Page 60 of The Texan Duke
“It could be the Urisk,” she said. “He sits on lonely spots and watches intruders. Especially those who would invade his solitude.”
“Urisk? A ghost?”
She shook her head. “A solitary being, a result of the union between a mortal and a fairy.”
“And you believe this?” he asked, unable to keep the incredulity out of his voice.
She shook her head again, her look chiding. “It’s not important what I believe, Connor. It’s lore. It’s history. People who have lived here for millennia believe it. This land is built on the bones and the souls of those who’ve gone before.”
“We have our own past in Texas, Elsbeth. We’re also a damn sight warmer.”
He wasn’t going to ridicule Scottish beliefs. Whatever they chose to accept was fine with him; just don’t make him think the same thing.
She smiled at him and he couldn’t help himself. Slowly he leaned in, giving her time to say something, to issue a caution of her own.
She didn’t. Instead, she was motionless, her beautiful eyes wide as he lowered his mouth to hers, feeling her breath warm against his lips.
He’d anticipated a kiss; he hadn’t expected the surge of feeling. He wanted to love her, gently, sweetly—at the same time he wanted to protect her. He wanted to push her away and lecture her on the dangers of giving herself so easily to him—at the same moment he drew her closer, wrapping his arms around her.
He forgot that they were standing in the middle of a Scottish ruin, that the fierce cold was seeping into his bones.
Instead, there was only Elsbeth, only the feel of her in his arms, the soft sound she made as the kiss deepened.
Another sound brought him back to the present. Maybe the memories of Chickamauga had somehow alerted him. In those years he’d always been vigilant.
It was a small noise, nothing more. It could have been a falling rock, an icicle dropping from a branch to the ground.
Or something else.
He broke off the kiss, looked up, alert to something else, a click and rasp, followed by another click that abruptly ricocheted him into the past.
Pushing Elsbeth to the ground, he followed her, covering her with his body. She gasped in surprise or pain or perhaps even outrage. The sound of the shot silenced her.
“Someone’s shooting at us,” he said, stating the obvious. “And it’s not your Urisk.”
He heard a second shot, an echo accompanying it. A rifle, then, the sound too powerful to be a pistol.
Where was the shooter standing? He rose up, enough to peer through the arched window. Another shot rang out and the question faded beneath instantaneous pain.
Damn it, he’d been hit.
He stayed on his knees, dragging Elsbeth by the hand as he made it to the shelter of the tallest wall. From his calculations, the shooter was on the west side of Castle McCraight, probably hiding near the tree edge.
The pain in his shoulder angered him. He’d been shot before and didn’t have any desire to repeat the experience, especially not in the same spot.
“Why is someone shooting at us?”
“It’s your country, Elsbeth. Damned if I know.”
He hadn’t done anything to anyone. He wasn’t at war.
He held his good arm around Elsbeth, waiting. A few minutes passed. Removing his hat, he raised it a little. Nothing. He tossed it into the air, but nothing happened. Either the shooter wasn’t taking the bait or he’d left.
After a few more minutes passed, Connor pointed to the trees on the east side of the ruins, opposite from where he thought the shooter was.
“It’s not great cover,” he said, “but it beats the hell out of sitting here waiting to be shot.”
He probably should have apologized for swearing again, but he had cause right at the moment. She didn’t lecture him on etiquette, either, for which he was grateful.
