Chapter 6

B lood.

There was blood on her hand and an excruciating pain—a breath-robbing, searing burn—in her left arm. Jessie stared at the bright red smear across her palm and fingers with incomprehension as rising panic constricted her throat. What on earth?

Her gaze darted to the dark-haired stranger bending over her. Not Simon, thank God . Deep blue eyes stared straight into hers, but try as she might, she couldn't make out what the man was saying. She felt muddled, light-headed, like her head was full of stuffing.

Another man with a mess of red hair suddenly appeared in her line of vision. He passed a flask to the blue-eyed man. "Here ye are, milord."

Jessie swallowed, tried to drag in enough air to speak. "What happened?" Her voice, when it emerged, sounded hoarse, foreign to her own ears.

The blue-eyed man spoke again and this time she understood. "You've been the unfortunate victim of a hunting accident," he said gently with only the barest trace of a Scottish burr. "Your left arm is injured, but not too badly."

At his words, memory flooded back. There'd been a deer. And a loud crack. A gunshot .

Jessie attempted to sit up again and gasped as a hot bolt of pain sliced through her arm making the simple action almost impossible. The movement also reminded her that her ankle was sprained, although at this particular moment, the throb of that injury was far less.

The man noticed her struggle also. He grasped her gently behind the shoulders and helped to ease her into a sitting position.When she was upright, he dropped his hands but didn't move away.

"Ye… Ye shot me." Jessie's voice emerged as a ragged whisper. As her gaze skittered over the stranger again, she noticed he wore a plain brown coat and tight-fitting buckskin breeches. A musket hung from his shoulder. Perhaps he was a hunter. Or a poacher…

The man drew in a deep breath and wiped a hand down his face, his expression more than a little contrite. "Aye," he admitted, meeting her gaze. "I'm so incredibly sorry. My companion and I, we were deer stalking. The deer I was after was in the copse with you, and in this mist… Well, you were neatly camouflaged, I'm afraid." His wide mouth suddenly tilted into a rueful half smile. "I'm obviously not as good a marksman as I used to be if I'm missing deer and shooting lasses instead."

Even though he'd shot her, and she had no real reason to trust this man nor his redheaded companion, Jessie could at least take him at his word about what had occurred. For one thing, his explanation made sense. She remembered the deer. And she'd deliberately worn colors that would blend into the autumn-hued landscape. A hunter probably wouldn't have noticed her in amongst the deer grass and the crimson leaves of the rowan tree.

But what if her fragile trust was misplaced?This man may have shot her by accident, but ownership of firearms was illegal for most Highlanders. So what on earth was this stranger doing up here, stalking deer on Lord Strathburn's lands in the first place? Who was he?

Despite his assurance that she would be all right, unease fluttered wildly in Jessie's belly. She was all alone and injured. Injured so badly she could not run. Vulnerable in the extreme. She tried to reassure herself that not everyone was like Simon—a cold, lascivious predator. Nevertheless, common sense dictated she should at the very least be wary of this man and his hunting companion.

Two of them, and only one of her…

Jessie glanced at the hunter's face again. He was kneeling very close, his deep blue eyes steadily watching her, obviously gauging her reaction to what he'd just told her. A strange frisson slid over her skin like a shiver of wind passing through the deer grass as it suddenly occurred to her that he was handsome, despite his rough appearance. His dark brown, almost black hair was tied back off his face revealing a strong angular jawline shadowed with the beginnings of a dark beard. Winged eyebrows, chiseled lips... She couldn't have said why, but she suddenly had the odd sensation that he seemed vaguely familiar.

The stranger spoke again, his pleasantly deep voice interrupting her blatant perusal. "Can you tell me your name, lass?"

Jessie considered his question and decided there was no reason not to share the information. She swallowed. Her throat was still so parched and tight she could barely speak. "Jessie…Jessie Munroe."

The man clearly noticed her need for a drink as well. He immediately produced the flask the redheaded man had given to him. "Just water," he said as if to reassure her yet again that he meant her no harm.

Jessie took it with shaking hands and sipped at the contents gratefully. Cold water slipped down her throat, easing the dryness. "Thank you," she said, handing the flask back.

The blue-eyed man took a swig for himself then poured a little water over his blood-streaked fingers.

Oh, dear Lord, it was her blood. Jessie swallowed down an unwelcome surge of queasiness.

The man recapped the flask and Jessie noticed that now the blood was gone, he had large, strong looking hands. Despite the fact his knuckles were scarred, his fingers were almost elegant with well-shaped nails. They were clearly not the hands of a crofter or brigand cattle reiver. More the hands of a gentleman, although the man's plain clothes and heavily stubbled jaw belied that particular station. He was an enigma to say the least.

It occurred to Jessie that she should ask the stranger for his name, but as she cleared her throat to ask her question, the man spoke again.

"Well, Jessie—you don't mind if I call you by your first name do you?—we're going to have to move to somewhere more sheltered. Night will be here soon, and it smells like rain." At that very moment, an ominous grumble of thunder sounded in the distance and a gust of wind sent a flurry of gold and scarlet leaves down upon them.

The blue-eyed man called out to his redheaded companion, who'd been standing at the edge of the copse all this time, watching. "Tobias, fetch the horses, will you?"

"Aye, milord," replied Tobias in a distinct Scottish burr before disappearing into the gathering mist and cloud.

