Page 29 of The Widow Wore Plaid

“Yes, my love, and I hope it may be so in more ways than the one.”

She frowned and cocked her head, in no doubt he’d explain that enigmatic statement.

He flashed his usual wide grin at her. “Nine months to the day after they came to the lodge, my mother gave birth to me.” Impossibly, the grin widened even more, threatening to split his face in half. “So if there’s anything to the saying, like father like son, it’s just as well we are to marry this Friday.”

Chapter Thirteen

Still in a warm fog of after lovemaking passion, Jane and Kinellan walked slowly down the staircase, taking one step at a time, arms around one another’s waists. The deliciousness of the afternoon, both their repast and their coupling, had left Jane somewhat euphoric, almost floating as if on a cloud. If only this feeling could last.

It did—but only as long as it took them to reach the large kitchen area. The remains of their picnic waited to be packed away and some of the glow began to fade as Jane began to store all the leftover food, soiled plates, and cutlery. “The only problem with a private picnic is there are no servants to clean up after one.”

“Let me help with that, sweetheart.” Kinellan swept the bits and pieces of food neatly onto one of the plates, then dumped it all into the fireplace. “I’ll send servants up here to clean up thoroughly after we return home.” He glanced around the cabin, a thoughtful look on his face. “With a few simple renovations, I think the lodge could be made into a pleasant hunting retreat for the gentlemen again.” His gaze fell on her. “And for one lady as well, on occasion.”

“Only if you do get rid of that wretched mattress.” The packing almost complete, Jane recorked the bottle of wine and tucked it into the one carry bag before lacing it up. She moved her shoulders, trying to loosen her still stiff back. “If not, next time you get to lie on the lumpy thing and we’ll see how well you fare.”

Kinellan laughed and shouldered the full bag while Jane took the empty one. “The first instruction I will give to the servants will be to remove the mattress and burn it. As soon as we return to the castle I shall send to Edinburgh and bespeak several mattresses for your comfort, my lady. When next you lay your head on a pillow here, it shall be the softest, most comfortable bed available in Scotland.”

Laughing together they approached the horses, who were quietly cropping grass. Kinellan adjusted the girth first on Penelope, then tossed Jane up and handed her the reins. He had just done the same for Hector, tightening the saddle before he slung the carry bag over the cantle when a shot rang out from the woods, kicking up dust right behind the horse’s back hooves. Hector danced sideways, forcing Kinellan out into the yard. The pack slid off the saddle onto the dirt.

Jane’s head shot up. “What was that?”

Kinellan spun around, peering into the trees. “Hello! Who’s—”

A second shot smacked into Kinellan’s shoulder and he staggered backward into the spooked horse.

“Gareth!” Jane turned Penelope in a tight circle, her attention focused solely on Kinellan, who had managed to move to the other side of the animal, putting that barrier between him and danger. Blood seeped from his shoulder, yet somehow he coolly scanned the woods for the intruder.

“Jane, ride out,” he called to her, not taking his gaze from the forest. “Down the path as quick as you can. Follow the trail back to the castle.”

“No. You’re wounded.” She stilled the dancing Penelope and unhooked her leg from the pommel.

“Stop! Don’t get down from the horse. You won’t be able to remount.”

Uneasily, she slid her leg back onto the saddle and gathered the reins.

Kinellan had moved toward Hector’s head and twitched the bush to release the reins. “I’ll be right behind you.”

* * *

“I’m waiting for you.”

Cursing, he turned the frightened horse and was ducking under its chin to get into position to mount when another shot kicked up dirt and rocks directly beneath his feet. Hector reared, throwing Kinellan to the ground, then took off down the trail at a gallop.

“Kinellan!” Jane leaped from the saddle, stumbling as she hit the ground hard. Her long red skirt billowed out, startling Penelope, who gave a shrill neigh and bolted after Hector. Jane scrambled over to Kinellan, flat on his back, his face a grimace of pain that turned to anger as soon as he saw her.

“Jane, damn it, why didn’t you leave?” Grabbing her shoulder, he pulled her to the ground, then dove on top of her.

The jolt of his heavy body dropping onto her drove the air from her lungs and she lay breathless staring at his angry visage. “Get . . . off,” she managed to wheeze. “Can’t . . . breathe.”

“Shh.” He glanced into the woods and his body tensed. “We have to move out of range.”

Fighting to draw in a breath, Jane couldn’t imagine moving at all. Then he shifted and blessed air flowed into her lungs, like being handed new life. “Move where?”

“The bushes.” He nodded to the scrub they’d tied the horses to. “We need to crawl, stay low.”

Steeling herself, she nodded and rolled onto her stomach. Kinellan had begun to pull himself quickly through the dust, leaving a trail she followed as close to his bootheels as possible. Impossible to drag oneself along without raising one’s head, but the madman with the gun might fire again any minute at the best target he could see. So Jane squirmed forward, head as close to the ground as humanly possible, the dust stirred up by Kinellan sticking to her face and clogging her throat.

After what seemed an eon, they finally reached the grass that served as a yard for the lodge and pulled themselves behind the bushes lining the clearing. Jane flopped onto her back, relieved to not be breathing dust. She spit out tiny pieces of dirt and sticks that had somehow gotten into her mouth.