Page 3 of Moonstone Landing
A well-dressed one, if the cut of his breeches and fine leather of his boots were any indication. Of course, a brazen thief would steal all the riches he needed to live well. “Take my coin purse and go.”
He frowned, his eyes turning to blue fire. “Madam, you insult me. I am no thief.”
“Then why are you here?” Her head was spinning, and her heart was now painfully racing. She could not make it stop.
She clutched her chest.
Drat again!
She was going to pass out.
“Help me,” she pleaded.
“Why should I?” His arms were still crossed over his chest, and he appeared to be making no move to lift a finger in assistance.
She fell to her knees. “You are a horrible man.”
She heard him inhale sharply as her head hit the carpeted floor with a light thud. Perhaps it was her own intake of breath she’d heard as pain exploded across her brow, even though she had mostly managed to brace her fall.
“Bloody, foolish female,” he muttered, kneeling beside her. “I thought you were faking.”
Now her heart and her head felt as though they were about to burst. “I am not faking, you dolt.” She refused to lose consciousness before she had told off this unspeakable bounder. “If I die, it will be all your fault…and…” She coughed from the strain of talking because it only made her body hurt worse. “I shall put a curse upon your soul…so that you shall never know a moment of…” She coughed again. “Not a moment of happiness from this day forth. I shall heap biblical plagues on you so that your skin will be covered in boils and—”
“Your lungs are quite healthy for someone who hit their head and seems about to pass out. Be quiet and lie still a moment,” he said with surprising gentleness. “Save your breath about those curses. Someone has already heaped them on me.”
Someone beat her to it?
What a disappointment.
She wasn’t certain she believed him, for neither his body nor his face seemed the worse for wear. Up close, he was handsomer than she’d realized. Big and sturdy, and he smelled nice, too. Like something fruity and spicy and insanely appealing to her senses.
“Hen, what is your real name,” he asked, his tone remaining surprisingly gentle.
But he still wasn’t helping her up, and she was beginning to feel ridiculous lying with her cheek dug into the carpet and her body sprawled in a most unladylike fashion. Not that she cared at the moment, for her head was pounding like an ancient war drum, one of those enormous, deep monstrosities that took four soldiers and a cart to haul when advancing on the enemy.
After a moment, she struggled to sit up. However, she kept her eyes closed and put a hand to her brow. “Henleigh is my name. Lady Henleigh Killigrew.”
He grunted. “An odd name for a female.”
“But it is my name, whether you approve of it or not. What is yours?” She may as well know more about the man who was probably going to kill her after he had robbed her.
Yes, she ought to know his name, the better to properly curse him after she’d died.
“Captain Brioc Taran Arundel, at your service, Lady Henleigh.”
“Bree-ok,” she repeated softly. “And Arundel? Like the former owner of this cottage?” This explained why he marched across her property as though he owned it. He was probably related to the sea captain who had died here about a year ago. “Brioc is a Celtic name. What does it mean?”
Had he stayed on to tend the property when he was not sailing off to parts unknown himself?
This also explained his tanned body, for sailors would not feel the need to wear their shirts when toiling under the heat of the sun, especially outside of a lady’s presence. But he ought to have known better than to keep it off now that she had come to reside here.
He cast her a wry smile. “Brioc means mighty, and Taran means thunder. Mighty thunder. Ironic since a storm of mighty thunder was the means of my undoing.”
He knelt beside her, his skin so temptingly close she could almost kiss it. “Your undoing? What do you mean?”
“Have you not guessed who I am yet? Well, I suppose the lump on your head probably left you dazed and thinking slow.”
“It has not!” The carpet was thick and soft enough to cushion much of her fall. She had hit her head, but the damage would have been worse had she not already fallen to her knees and braced her arms to absorb the worst of the impact.
