see how deathly pale the man was, could see in his eyes the fear and near-blind panic that still gripped him.
    “What ails your wife?” She kept her tone even, letting compassion flow beneath it.
    The man’s gaze turned pleading; he looked at her with his heart in his eyes. “She’s not ill, Lady—she’s having a baby.”
    Lucilla blinked. Scanning the man again, estimating his age as in the early twenties, she asked, “Is it her first?”
    The man nodded. “Aye—and she’s having a time of it.” He wiped a shaking hand across his lips. “She says the babe’s coming early. We’d planned to go to the laird’s after Hogmanay—it would have been all right with the midwife there. But now…”
    Abruptly the man went down on one knee, pressed his palms together and raised them to Lucilla in supplication. “Please, Lady—please help.”
    “Yes, of course.” Lucilla couldn’t imagine doing anything else. “How far is your cottage?”
    The man rose to his feet, hope washing some of the stark panic from his face. He pointed down the slope, north and a little west. “It’s a little ways along that way. I heard your party on the main track and prayed…I ran as fast as I could.”
    “Lucilla?” Sebastian caught her eye. “The storm.”
    She nodded. “Yes. You and the others should get back, but I have to help…” She glanced at the man. “What’s your name?”
    “Jeb, m’lady—Jeb Fields.”
    Jeb was tall, thin, and gangly; his very long legs could have covered a fair distance in the ten minutes or more he must have run.
    Sebastian glanced around as all the younger boys and Christopher came back along the track. Sebastian briefly met Michael’s eyes, then exchanged a glance with Marcus, then Sebastian sighed and nudged his mount forward. “We all stay together until we see what the situation is.” Freeing one boot from his stirrup, Sebastian halted his mount alongside Jeb; leaning from the saddle, he held out his hand. “We’ll get there faster if we ride. Come up, and you can show me the way.”
    To Lucilla’s mind, it spoke volumes of Jeb’s panic, of how completely his worry for his wife dominated his mind, that he didn’t even