Page 3 of Almost a Countess

Chapter 2

With a gasp, Dora hauled back on thereins so hard Gretchen reared, her hooves dancing in the air beforethe man’s face.

“Whoa. Easy.” He put hishand up to ward off the horse, but otherwise looked unafraid. Herose to his knees then tried to stand. As he did so, he staggeredto the right, gave a strangled cry, and toppled back down theembankment.

When he did not reappear, Dora urgedthe skittish horse forward. She leaned over Gretchen’s shoulder,peering at the stream.

The stranger lay prone, his face inthe gently flowing water, not moving.

“Dear God.” Without asecond thought, Dora unhooked her knee from the sidesaddle’s pommeland slid to the ground. Keeping hold of the reins, she ran to theedge of the embankment, but the man still had not moved. Lord, hadhe drowned that quickly? Reluctantly, she dropped thereins—hopefully Gretchen wouldn’t stray far—then looked for a placeto climb down that wasn’t too steep. It would do neither of themany good if she broke her leg in the tangled weeds while coming tohis rescue.

She glanced toward him again. “Sir?Are you all right?”

No answer.

“Bloody hell.” It had beenher brother’s favorite oath, or at least the one she’d heard mostoften from him, and she now relished saying it whenever she could.But only when she was alone.

Picking a likely place, she slithereddown the overgrown bank and ran to the man, slipping precariouslyon the stones that lined the streambed. Splashing toward him, sheprayed she wasn’t too late. His face was right in the water, butturned to the side, so at least his nose allowed him to breathe.She slid to a stop next to him, grasped his shoulder, andheaved.

The man was as heavy as the big rocksthat lay around him, and her first grip slid free. Frantic, she putboth hands under his shoulder and grunted as she tried again. Thistime her force was so great that he flipped neatly over, his headhitting the mud at the bottom of the stream. Her balance now off,Dora tilted backward, lost her footing completely, and sat downhard in the swiftly flowing water.

Exasperated, she regarded the stillfigure, clad in a dirty linen shirt, bright red kilt, and blackboots. The kilt declared him Scottish without a doubt, and commonsense said he was also the escaped prisoner. She was in a peck oftrouble, no matter what she did, but she jolly well couldn’t letthe man drown in her stream. Not when she could easily pull himout. Even if he’d already been nothing but a nuisance.

Cold water had seeped through all thelayers of her riding habit, making her shiver. With some effort,she got to her feet, mentally cursing the unconscious man,oblivious to her wet misery. Not only was her backside frigid anddamp, but her favorite riding habit was undoubtedly ruined aswell.

She hauled herself over to thestranger, peering at him to make sure he was still breathing,before grabbing his shoulders again and dragging him out of thewater. A surprisingly handsome man, although she supposed a thiefor whatever he’d been arrested for could be as handsome as agentleman in a ballroom.

His dripping wet hair was likely adark auburn when dry, a bit long and shaggy. The heavily stubbledjaw told her he’d been on the run for some days. A clever criminal,it seemed. And a fit one. Indeed, as she was clasping his shouldersshe could attest to their sinewy strength. His legs, on displaybeneath his kilt, were also well-muscled, from running or ridingshe couldn’t tell.

The most perplexing thing, however,was his apparent youth. Despite the dirt and grime, he looked nomore than twenty, little older than herself. What could he havedone to cause his arrest?

Stopping at the top of the bank, Doralaid him down so his head was pillowed on a thick patch of weedsand inspected him more thoroughly. He’d been through some travail,that was certain. His left eye sported a rainbow of shades, andthere were several deep scratches on his cheeks, a sure sign he’dbeen in some kind of altercation. A serious looking gash on hisforehead might account for his fainting. At least he was stillbreathing, so he hadn’t inhaled any of the water. She’d best try towake him. The afternoon shadows were lengtheningalarmingly.

She gently poked his hip with the toeof her boot.

Nothing.

A sigh escaped her. If she could finda way to get back on her horse and leave while the man wasinsensible, she should surely do so. But it simply wasn’t withinher power to abandon anyone who needed her help.

She darted glances around the field,suddenly afraid the soldiers would appear and find both her andtheir fugitive. But the landscape was silent save for birdsong andthe rustle of the breeze in the trees. Giving herself a shake, Dorapeeled off her clammy leather riding gloves, grasped her soakinghandkerchief, and pressed it to the man’s face. It seemed to haveno effect on him, but she could feel the prickly stubble of hisbeard through the scrap of linen.

Chills shot up her hand, the hairs onher arm standing on edge. Who would have thought that brush ofwhiskers against the pad of her thumb would be as…erotic as anykiss she’d ever experienced? Not that she’d had many, mind you,only one or two from Tristan. And while they had been quitepleasurable, the feeling that this man’s rough skin evoked in herwas quite wild in comparison.

She jerked her hand away. There mustbe something she could do to rouse him. Putting her altruisticinstincts aside, she would require the stranger’s help if shewanted to remount Gretchen and save herself a long walk home on aday she needed to travel swiftly. As she thrust the soddenhandkerchief into the pocket of her habit, her hand brushedsomething hard and cold.

Her smelling salts. She grasped thevial, blue glass covered in silver filigree, took a breath, thenpopped the top and thrust the bottle under the man’snose.

With a gasp, he sat up and grabbed herwrist, pushing the vial away from his face. “Are ye trying tae killme with that stink?” He gazed around, shook his head. “Who are ye?Where did ye come from?”.

Startled beyond belief, Dora openedher mouth but was unable to form a single word.

His eyes, as sky blue as her ridinghabit, narrowed. “Cat got yer tongue, lass?”

“N…no.” She managed to getthat out. “You startled me, is all.”

“Aye, well I’m sorry forthat. Ye’re a bit o’ a surprise tae me too.”

He released her wrist, and shestaggered back to put some space between them.