Page 44 of A Stranger’s Promise

He smiled. She closed her eyes, at first feeling awkward, but forgot everything with the first light brush of his mouth against hers. He pressed several soft kisses on her mouth, tasting her longer each time, while his thumb stroked her cheek.

“So sweet,” he murmured against her mouth, then his tongue traced the seam of her lips.

Her mind whirled when his fingers slid along the sensitive flesh of her neck, then cupped her nape. He flicked her bottom lip, softly at first but with an increasing, yet gentle intensity that coaxed her mouth open. She shivered at the press of her breasts against his chest.

His tongue skimmed the inner surface of her bottom lip, then ventured deeper. She tensed, caught off guard. Captain Edwards had kissed her before, but never like this. The man had smashed his lips against hers and she’d been only relieved when he stopped. But this? She shuddered, savoring each brush of Alistair’s tongue dancing over hers.

She melted against him. He tightened his hold and plundered her mouth. Shiver after delicious shiver slid down her spine. Tentatively, she pushed the tip of her tongue between his lips to taste him. He moaned, his fingers sliding up her neck and tangled in her hair as his mouth devoured hers. His hand slid from the base of her spine up the line of her back and pressed her hard into him. The ridges of his chest pressed her breasts.

He tore his lips away abruptly. “Smoke,” he said in a hoarse whisper. He glanced over his shoulder.

The next instant, her nostrils stung with the smell of smoke. Alistair dashed to his grazing horse and vaulted into the saddle as Charlotte scanned the sky.

“There.” She pointed to a plum of smoke visible through a break in the trees ahead.

“It’s the old icehouse,” he said. “Come, Charlotte.”

She lunged toward him and Alistair stretched out a hand. She grabbed his arm and he swung her up into the saddle behind him.

“Hold tight,” he ordered.

She threw her arms about his waist and pressed her cheek to his back an instant before he kicked the horse into a mad gallop. The horse leapt forward, running so fast that the trees flew by in a blur. They went no more than a quarter mile before Alistair turned the animal from the road. The horse sailed over a low hedge and raced through the underbrush.

As they neared the fire, smoke hung heavy in the air. Alistair drew rein near what appeared to be a door carved into the side the stone hill. A column of black smoke funneled through the opening.

“Nae! Please!” cried a faint voice.

Charlotte froze. “Oliver!” she gasped in horror. “He’s inside. But how—”

Alistair leapt from the saddle, then raced to the door. Charlotte slid from the saddle. Her heart nearly stopped. There was too much smoke. He would never make it out. Oliver—A sob clogged her throat. Alistair reached the door. Flames licked the doorway. Alistair yanked his arm up to shield his face.

Fear nearly buckled her legs. The flames, he was so close to the flame. Tears streamed down her face. She stumbled toward him. Alistair whipped off his coat and swung it over his head. Her heart thundered. Charlotte spotted movement in the trees near the door. It couldn’t be. She veered toward the trees.

Oliver lunged from within the trees. “Nae!” he shouted, and raced toward Alistair.

Charlotte whipped in the direction of Alistair. “Stop!” she shouted.

He ducked his head in readiness to dash into the smoke.

“Alistair!” she shouted as loud as she could.

He twisted and looked at her. She pointed to his right. He turned in that direction—then flung his coat aside and shot toward Oliver.

Alistair reached Oliver and swung the boy up into her arms, then crashed to his knees, Oliver sobbing. Charlotte reached them and cried out at sight of a smoldering spot on the upper sleeve of Alistair’s shirt. She dropped to her knees beside them and slapped at the cloth until it no longer smoked. A raw, red burn marred the muscled flesh on his upper arm.

“You will live,” she told him in a matter-of-fact voice, despite the thudding of her heart. “Painful, to be sure, but not life-threatening. Thank heavens.” She suddenly felt weak, and plopped down onto her backside beside them.

A crash sounded inside the cavern. Charlotte cried out and yanked her gaze on the open doorway.

The fire cannot hurt us,” Alistair said. “It will burn out inside the cavern.”

To her surprise, flames no longer tried to escape. Alistair held Oliver close as the boy clung to him as if he would never let go.

Finally, Alistair stirred. “What happened, lad?” he asked.

Oliver buried his face in Alistair’s shoulder and sobbed, “Why does my father hate me?”

Alistair frowned. “Hate you? I do not—”

“Not you,” Oliver lifted his head, his tears leaving trails on his soot-covered cheeks. “My father. Charles.”

Alistair closed his eyes.

Charlotte frowned.

“I know who you are,” Oliver whispered. “You are my uncle.”

Charlotte stared.

Uncle?