The huntsman turned his attention back to Jessie. "There's an old, abandoned hunting lodge not far from here that we can use."

Well! Not only was this man stalking on Lord Strathburn's hunting grounds, but he also seemed to think nothing of using the earl's hunting lodge. It was a trespassing offence to say the least. But how on earth did the stranger know of its existence?

Her surprise at the comment about the lodge must have shown on her face as the stranger asked, "Do you know of it?"

She nodded, unable to prevent herself from saying, "It's owned by the Earl o' Strathburn. These are his lands."

The huntsman didn't seem at all rattled by her revelation. "Well, there's no possibility of us taking you anywhere else at present, given the weather setting in." His smile was wry as he glanced toward the lowering clouds. "I'm sure that like me, you'd prefer not to spend the night battling the elements." His eyes met hers directly again. "But before we move, Jessie, I'd like to take a closer look at your injured arm. You've lost a wee bit of blood and the wound may need bandaging." His gaze now held a light of earnest concern as he added, "I assure you, I have nothing but honorable intentions."

"Aye, verra well," Jessie said, steeling herself for what was about to occur. She supposed that if this man's intentions were dishonorable—if he meant to have her—she'd already know about it. Besides, if he really intended her physical harm, why bother attending to her arm?

The man laid aside his musket and, still on his haunches, leaned toward her. He was so very close. Jessie watched his face, unable to look down at her injury. His marked dark brows descended into a slight frown as he gently separated the torn edges of her sleeve to check the wound underneath. At these close quarters, she couldn't help but notice other particular details about the stranger. The skin at his throat and beneath his beard was tanned, like he'd spent a considerable amount of time in the sun. He possessed a long, straight nose and high cheekbones. Definitely handsome, she decided. An elegant ruffian.

Yes, he was a dark, handsome stranger and even though he'd shot her, he was now her rescuer. If she hadn't been in such a dire situation, she might have smiled at the irony.

"Jessie lass," the man said gently when he'd finished his inspection, "I'm going to use my linen neckcloth as a bandage to stem the bleeding. But in order to bind your wound properly, I'll have to cut away your sleeve. Would that be all right?"

Jessie nodded faintly even though her only gown for her journey to Edinburgh would be completely ruined. But she really had no other choice.

The huntsman pulled a dirk from his belt then began to slice through the already torn fabric that was obscuring her wound. Although he was gentle, she couldn't help but gasp. There was quite a lot of blood, more than she'd thought there would be. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, fighting a wave of nausea as the man proceeded to wrap a firm bandage around her arm. The slightest touch or movement triggered sharp flashes of white-hot pain. By the time the makeshift bandage was securely fastened, Jessie was shivering and a sheen of cold perspiration had broken out all over her skin.

The huntsman returned his dirk back to his belt. "You're a brave lass, Jessie Munroe," he said softly, as he studied her face. She thought there might even be a hint of admiration in the deep blue depths of his gaze.

To her annoyance, Jessie felt her cheeks grow hot, but before she could gather her muddled thoughts and form any sort of coherent response, the huntsman continued. "Now, I don't know if you've noticed," he murmured, the warm baritone of his voice as soft as a caress, "but you also have a rather large splinter at your temple that should probably be removed."

As his gaze moved to her forehead, he reached slowly forward and brushed her hair away from the left side of her face. For the first time, Jessie realized her brow was stinging. How had she not noticed that? She raised her right hand and gently probed the splinter, wincing slightly. Her temple was sticky with blood.

The huntsman gently tucked her loosened hair behind her ear. "The wound is quite superficial so it shouldn't leave any noticeable scar to mar your lovely face."

He thinks I'm lovely to look at? Surely he's jesting.

Even though she was still shivering, Jessie's face began to burn at his remark. "Considering ye mistook me for a deer, I suspect ye must be a wee bit blind," she said shakily, attempting a smile. "But nevertheless, I'm ready. Go ahead and do yer worst." As she closed her eyes to submit to the stranger's ministrations, he emitted a low chuckle.

Once the splinter was removed, the man stood up. He was tall, very tall. Broad shouldered and lean with long, muscular legs. Even if she'd been able, Jessie doubted she could outrun him.

"Jessie lass, I'm just going to leave you here for a moment to help Tobias with the horses," said the huntsman. Then, to Jessie's surprise, he shrugged out of his coat and draped it around her. She instantly noticed the smell of damp wool combined with the astringency of pine needles—and another note—the slightly musky scent of the man himself. It wasn't unpleasant. In fact, she rather liked it.

"I won't be long," he added, bending to retrieve his musket. And then he was gone.

The mist was growing thicker in the copse. The chill dampness seeped into Jessie's very bones. Shivering, she drew the huntsman's coat more closely around herself, trying to absorb the residual warmth. She closed her eyes, suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue. It was like the gathering fog had penetrated her mind.

As Jessie hovered on the edge of consciousness, she was suddenly plagued by doubts once more. She hated that she was now reliant on this handsome stranger. It was unsettling to be at such a disadvantage. She really knew nothing about this man, not even his name. Although the redhaired lad, Tobias, had called him my lord , an obvious mark of respect. Whether the huntsman was a nameless lord or a nameless poacher it really didn't matter, given her present predicament. Refusing his offer to take her to the hunting lodge would be foolhardy indeed. Besides, it was where she had been making for in the first place.

She prayed her initial instincts to trust him were right .