Free Stranger by Zoe Archer Page B

excitement. The bags had already been thrown off, and both Astrid and Lesperance had leapt off soon after. If they’d survived, she had no way of knowing.
    Her choice was either to go back into the mail coach and risk the Heirs, or throw herself off of a racing train.
    At her hesitation, Catullus took her hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze. “I’ll be right beside you,” he shouted. “Trust me.” And he actually winked at her before tucking his spectacles into an inside coat pocket.
    She actually
did
trust him, and having him beside her
did
give her confidence. So, with a nod and a smile, she crouched, readying herself.
    Her movements made him smile, admiring. Then he, too, prepared himself to leap.
    “On my count,” he yelled. “One … two … three …
jump!”
    Gemma threw herself into the air.

Chapter 4
Unfamiliar Territory
    The only thought careening through Catullus’s head as he flew through the air was,
God, please let her be safe.
Jumping off speeding trains wasn’t something he did daily, but he had enough experience with it to feel confident about landing without being hurt. Gemma, however, was new to his world. She could be hurt. Or worse.
    He hit the ground, pulling his arms in close to take the impact. Rolling, he tumbled down a low hill. He smothered a curse as he bounced over a rock, but then, mercifully, the hill ended and he came to rest in a ditch. He heard the distant sound of the train speeding away, but no Heirs in pursuit.
    The Blades and Gemma had gotten away. For now, they were safe. Or maybe not.
    His eyes opened to find himself staring up at a curious sheep. It stared at him with black, ovine eyes before trotting off with a bleat. Catullus took a mere moment to be sure that all his limbs were still functioning before sitting up. He looked around quickly; then his heart pitched.
    Gemma lay on the ground, a few feet away. And she wasn’t moving.
    He scrambled over to her, a litany of swearing tumbling from his lips. She lay on her back, one arm flung overhead, the other resting on her stomach. Tiny cuts and scrapes dotted her face and hands, and her hair had come down into a mass of copper waves.
    He knew better than to try to move her right away, but he had to restrain himself from gathering her up in his arms.
    “Gemma?”
    No answer.
    He said her name again, then bent low to her mouth, where, saints be praised, he felt the stirring of her breath. Gently taking up her wrist, he felt for her pulse, and it came steadily against his fingertips.
    Catullus brushed strands of her satiny hair from her face.
    “Gemma?”
    Then, she moaned softly, and her eyes flittered open. He thought he might shout with joy to have those sapphire eyes on him again.
    “Catullus,” she whispered. “The Heirs?”
    “Gone, for the moment.”
    She blinked, coming back into herself, then tried to push herself upright.
    “Careful. Don’t move. Are you hurt anywhere?”
    She shook her head slightly, but the motion made her gaze unfocused. “Dizzy.”
    “Rolling down a hill tends to do that to a person.” He felt anything but droll, however. “I’m checking you for injuries. Let me know if anything pains you.”
    His hands moved over her, impersonal—or he tried to be. He tested her arms, her hands, and gained his first true understanding of her slim, strong body. When he progressed to her feet and legs, he struggled to remain objective. This was simply a matter of field doctoring, the same as he’d done hundreds of times in his life for himself and other Blades.
    Except it wasn’t. Gemma Murphy was not a Blade, and hisbody somehow knew the difference. He tested her slender ankles with gentle attention, trying like hell to dampen his reaction to her. “Does this hurt?”
    “No.”
    Her legs needed to be checked for breaks or sprains. Over the skirt, or under it? He had to be thorough. “I’m sorry, but—” His hands slid under her skirt to touch her calves.
    Some mystic in India once taught