Page 22 of The Widow Wore Plaid

Jane shot him a scathing look, then good-naturedly headed off with Lathbury to another set that was quickly making up.

Parched, Gareth headed for the refreshment table that had been set up sufficiently far from the dancing to be out of danger. Footmen were stationed at each end to help keep those who might have imbibed a bit much from crashing into the table. He grabbed a cup of ale and drank thirstily until the tankard was empty. Setting it back on the table, he then took a glass of rich, red wine and sipped more moderately before heading back to the dancing.

He skirted the dancing couples, where Lathbury was heying with Jane, who was now flagging a bit. Two sets of fast-paced Scottish dancing was hardly comparable to the more staid English country dances. One actually had time—and breath—to converse during those. The faster-paced Scottish tempos demanded stamina and good wind.

A young couple ran laughing in front of him. Smiling at the gaiety of the pair, Gareth backed out of their way, toward the blazing bonfire, his gaze still on Jane’s entrancing form. She did cut a delightful figure when dancing.

A passerby jostled his elbow, but he managed to save most of his wine. He spun toward the ungraceful lout when someone else shoved him harder.

The jolt propelled Gareth, already off balance, backward, directly into the leaping flames of the roaring bonfire.

Chapter Ten

Desperately windmilling his arms to regain his balance, Gareth fought the sickening, helpless feeling of falling backward. Searing heat on the back of his head and jacket grew greater with each passing second, telling him his efforts to right himself would be in vain. God help him, but this would be a fiery end.

Out of nowhere strong hands gripped his flailing arms and heaved him forward, away from the blazing heat and into the blessed coolness of the night.

“Good God, Kinellan.” Lord Brack’s voice behind him coincided with several vigorous blows to his back and head. “Are you all ri—quick, Rob, there on his shoulder.”

Another, harder blow to his left side propelled him farther into the fallow field and put him a safe distance away from the fire. There were then several smaller licks to his back before Lord St. Just hove into sight. “I think that’s the lot. The whole back of your jacket is smoking, however, Kinellan. You might want to take it off in case it decides to burst into flame again.”

Gareth lost no time shrugging out of the garment, tossing it to the ground, and stamping it into the dirt. An overpowering stench of burnt wool and scorched hair rose into the night air.

“Are you all right, Kinellan?” Peering into Gareth’s face, Brack repeated himself, his eyes filled with shock and worry.

“Your back seems unscathed,” St. Just volunteered, “but your hair has been badly singed, old chap. You might want to nip away into the castle for a bit to freshen up.”

Shaking badly, Gareth put his hand up to the back of his head, wincing at the lightest touch to the tender skin at the base of his skull where moments ago there had been thick hair. Gingerly, he explored the area and discovered at least some hair remained thanks to the quick actions of the two young lords. His injuries would have been so much worse had they not been there. In truth, he’d have been burned alive by now.

A small crowd had begun to form around them, so Gareth grabbed the ruined jacket and motioned his rescuers to follow him. They circled around to stand well behind the refreshment table. Brack darted forward and returned with ale for all three.

“I cannot thank you enough, gentlemen.” Gareth clutched the tankard, using every ounce of will to control his shaking hand. “You saved my life just now. I owe you both a debt I shall never be able to repay.”

“Glad we were there to do it, Kinellan.” Brack smiled cheerily, although his gaze still flicked now and then to Gareth’s back.

“Near thing, indeed.” St. Just wiped his sooty hands on a handkerchief before availing himself of his drink. “No one at all was paying attention. You’d have been a goner for sure if you’d landed in those flames. They’d never have gotten you out in time.” He took a long pull at the tankard. “What happened?”

“I was watching the dancers—Lathbury had claimed Jane to partner him. I went to the refreshment table for a drink, got an ale then some wine, and when I returned someone knocked into me.” Clenching his hand around the tankard’s handle, Gareth inwardly swore at the clumsy oaf who’d almost cost him his life. “You know the rest.”

“Thank God we had decided to find you to ask about getting up a riding party for tomorrow. Our wives informed us they will be unavailable all day helping Jane with wedding plans.” Brack motioned to his friend. “Rob and I thought a riding party would be the thing to take us out of their way for the day. I’d love to see a bit more of the Highlands while we are here.”

“That’s a splendid idea.” Gareth’s heart had finally resumed its normal pace. He might be edgy for a while still, adjusting to the shock of the near accident. A long ride with friends around him might be the very thing to shake off any lasting jimjams.

His eye caught the light blue of Jane’s gown as she whirled in a star figure, laughing over her shoulder at Lathbury as they moved clockwise, then counterclockwise in the dance. When she discovered his misadventure—as of course she would as soon as she saw the singed hair—she would insist he stay home tomorrow. Hell, she’d likely refuse to let him stir until the wedding on Friday. Even he had to admit two near misses in one day seemed to be tempting Fate. Never two without three.

Earlier he’d been ready, eager even to spirit Jane off into the night to enjoy lovemaking out in the woods in hopes of not only pleasuring one another but also creating an heir into the bargain. He still craved her body, wanted to embrace it, to delve into it until they spent themselves in the completion of the act of love. To do so under a canopy of trees and a starlit sky would make the moments even more magical. However, such a tryst would expose them to the caprices of nature, and he would not risk either himself or her with such a scheme now. They would wait until they returned to the castle, to their very safe and secure apartments to enjoy their not-quite-married pleasures.

“There’s a grand prospect to the north of the castle. Most of it is a pathway wide enough for a carriage to pass easily. My mother did not ride, but she would take an open carriage up the path to the prospect at the Heights of Brae. There are four huge stones there, remnants of a stone cairn from antiquity, I’m told.” Another idea occurred to Gareth, to make the outing complete. “From there you can come back by way of Knockfarrel to the east of Strathpeffer. It’s an ancient vitrified hill fort where the stone structure was subjected to high heat to fuse into a glasslike substance. It also has magnificent views in several directions.”

“Sounds splendid.” Brack’s eager face had lost its traces of alarm. The young lord was apparently already looking forward to his next adventure.

Gareth himself should have been more enthusiastic about the outing. Unfortunately, he couldn’t get the thought of Jane out of his mind. But along with images of making love to her came a nagging sense of urgency to marry as quickly as possible so they could produce a legitimate heir. He must be more shaken over his near misses today that he’d expected. Suddenly the thought of being parted from his beloved for an entire day seemed lunacy to him. If he could manage it, he’d prefer to keep her in his bed all day tomorrow. Which he could do if he sent his friends and their wives off to the Heights of Brae for the day.

“You know, Brack, St. Just,” Gareth began in an enthusiastic tone, “it would take only a moment to rearrange your plans and take your wives with you on the excursion. If they don’t wish to ride, I can have the landau readied to take them.”

“I say, that sounds like a corker, Kinellan.” St. Just’s eagerness reminded Gareth of a hunting dog, bright as bells to begin the hunt. “Georgie will likely wish to ride in the conveyance, if Elizabeth will as well.”

“She’s not awfully keen on riding horseback, Rob, so I daresay she’ll be happy to keep Georgie company.” Brack’s excitement now equaled his companion’s.