All for the Heiress (14 page)

“I’m coming out, Mel. I dinna know how much more ye want to see,” he said, taking a few steps toward the bank.

With a gasp, she dropped his pack and fled behind a copse of trees a safe distance away, scowling to herself at his self-satisfied chuckle.

She made a serviceable shelter out of one of the stolen blankets, draping it over a shrub and staking one end into the ground, then filled in the gaps at the bottom with piles of soggy leaves. It at least kept the wind partly off the fire she struggled to build, and when Shane found her a few minutes later, he slumped appreciatively next to the fledgling flame. He wore his modern clothes again, and she draped his wet things around the fire. She was about to dig around for more dry pine needles when she remembered with a gasp that Shane had been gored by that beast.

“Let me see your leg,” she said. “It was bleeding.”

“It’s all right,” he said tiredly. “I wrapped it with a sock.”

She sat down near his foot and pulled it roughly it into her lap, pushing up his jeans until she came to the tightly tied sock. Because she still felt so grateful to him, she didn’t berate him for stupidity out loud, but she thought it.

Taking out the small first aid kit she’d packed, she poured some alcohol over the jagged cut on his calf, then wrapped it properly with gauze, cursing herself for not bringing antibiotic ointment just because it was in modern packaging. She should have squeezed some out into an earthenware jar or something. If Shane’s leg went septic it would be her fault. Even a minor infection could kill someone in this time.

He pressed his index finger between her eyebrows, and she looked up to see his questioning face. “Why are ye scowling so hard?” he asked. “It truly doesna hurt that much, and ye can see it isna deep.”

He shook his head at her when she inadvertently let out a small sob. Putting the shelter together and getting the fire started had kept her mind off it, but now she kept seeing that great hairy beast charging at them, hearing its awful noises at the end. She took a deep breath and held it for a count of ten, then let it out. Unable to look him in the eye, she dropped her gaze to his leg, patting the bandage, then pulling his pant leg back down over his icy skin.

He leaned down, lightly kissing the top of her head. When she scooted back to get a better look at him, he only looked into the fire, and she wasn’t sure he had really done it. He had probably just brushed a leaf from her hair. For all his teasing, not even a near death experience would cause him to kiss her. She had to be unglued for this to give her the sense of sadness that it did. She was so distressed, she didn’t know one emotion from another.

“Fire’s about to go out,” he said, getting up.

She jumped up. “I’ll go,” she said, glad to have something to do. “There was a dry patch over that way, I’ll just grab a bit more. You need to rest and get warm.”

He nodded, huddling under the blanket roof and closing his eyes. He was probably frozen to the bone after his dip in the river, and she was sure his adrenaline spike would make him feel sick soon. She wished she had something better to feed him, and thought for one disgusting minute about going and prying a leg off the boar, but quickly dismissed that idea. They still had beef jerky and the protein bars, it would have to do.

As she filled her skirt with pine needles and twigs, she felt more and more ashamed of herself. Shane had actually flung himself through the air at that raging animal to save her life. He’d been like some sort of action hero, and she couldn’t even cook him up a pork chop as thanks? Thoroughly disgusted with herself, she made her way back to where they’d left it, and forced herself to imagine she was at the butcher shop, where she’d seen whole pigs hundreds of times before. This one just had bristles and tusks and had tried to kill them.

She stood over it, concentrating on its meaty leg, ignoring the blood stained ground and the jagged tear in its neck. After a few deep breaths, she took her knife out of the ankle holster and gritted her teeth. Feeling an overwhelming savagery, she plunged it in and began sawing through the tough hide, then planted her foot on the horrid thing’s flank and wrenched the bone around until it popped nastily out of the socket. A little more twisting and sawing and she had herself what she hoped would be a delicious meal.

Giddy with the accomplishment, she held it in front of her like an Olympic torch, and raced back to show Shane. He appeared to be asleep, and looked uncomfortable in a slumped half sitting posture. She wanted to check his leg, but hated to disturb him and satisfied herself that no blood had seeped through his jeans.

