Page 61 of The Scot Who Loved Her

“Show yourself.” Malcolm’s voice was full of force.

If she were the one hiding, she would pop out immediately, hold up her hands and beg him for mercy.

Silence.

Then, there, behind them. Rushing footsteps.

Malcolm and she whirled around simultaneously, with him leaping in front of her. A shot rang out, and it took a moment for her to realize it wasn’t Malcolm who fired as the bullet whizzed past them to lodge in a tree trunk to their left.

“Get down,” Malcolm ordered her, and she didn’t hesitate, scooting under the raised plant bed they’d been leaning casually against.

A masked and cloaked assailant came into view then, making no effort to run now. Hunched over, they lunged for Malcolm’s throat. Who was this person? Why wouldn’t they show themselves? And why did it suddenly feel as though they were in some theatrical play gone very wrong?

“Malcolm!” she shouted, wishing there was something she could do to help him.

The men appeared to be evenly matched, tussling on the ground, but that view was only fleeting. Malcolm swiftly got the upper hand. He knocked the man down, but he scrambled backward before hopping to his feet and running off.

“Come back here!” Malcolm shouted, and she thought he might go off after the man, but he instead held out his hand for her.

She latched on, his grip solid. And then she lurched into his arms, grabbing him as tight as he’d been holding her. They’d almost been killed.

“Are ye all right?” Malcolm asked.

“I don’t know.” A shudder passed through her. “Now I know how you felt in the woods, though I’m not wounded.” After that fright, she wanted to go back to her room. “My head hurts.”

Malcolm tucked her close, rubbing her shoulders. “I’m sorry ye had to deal with that.”

Suddenly, she stiffened and straightened away. “We have to warn the others!”

“He’s no’ going to try anything with the others.”

“How do you know?” All she could imagine was a madman with a pistol whizzing through the picnic, shooting everyone in sight.

“Because he’s after me.”

Olivia stilled, staring at him, puzzled. “You know him?”

Malcolm nodded. “Well, I know who he is, but I do no’ know his identity. He was sending me a message.”

“What kind of message?”

Malcolm sighed. “That he knows I’m coming after him. And there’s something else.”

She gripped his arm, a slice of fear cutting in her middle. “Tell me.”

“About your sister.”

“Marian?” This wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned her.

He nodded solemnly. “She’s no’ in the asylum.”

Olivia cocked her head to the side, confused and then worried for her sister. What had happened? Had the madman abducted her? “What do you mean?”

“I saw her last night.”

“You saw Marian.” She emphasized the words, wishing he would tell her quicker.

“Aye. With that madman, in the boathouse.”

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