Free The Hunter by Monica Mccarty Page A

for any sign that the path he’d taken was the right one. Women of the cloth weren’t supposed to be so damned irritating. What happened to meek and serene?
    He fought through the trees and brush for another twenty minutes or so. The rain was coming down harder and the wind … the wind seemed to be blowing straight off the North Sea. Bone-chilling was putting it mildly.
    Finally he saw it—the gap he’d been looking for. “There it is,” he said, as if there had never been any doubt.
    He steered the horse toward the bank, but the sight that met him there was not what he expected.
    *  *  *
    Whatever blood Janet had left that wasn’t frozen from the cold drained from her face. “You can’t mean for us to cross here!”
    She didn’t need to feign horror; it was real enough. She looked at the twenty-foot-wide spans of the River Tweed and felt her stomach heave and ho like a ship upon storm-tossed seas. The normally slow-moving waters of the river were rushing by in a torrential fury, swollen from the winter runoff and the recent spate of storms.
    The waves—waves!—were almost cresting the three big trees that had been set across the banks to form a makeshift bridge. How long would those trees stay in place against the powerful force of the river?
    She shook her head, fear slamming around in her chest. “I can’t.”
    He spoke to her gently—more gently than he ever had before. “It will hold.”
    He dismounted and held up his hand to help her down. She slipped her hand in his, and when she leaned forward, he caught her around the waist and lowered her gently to the ground. It was nothing that should have made her breath catch. She’d been helped down from a horse countless time before. But never had she been aware of a man’s hands around her waist, of the soft press of his thumbs against her rib cage, or of the strength of the arms that she gripped to keep her steady.
    And never had she wanted to inhale so deeply. He smelled of leather, rain, and the forest, but also of something warm and undeniably masculine.
    Their eyes held for a long heartbeat, and she knew he felt it too. He shifted his gaze and released her so quickly her legs wobbled.
    Confused by her reaction and more than a little embarrassed, Janet avoided his gaze as he tied the horse to a nearby tree while he inspected the “bridge.” She watched as he pushed a few of the trees to make sure they weresolid and tested the muddy bank with his boot. As usual, it was impossible to read anything from his expression. There was a grim set to his mouth, but she couldn’t say it was any more grim than usual.
    He returned to where she waited under the shelter of a large tree to collect the horse. “It looks fine. I’ll take the horse over first and come back for you.”
    The air seemed to be expanding in her chest and her heart pounded frantically. She looked up at him and shook her head. “I can’t. I d-don’t like bridges. Please, can’t we go a different way?”
    He gave her an encouraging smile that broke through her moment of panic. “It looks much worse than it is. You don’t need to worry—I won’t let anything happen to you.”
    She believed him enough to follow him to the bank of the river. But with what she saw next, nothing would have possessed her to go across. A big surge in the current caused the water to break over the trees. The force was so powerful, the entire structure seemed to rattle.
    He started to lead the horse (who seemed just about as eager as she was) forward, but she stopped him. “Please, you must reconsider. The current is too strong. The trees are thick with moss and slippery. It is too easy to fall in, and I don’t know how to swim. Isn’t there someplace we could stay nearby until morning? Perhaps by then the rain will stop and the water will have subsided?”
    As if to punctuate her words another surge crashed over the bridge, sending a spray of water bursting into the air.
    She turned to him with a cry.