Page 6 of Kilty as Sin
“I…what?”
“Yer shoes. The ones on yer feet.” His voice was very patient, wasn’t it? Appealing, almost.
Dear heavens, ye’re going into shock, are ye no’? ‘Tis the only explanation.
She could only blink at him.
The Hunter had stopped, and now faced her with his feet planted on two different boulders and his hands on his hips. She wondered if he was mocking her.
“I’m going to get ye out of the bog, lass, but ‘twill likely involve losing yer shoes. And possibly yer stockings.”
“And my feet?” Damn the quaver in her voice.
“I have nae reason to assume they wouldnae stay attached to yer legs.”
“Verra well.” She sucked in a deep breath and tried to straighten her spine. “Ye may begin.”
Instead of replying, the man turned and gave a sharp whistle, then a second, longer one, then another short one. The sudden sound pierced what Grace now realized was the silence of the rocky glen, and she winced.
“Should we no’ be more circumspect, Sir Hunter?”
“The men who were after ye are dead, milady,” he announced bluntly, without turning back to look at her. “They’ll no’ bother ye again.”
As if to emphasize the claim, thunder cracked closer this time.
Grace found herself shuddering again. Had she killed that man? Could she regret it?
When they’d caught her, her father’s men had passed her from one horse to another, as if she were merely a sack of grain, or a wineskin to be shared. They’d touched her, they’d said lewd things to her…but Father had sent them.
They wouldn’thurther.
At least, that was what she’d believed up until the leader had pulled her from the horse and ordered her bindings cut so he could spread her legs.That’swhen Grace knew she’d have to fight.
What father had planned for her was terrible, but at least that was only one man to worry about.
The sound of hoofbeats pulled her from her horrible thoughts and she jerked her gaze up to see a magnificent white horse crest the hill above them. It reared, pawing the air the same moment lightning flashed behind it, and Grace sucked in an awed breath.
“Fooking prat,” muttered the Hunter, shaking his head with a sigh. “Cannae resist showing off.”
As the animal galloped toward them, Grace weakly asked, “’Tisyerhorse?”
He didn’t have to respond because the answer was immediately obvious. The animal slowed in a sudden shower of pebbles and bumped against the man, then bobbed its head with a prideful toss of his flowing mane.
“Aye, aye,” the Hunter muttered, shoving at the horse with an open palm. “Ye’re magnificent, whatever. Give me the rope.”
The horse stepped sideways almost delicately, presenting the saddle to the man. He reached into one of the bags and pulled out a coil of rope.
“Dinnae trot off, Yer Magnificence.” Even Grace could hear the sarcasm in his voice. “I’ll have need of yer stupendous strength.”
As he spoke, he’d tied one end of the rope to the saddle, and now he turned to her.
“Ready, lass?”
Ready for what? But she didn’t have to ask, because before she could open her mouth, the coil of rope splatted into the muck by her side, and she scrambled to pick it up.
“Ye’re going to just pull me out?” That seemed…idiotically simple.
“Nay.” The man patted the animal’s shoulder. “Horse is going to do it.”
