He kept one of his hands behind his back, concealing something. A giant sword? An axe?
She waited for more men to slip out from the hiding place, but he appeared to be alone, though she didn’t trust that.
“You’re on Dacre lands,” her guard said, hand on the hilt of his sword again.
Oddly, Rhiannon didn’t feel as afraid as she thought she should feel at the sight of the warrior. More like mildly annoyed. Though it should have been terrifying to find him here in the woods, there was something calming about the lines of his face.
But his presence did put a damper on her plans. She wasn’t going to be allowed out for any more walks after this. Her brother would forbid it. And this stranger had likely scared Goosie away. Now, she’d probably not see her poor cat for another fortnight unless her brother showed her mercy.
She frowned at the intruder.
“I know where I am,” he said with a Scottish burr that surprised her given his rather English attire of plain breeches and a shirt—both of which she tried to ignore hid his bulging muscles. “I came on purpose.”
A Scot? And he’d come here on purpose? How fascinating.
“Then you’d best be on your way,” the guard said. “We’re not expecting anyone today. And especially not any savages.”
But the Scotsman only grinned, and then his eyes found hers. “’Tis my lucky day.” He pulled his arm from behind his back to show a black cat with a red ribbon and a bell around her neck.
Goosie.
2
There might have been a small part of Ian Sinclair that was a glutton for punishment or maybe completely mad, for he lived for moments like this. When danger pressed in all around, the thrill of a fight on the cusp of the next breath. The physical exertion and the peril made him smile.
And though he was certain he could beat the English guard standing in front of him—who was trying to look as if he wasn’t about to piss himself in the name of protecting a woman that he obviously didn’t respect—if it came down to it, there was always the chance that Ian wouldn’t harm a hair on the dolt’s head. Because he held all the power of knowing his purpose, and he’d surprised them with his appearance.
Of course, there was always the chance he was wrong in making the assumption. That the guard would get the jump on him or that the lass would somehow surprise him by pulling out a dagger and slipping it between his ribs without his notice.
But it was not knowing what was going to happen that thrilled him. That spark of danger that could blaze into an inferno. Ian lived for a good adventure.
It was one of the reasons why he’d decided to help his brother in fetching this lass. And he was fairly certain it was her. Ian’s sister-by-marriage, Douglass, had distinctly described Lady Rhiannon, and the woman standing before him fit perfectly. Down to the look of defiance in her blue eyes that dared him to do anything. Red-gold hair, tall, lithe—though Douglass hadn’t mentioned the curves that drew Ian’s eyes.
What made him smile was that he had made a wild guess about the cat, and the look in Rhiannon’s eyes said as much—the feline belonged to her. She’d been making some clicking sounds with her tongue, and who made sounds like that unless they were looking for a pet?
“Your lucky day?” she asked him, a delicate hand reaching for the feline who seemed content to stay in his arms. “I say it’s mine, as it seems you found Goosie. Give her here.”
Bossy. Ian was certain the look she passed him was meant to be haughty, and if he were any other man, he might have taken it that way. But he wasn’t any other man. And he had two haughty sisters at home who had shown plenty of bravado, including sweet Iliana, who’d no sooner bake a cake than gut a man.
“To have come across the two of ye,” Ian said, adding a wink to throw them off, “is luck. And more so to have located what ye seem to have lost.”
As a show of good faith, Ian did let the cat down. Goosie, as the lass had called her, gave his leg a little stroke with her tail before trotting over to the lass, bell jangling. The cat wove around Rhiannon’s skirted legs with a purr, looking at him with what he assumed might be feline gratitude. Hard to say; it was a cat, after all.
“Have you lost your way?” the lass asked, and Ian couldn’t be sure if she were talking to him or Goosie.
Before she could bend down to lift the black ball of jingling fur, her guard grasped her arm and shoved her behind him. Poor lad. The cat gave an irritated hiss and swiped at the guard’s boots, leaving little scratch marks on the leather.
“Don’t speak to this barbarian,” the guard said. “He’s clearly lost his way by several hundred miles. I suggest you turn around now, heathen, and head back the way you came.”
“Good idea,” Ian said, grinning mischievously.
The guard was playing right into his hands. The poor welp had droplets of sweat forming on his brow, a sure sign of his nerves. His voice pitch had risen a notch as well. Truly, it wouldn’t be fair for him to take the lad on in a fight. Like a lion swiping at a cub.
“Though, if I didna return with the package I seek, I’ll be asking for trouble.”
“Package?” the guard asked cautiously, while the lass who had moved to stand beside her guard rather than behind eyed him intelligently.
“Aye.” Ian loved a good game. This weakling of a guard was getting more confused by the second. It really wasn’t fair for Ian to toy with him so much.