Adding a few needles and twigs to the fire, and blowing away the smoke from the damp kindling, she tried not to gag as she set about skinning the leg. After she skewered it with a stick and propped the stick on two rocks on either side of the fire, she built up the fire a little more and hunkered down under the lean-to next to Shane.

She gingerly touched the back of his hand, dismayed to find it still cold. She pulled the blanket over both of them to try to bring his temperature back up.

“Ah, that smells lovely,” he said, when she scooted closer.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” As long as he was awake, she reached for his leg.

He moved away. “It’s fine, I swear.” His irritated look turned dreamy when he leaned over to inspect his dinner. “I canna believe ye did this. Ye’re amazing.”

She goggled at him. Had he forgot killing the thing in the first place? She didn’t deserve his praise, and didn’t want it. Every detail of the ordeal came rushing back to her and she shuddered. It could have so easily gone the other way. She hugged her knees to her chest.

Shane poked at the fire and shivered. “I canna get warm,” he grumbled, teeth chattering.

“Dafty, why did you jump in the river?” She wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, giving him a rough squeeze.

It was his turn to give her an incredulous look. “Did ye not see me dripping with blood?” He laughed ruefully. “Did it look as bad as it felt? Did I look like Carrie at the prom?”

She pictured him covered in the boar’s blood, his eyes wild with the success of killing it. If she was honest, he’d been magnificent, like a warrior or a caveman, dominating nature to survive and protect her. A new image popped into her mind’s eye, that of him in the water, all rippling and powerful.

“No,” she said, unable to tear her eyes off him, seeing it all happening again in slow motion. “The way you kicked it, and then flew through the air… You looked like a- like a-
ninja assassin
.” She breathed the last words out in hushed awe, shivering at the memory.

He frowned at her, then his brows shot into his hairline. “Oh my God, that was it.” He grabbed her hand and laughed.

“What?”

“I was trying to recall the last time we hung out together, just you and me. It was that film, Ninja Assassin.” His smile almost tore her heart out and he scuffled closer, their knees touching. “You remember it? I wanted to be him.”

She felt her cheeks get warm. “Are you kidding? I wanted to marry him.” The film had been so violent, that one of the town busybodies raised an outcry and got it pulled early, but she and Shane managed to watch it one last time before it was replaced with a 1950s musical. “We were the only ones in there,” she said.

They’d been surprised to see each other, and she’d been embarrassed to be caught watching it again. She’d had a little crush on the actor, so it was her third time seeing it, and Shane had the excuse of being a martial arts obsessed teen boy. They’d sat together smack in the middle of the empty theater and laughed and cheered at every gory blood splatter, stuffing themselves full of sweets, with their feet rudely up on the seats in front of them.

“You showed me some of the moves after,” she said, enjoying the memory of how he’d tried to teach her to do a spin kick, to no avail.

“Ye were a lost cause, so clumsy.” He dodged her hand when she attempted to smack him. “Ye do all right with your fists, though, I’ll give ye that.”

“That was so fun,” she marveled. Things had been simple back when they’d been little more than children.

He ran his hand over his face. “Aye, it was. We used to have plenty of good times. Then ye went and lost your Scottish accent and got all stuffy.”

She was shocked at his assessment of her, hurt that it might have been true. “I didn’t lose it, I toned it down. I just didn’t want to sound like a country bumpkin when I got to London.”

She squirmed at his look that told her that wasn’t much better. She felt like a cow, all but having called him and everyone she grew up with bumpkins. More memories flooded back, so many good times. Until she got her idea to leave Castle on Hill and became a prat.

She remembered Shane trying to stay friends with her, but she was single-minded, studying constantly so her grades would be good enough, and decreeing any entertainment the village had to offer as not worth her time anymore. Instead of telling her where she could shove her nonsense, he’d helped her with the subjects he was better at, which were most of them, because he was a damn natural genius, damn him, though he didn’t care a bit about school. Then he’d started dating that bossy Bridget, who’d effectively made a dog’s dinner of his life. She was livid when he stopped coming around, even though she certainly didn’t hold up her end of the friendship. What a hypocrite she’d been.

