shoulders. If rain came, she would have something beyond her once pretty blue ball gown to keep her warm at least.
Water splashed out in the lake again, and she looked back. And froze.
A figure rose from the lake water. A male figure, she noted, belatedly stepping backward as he moved directly toward her. Black hair, straight beneath the weight of the streaming water, brushed bare, broad shoulders. His well-muscled chest and abdomen came into view as the water fell away, and she took a heartbeat to wonder whether he wore anything at all before the up-sloping bank answered the question for her.
Oh, my. A thick cock rooted in dark, curling hair hung between muscular thighs. She’d seen statues, of course, and the occasional naked toddler, but this was no toddler. And no statue. Taken altogether, he was … stunning.
She shook herself. He was also a stranger, and she was very much alone. “Stand back,” she ordered, backing up another step.
He eyed her, wet black hair falling across one startlingly green eye as he tilted his head. “Ye seem to be wearing my kilt,” he rumbled in a thick Highlands brogue.
Julia fingered the heavy material around her shoulders. “Oh. Oh!” Shrugging out of it, she flung the mass at him.
The large fellow caught the tartan as it slapped against his chest. Keeping his gaze squarely on her as if he thought she might vanish into thin air, he wrapped the long material twice about his waist and tucked the end away. “That’ll do,” he said a moment later. “Now. Ye’re a Sasannach lass, are ye not? What are ye doing on my land?”
His land? Was he a Fersen, then, even with the different tartan colors? Or had she indeed found someone who might aid her? All the alliances and territories were terribly confusing, and now she wished she’d spent more time learning about them. Back before her Christmas gift had gone so horribly awry, she’d thought the idea of clans rather romantic. Oh, she should have begun running the moment this man’s head emerged from the water. But if he didn’t know who she was or why she was there, perhaps she did still have a chance to escape. “I was riding with friends,” she ventured. “We were separated, and my horse spooked.”
The green gaze trailed from her snarled red-brown hair half escaped from its pins to her equally disheveled blue gown. “Ye went riding in that?” he asked, producing a pair of boots from the other side of the boulder and stomping into them. “Unlikely.” Abruptly he turned his back on her and began walking along a faint path in the heather.
“Wait!” Julia looked from the empty, dimming road behind her to the rapidly-retreating half-naked man in front of her. The mare could be in York by now, for all she knew. Or worse, it might have returned to the stable from where Julia had procured her this afternoon. What mattered was that if Bellamy’s men came across the horse, they would know she was on foot. And close by. Drat .
“Well, come along then,” the large man said, not offering a backward glance. “I’ve nae got all night. And it’ll be raining by suppertime.”
When one was drowning, any bit of flotsam would do, she supposed. Gathering her skirts, she hurried after him. After ten minutes or so of walking to what looked like nowhere, a narrow valley opened up before her, the trail deepening into a surprisingly well-cut series of switchbacks leading down to the bottom. It was fairly easy to navigate but nearly impossible to see from above unless one knew where to look. She dearly hoped that Fersen didn’t know where to look.
A waterfall to the left carried the run-off from the lake above into a narrow, fast-moving stream that cut through the middle of the valley in a series of cascading descents. Trees, elm and pine and sturdy oak, lined both sides of the water. If she’d been in a more expansive mood, she might have had a random thought or two about how it looked very like a hidden Eden below the stark hills
Water splashed out in the lake again, and she looked back. And froze.
A figure rose from the lake water. A male figure, she noted, belatedly stepping backward as he moved directly toward her. Black hair, straight beneath the weight of the streaming water, brushed bare, broad shoulders. His well-muscled chest and abdomen came into view as the water fell away, and she took a heartbeat to wonder whether he wore anything at all before the up-sloping bank answered the question for her.
Oh, my. A thick cock rooted in dark, curling hair hung between muscular thighs. She’d seen statues, of course, and the occasional naked toddler, but this was no toddler. And no statue. Taken altogether, he was … stunning.
She shook herself. He was also a stranger, and she was very much alone. “Stand back,” she ordered, backing up another step.
He eyed her, wet black hair falling across one startlingly green eye as he tilted his head. “Ye seem to be wearing my kilt,” he rumbled in a thick Highlands brogue.
Julia fingered the heavy material around her shoulders. “Oh. Oh!” Shrugging out of it, she flung the mass at him.
The large fellow caught the tartan as it slapped against his chest. Keeping his gaze squarely on her as if he thought she might vanish into thin air, he wrapped the long material twice about his waist and tucked the end away. “That’ll do,” he said a moment later. “Now. Ye’re a Sasannach lass, are ye not? What are ye doing on my land?”
His land? Was he a Fersen, then, even with the different tartan colors? Or had she indeed found someone who might aid her? All the alliances and territories were terribly confusing, and now she wished she’d spent more time learning about them. Back before her Christmas gift had gone so horribly awry, she’d thought the idea of clans rather romantic. Oh, she should have begun running the moment this man’s head emerged from the water. But if he didn’t know who she was or why she was there, perhaps she did still have a chance to escape. “I was riding with friends,” she ventured. “We were separated, and my horse spooked.”
The green gaze trailed from her snarled red-brown hair half escaped from its pins to her equally disheveled blue gown. “Ye went riding in that?” he asked, producing a pair of boots from the other side of the boulder and stomping into them. “Unlikely.” Abruptly he turned his back on her and began walking along a faint path in the heather.
“Wait!” Julia looked from the empty, dimming road behind her to the rapidly-retreating half-naked man in front of her. The mare could be in York by now, for all she knew. Or worse, it might have returned to the stable from where Julia had procured her this afternoon. What mattered was that if Bellamy’s men came across the horse, they would know she was on foot. And close by. Drat .
“Well, come along then,” the large man said, not offering a backward glance. “I’ve nae got all night. And it’ll be raining by suppertime.”
When one was drowning, any bit of flotsam would do, she supposed. Gathering her skirts, she hurried after him. After ten minutes or so of walking to what looked like nowhere, a narrow valley opened up before her, the trail deepening into a surprisingly well-cut series of switchbacks leading down to the bottom. It was fairly easy to navigate but nearly impossible to see from above unless one knew where to look. She dearly hoped that Fersen didn’t know where to look.
A waterfall to the left carried the run-off from the lake above into a narrow, fast-moving stream that cut through the middle of the valley in a series of cascading descents. Trees, elm and pine and sturdy oak, lined both sides of the water. If she’d been in a more expansive mood, she might have had a random thought or two about how it looked very like a hidden Eden below the stark hills
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