Page 3 of Wedded to the Scottish Duke

“Ye dead, lass?” he teased her.

“I’m not dead!”

“Then speak. What happened?”

“A cramp. And my other leg, it’s trapped…” She grunted as she tried to release her leg. “I do not need your help.” She did her best to wriggle out of his grasp. “I’m a perfectly capable swimmer.”

“Aye, aye, so ye are. Ye’re also trapped in reeds and drowning. Ye sound perfectly capable to me.”

“Arrogant sod,” she muttered and at last yanked her leg free.

She thought she had done it of her own accord, before she felt a thick hand close around her thin ankle. Shocked at the feel of his strong fingers on her, she held herself completely still.

“You can release me now,” she said after he kept holding on to her ankles for a few seconds.

“As ye wish.” He released her completely.

Her head plunged beneath the water.

“You bast?—”

The end of the word was drowned out by the water. She wasn’t even under for a second before his arm was back around her waist and pulling her up. She broke the surface of the water again, spluttering.

“Maybe this time I’ll just hold on to ye.” His lips were back by her ear.

She shuddered, though it had absolutely nothing to do with the coolness of the water.

He started to swim back with her, heading toward the shore.

All protests Celia now wished to make faded away as she realized the gravity of the situation. Had this stranger not been there, she would not have been able to get herself out of the water. What had started as a silly dare could have turned into a great tragedy.

As they reached the shallows where she could put her feet down, she winced the moment her foot touched the shingle.

“Don’t do that, lass.” His voice had softened. “Come here.”

“Come here? I’m not sure I could get much closer to you. This is hardly appropriate—what are you doing!?”

He moved too fast. In one swift movement, his thick arms had lifted her out of the water. With one under her legs and one around her back, he lifted her, bridal style, and walked forward.

Panicking, Celia turned her body, enough so that her breasts were hidden from him by her arm. Her most private area was also hidden as she crossed her legs. When she realized her attempt to hide from him merely meant she pressed her breasts against his skin, she started to shudder all the more.

“I could ask, what are ye doing?” he said with a deep chuckle.

“Do not look,” she warned.

“In the dark? Impossible to see much.”

She had to admit, he was right. Even this close to his face, she couldn’t really make out anything of him as he carried her out of the water. Was that dark hair, somewhat wild and bedraggled, curling around his ears? Or perhaps it was the dim light that made his hair seem dark.

One thing she could make out was his arms, mostly because she could feel them rather than see them. The strength of the arms around her back and under her legs was a shock.

She could only remember glimpsing a man with such strength once before. Her opera singer friend had taken her to see an illegal boxing bout in the depths of London one night. The fighter in that ring had had arms as thick as this man’s.

“There, lass. Ye’re safe.”

She tried not to shudder at those words. It was strange, for she did feel safe.

“Then put me down,” she pleaded.

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