The horse stumbled again, and Megan tightened her grip on the stranger’s coat, her fingers numb from cold and fear because her mittens were soaked. Dawn was breaking over the mountains, painting the sky in shades of grey that matched the exhaustion dragging at her bones.
They’d ridden through the rest of the night with only his body warmth keeping her from expiring from the cold. Her body ached from being pressed against the man who’d broken into her room. Oliver, he’d said his name was. She didn’t know his family name. Didn’t know anything about him except that he’d pulled her from Penharrow’s lodge and now they were fleeing through the Welsh wilderness with pursuit somewhere behind them.
What have I done?
The question had been circling through her mind since they’d crossed that swollen river in the dark. She’d chosen this. Chosen to flee with a complete stranger rather than stay in her gilded cage. At the time, it had seemed like the only option. Anything was better than Penharrow.
But now, cold and wet and terrified, she wasn’t so sure.
“There,” Oliver called out, his voice rough with exhaustion. He pointed toward a stone structure ahead. “Shelter.”
Megan’s heart leapt with desperate hope. The shepherd’s hut appeared solid. Four stone walls, a slate roof that looked intact. No smoke, so hopefully it was empty. It should be at this time of year. The sheep would have been taken to lower pastures.
“We can get dry,” she tried to say, but Oliver had already urged his exhausted horse forward.
The hut was larger than she’d expected and empty. Oliver dismounted first, then reached up to help her down. Megan’s legs buckled when her feet touched the ground. She would have fallen if he hadn’t caught her.
“Easy,” he said. “You’re all right.”
But she wasn’t all right. She shook, from cold, from exhaustion, from the delayed terror of everything that had happened in the past few hours. The river crossing. The gunshots. The desperate flight through darkness.
And now, she was alone with two strange men in an isolated hut, miles from anywhere.
The other man, Webb, she remembered, was already leading the horses around to the back of the hut where she could see a small shelter. The horse who’d fallen in the water had followed behind them, so at least they had three mounts again.
At least the animals would have protection too. They were her means of escape should she need it. That was laughable. She couldn’t ride either of those beasts by herself. As usual she was trapped.
“Inside,” Oliver said, his hand on her elbow, guiding her toward the door.
The interior made Megan’s chest tighten with unexpected relief. A fireplace with a small, stacked fire ready to be lit. Stacks of dry firewood against one wall. Clean blankets folded on rough wooden cots. Even the floor was stone rather than dirt, swept clean.
She’d only ever known the hunting lodge, with its silk sheets, fine wool blankets and soft down duvets. This was nothing like that. This was better. This had no memory in it.
“I’ll get the fire lit,” Oliver said, already moving to add more wood. It soon began to crackle and flame. “Sit here and get warm.”
Megan sank onto the stone hearth and held her hands toward the heat. Her wet clothes clung to her skin, heavy and cold. She was shaking so hard her teeth chattered.
Oliver knelt beside her, and she flinched before she could stop herself.
He froze, hands raised in a gesture of peace. “I’m won’t hurt you.”
“That’s what all men say.” The words came out before Megan could stop them, bitter and sharp.
Oliver’s jaw tightened. “Fair enough, but it’s still true.” He stood, moved to a pack she hadn’t noticed before. “You need to get out of those wet clothes. You’ll catch your death.”
Panic spiked through her chest. “No.”
“Megan—”
“No.” She wrapped her arms around herself, pressing back against the stone wall. “I won’t. I won’t?—”
“I’m not asking you to undress for my benefit,” Oliver interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind. “I’m telling you that if you don’t get out of those wet clothes, you’ll die of cold. And we didn’t rescue you and pull you out of a freezing river to have you expire from exposure in a shepherd’s hut.”
He pulled items from the pack. A shirt, breeches, even stockings. All far too large for her, but dry.
“These are mine. Your saddlebag got wet when the horse fell, so we need to empty that and dry everything out. My bag was on Webb’s horse so it’s dry.” He set the clothes on the bench near the fire. “Wear them until yours dry. You can change while Webb sees to the horses.” He moved and strung a wool blanketbetween two pegs on the wall. “I’ll keep my back turned. Wrap yourself in that when you’re changed and hang your clothes to dry. We aren’t going to hurt you. I give you my word.”
“Your word means nothing to me.” Her voice shook. “I don’t know you. I don’t know why you took me or what you want from me or?—”