Making her feel even worse, he dropped his forehead onto her folded arms. Tentatively she rested her chin on top of his head, all sorts of emotions rushing around inside her.

“Sorry,” she whispered. He didn’t respond, he probably hadn’t heard, but she was too cowardly to repeat it. “Thank you for saving me,” she said instead.

He shook his head, straightening up. He looked angry. “I told ye not to thank me.”

Some fat from the boar leg dripped into the flames, causing the fire to spit and crackle, dragging their attention to it. Shane turned it so the other side could cook, and she was glad for the reprieve from his sudden change.

“We need to blacken this sucker,” he said. “The last thing we need is food poisoning.”

She grimaced at the thought of getting sick out in the woods and sobered further when she realized that even if they made it to the Ferguson farm, no nice clean bathroom awaited them, no hot shower or flushable toilets.

Thankfully the meat was tasty despite its lack of seasonings, and watching Shane tear into it with gusto gave her the thrill she always felt when someone enjoyed her food. When they were done eating, Shane lay back, his head under the lean-to.

“Should we start moving again?” she asked.

It had to be late afternoon, the cloudy sky offered no hint of sun. The thought of spending another night in the woods, especially now she knew what they might meet, was about as savory to her as tearing the leg off the boar had been.

“Ye’ve made such a tidy home for us, why don’t we live here happily ever after?” he asked, adding more pine needles to the fire. “And my leg does hurt a bit. Let’s just camp, aye?”

She felt his forehead for fever, then bent to inspect his bandage. He was pale and clearly exhausted, and as much as she wanted to get to the road or better yet, the farm, before dark, it didn’t seem likely.

“I’m going to find every dry piece of kindling in a hundred meter radius,” she said, grabbing her pack. “If we’re staying, I want no less than a bonfire, so nothing else dares to come near us.”

He lifted his hand in a weak wave. “Ye’re the best, Mel.”

***

Shane woke to find Mellie fast asleep next to him, a clear sky full of stars, and a fire on either side of their lean-to. He edged out from under the blanket without disturbing her, and chuckled to himself as he added more sticks to each one. She’d been serious about keeping wild animals away from them, and as he stretched his cramped legs, he noticed she’d piled up more leaves and branches behind the hanging blanket. As soon as he got out from under it, the wind bit at him, and he nodded appreciatively at how well she’d protected them from the weather with only what had been laying around.

His coat was crusty and stiff, but almost dry and only smelled slightly of pig blood, its scent leaning more towards dirty river water. It only took three minutes outside of the shelter for him to get over his distaste and put it on. He didn’t want to think about what kind of impression he’d make on Catie, filthy and smelly and injured as he was. He’d never seen the lordly Oliver Cliffstone who Mellie could not shut up about, but he imagined him to be nothing less than a real life Prince Charming. Not only handsome, but rich and refined to boot.

He couldn’t handle the cold wind anymore and carefully got back under the lean-to, staring up at the blanket roof over his head. His feet stuck out, but were near the fire, and after a few minutes he felt warm, something he thought he’d never feel again after getting out of the river.

He leaned up on his elbow and looked at Mel, the firelight making shadows across her face. He moved closer to see if her eyelashes were as long as they looked, sweeping down over her cheekbones. Without knowing he did it, he reached out a finger and ran it across her furrowed brow, then froze, hoping he hadn’t idiotically woken her up.

She stirred, but only to burrow closer to him, well, the heat source. She didn’t care that it was him in her deep sleep. He almost made a noise of disappointment when he thought that if she was awake, she’d be struggling to stay away from him. He smiled at her serious sleeping face. He was so glad she was alive, she could beat the crap out of him and he’d happily take it. He was sure she’d hit him again eventually. He perversely hoped so, pathetically glad for the contact between them.