The Beautiful Stranger by Julia London Page B

was out for his Sunday constitutional. Do you follow me now? she demanded.
    Absolutely not, he said, as if insulted by the notion. I am going with.
    Her mouth dropped openindignation, confusion, and a strange, pleasurable heat swirled through her all at once. Going with? You you canna just follow me home!
    Why not?
    B-because! she stammered, confused by the change in him. Because its not right! I doona even know you! You are to Perth, not the Highlands!
    Actually, I am to Pitlochry. But it would seem to suit us both if I were to see you home and then continue on.
    But you canna! I can hardly go running about the countryside with a perfect stranger!
    Why thank you kindly, madam, but I am hardly perfect, he said, smiling impudently.
    Kerry gaped at him. How had she done it? How had she managed to get herself into such a predicament? Was the weight of the world not enough for her? Must she also bear this catastrophe? She sank down onto the fallen trunk and stared helplessly at him. Its my punishment, no? I shot you and now you would ruin me.
    He chuckled, sank down on his haunches next to her. Actually, Id prefer to strangle you, he cheerfully corrected her. But the truth is that I am a gentleman, Mrs. McKinnon, and I cannot let you wander off alone. If you are too stubborn to return to Perth, then I shall just accompany you home. There is no point in arguing, my mind is very much set on it. Now. Since Ive determined to be so very sporting about the whole thing, how about giving over one of those delectable scones? he asked, motioning to her satchel.
    She stared at him, tried to determine if those hazel eyes lied, but saw nothing other than an insufferably cheerful sparkle and the flecks of green. Apparently she had lost what was left of her senses, because after a moment, Kerry reached for her satchel. Theyd be called biscuits around here, she muttered.
    They sat side by side on the fallen trunk, munching the last two biscuits. Part of her thought she ought to protest a little louder, but another part of her smothered what was undoubtedly a weak protest altogether. From all appearances, there was no life in this wilderness except sheep and, truly, she was grateful for the companionship. As for her reputation, well she hardly cared anymore. Only one step away from being married to some religious zealot or a man with the mind of a child, she might as well throw caution to the wind. If she was to be ruined, it certainly did not hurt that it would be in the company of such a magnificent specimen of man.
    When they finished their biscuits, she had made up her mind. He could accompany her to Dunkeld, and she said as much. The man smiled at her as if it had been a foregone conclusion all along, and offered his hand to help her to her feet. She ignored the tiny jolt of heat that went through her when she laid her hand in his; she dismissed the gratitude when he picked up her satchel and very jauntily perched it on his shoulder. And she refused to allow his gaze to melt her into a puddle by staring straight ahead at the ground in front of her as they set out.
    I would ask, however, if you are quite certain that the River Tay is due north?
    I am quite certain, she responded airily. We shall reach it by noon if not before.
    But at the noon hour, they were still deep in the forest, guided only by an occasional glimpse of the sun above the treetops as they trekked across terrain that grew increasingly steep. Kerrys feet were killing her the boots she wore were her good ones, handed down from Mrs. Wallace. They were too big for her feet, so she reserved them for church and important outings such as her disastrous call to Moncrieffe
    House and Mr. Abernathy in Dundee. They were not made, obviously, for long treks into the Highlands, and she could not help but envy Arthur Christians fine leather boots. Her heels screamed with blisters, and now she was having difficulty keeping up with the beautiful stranger.
    He had gone ahead; he was standing