The younger lord shrugged his acceptance and turned his horse to race towards the cows with a call of “Ha!” and a sharp whistle. Meanwhile, Lord Graham said, “Do you wish to climb down now?”
“I am not confident I can without falling,” Freya admitted.
“I will break your fall if such occurs,” Lord Graham instructed. “I grew up with four brothers who often climbed too high. I am accustomed to assisting them. Moreover, I have confidence in you, Lady Freya Cunningham, for you are the most adventurous spirit of my acquaintance, and the likes ofLady Emma Orson and Lady Annalise Beaufort are among my family.”
“You will not look at my legs?” she asked foolishly.
“If I close my eyes, how will I know if you require my assistance?” he asked with another large smile.
“You are incorrigible!” she declared as she turned on the branch and began to work her way down, her shirttail draped about her legs and, as he had predicted, she wished she could see the next branch more clearly. She was nearing the bench upon which His Lordship stood when her boot slid off the lowest limb—her footing failing her completely. She expected to tumble to the ground, but Lord Graham’s arms came about her legs. For a few precarious seconds it was as if he had lifted her high into the air. Then he tumbled over backwards, slamming into the ground, but never releasing her, just as he said he would.
“My lord!” She immediately was checking him, searching his body with her hands. “Tell me you are well.”
He caught one of her hands and caressed her cheek with the other. “Do you recall what I said when you offered to tend my injured leg?” he questioned as he stared into her eyes.
Freya stilled immediately. “Y… Yes,” she managed.
His Lordship’s hand caught the back of her head and guided her to a position where his lips were finally touching hers. Freya had never been kissed and knew not what to do, but when his mouth met hers, the pressure was gentle—more gentle than she expected. “Freya,” he murmured as the heat of his mouth on hers increased. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on who was telling the tale, they both heard the sound of his brother’s return.
Lord Graham managed to lift her off of him and sit upright before his brother reached them. The younger Graham quickly dismounted and rushed over to assist his brother to his feet.
“Did you injure your leg again?” the younger brother asked.
“No,” Lord Graham assured. “Over the years I have learned how to fall.” His Lordship knocked the leaves and dust from his clothing. He reached a hand to her, and they stood up side by side. “The fall was actually safer for both of us than if we attempted not to fall.”
His voiced sounded so calm that for a moment Freya questioned if the kiss—brief as it was—meant nothing to him. That is, until they made eye contact. She had viewed him with his family and with others in Parliament, and, though she did not yet know all of his emotions, he was as shaken by their brief kiss as was she. Truly, the kiss had been more monumental than the fall. The idea pleased her. “I should return to the vicarage,” she managed. “Are you confident you are well, my lord?”
“I am, my lady, though likely this evening, we will both require liniment.” The smile she admired had returned. She knew Lord Graham was considering the intimacy of their knowledge of each other and approving of it.
“I hold no doubt,” she said. “Thank you for the rescue, my lord.” To the younger Lord Graham, she said, “I apologize for being on Lord Rayland’s property without permission. My aunt had suggested the area for me to examine and perhaps sketch, but I shall tell her it is not permissible and beg your forgiveness in her name.”
“It was my fault,” the younger Graham said with a frown. “I should have asked questions before I made my accusation. Forgive me, my lady. I had other more disagreeable matters on my mind. If you are friends with my elder brother, I am glad for the acquaintance.”
“Actually,” Freya said smartly, “we have met previously, though we were only around ten or eleven years of age at the time.”
Lord Graham said, “How could one forget such a fetching Scottish lass, Boyde? I am ashamed of you.”
The younger Lord Graham frowned. “Then I must apologize twice for my behavior.”
Before the conversation could go further, Lord Graham said, “I should call upon your mother, Boyde. Do you wish to return to the manor or…”
The younger Graham said something neither of them expected. “I should call upon Rayland’s vicar and introduce myself. Moreover, I would not wish for Lady Freya’s family to be angry with her for something caused by my stepfather’s prized bull.” He dismounted and bowed to her. “Permit me to see you safely to your home, my lady.” Then he asked without preamble, “Should I lift you to my horse’s back or would you prefer to walk?”
However, before any of them could move, a gun shot rang out. A bullet ricocheted off the nearby bench. Lord Graham instinctively moved before either of his two companions. He took Freya down to the ground again. He covered her with his own body, while a second shot, from what had to be another gun, hit the ground some five feet from where they were cocooned together in the brown winter grass.
Aaran waited untilBoyde called out, “What the devil?” before he even considered climbing off Lady Freya’s body. It was one thing when she was on top of him, as she had been only a few minutes earlier, but quite another when he was on top of her, his manhood nuzzled in the crevice of her womanhood, and, like any man, he wished to remain there for an eternity.
“Are you well, my lady?” he asked Lady Freya when he raised his head to look down upon her lovely features, memorizing her sweet expression. He thought for the briefest of moments, with her at his side, he could finally leave behind the gutted feeling hehad known since childhood. That he could forget the necessity of burying all his emotions in order to manage the details of each day of his life. He could stop second-guessing every decision, for there would be another in his life who would look out for him and want him to know happiness.
In many ways, Aaran did not want such a connection—did not want something so visceral and private with anyone. Nor would he choose the sexual awareness skittering through his system, at this very moment, or wish to know the emotional empathy her presence brought to his life.
Boyde shook his shoulder. “Are you well, Aaran?”
Regrettably, Aaran was made to lift himself off the luscious body of Lady Freya Cunningham. He rose and held a hand down to her. “I pray you will not be heavily bruised tomorrow.”
Her fingers grasped his, and Aaran tugged her to her feet while he asked Boyde, “Did you view the shooter? Was it purposeful or a mistake?”
“Cannot say with confidence,” Boyde admitted, as he also stood. “I did not see him until the second shot, and, even then, not clearly.”
