She winced at the sound, quickly scuttled farther away as Kirby staggered back. The close-packed trees gave her little room to move, but although Kirby's gaze flicked to her, he kept his attention on Luc.
Who, after one glance at Amelia, stepped into the clearing. That one graceful step held immeasurably more menace than anything Kirby had done.
Kirby groaned, slumped, then straightened; a knife flashed in his fist.
Amelia gasped. Tensed.
Luc stilled, his gaze on the blade, then he resumed his slow, prowling approach.
Kirby crouched a little, spread his arms wide, started to circle.
Luc drifted aside.
Amelia pressed back among the trees… a too-recent memory of Amanda with a knife at her throat flooded her…
Kirby lunged with the knife. Luc weaved back, just out of reach.
Horrified, Amelia stared — Kirby was quite plainly aiming for Luc's face. Her husband's beautiful fallen-angel face. A face Luc himself barely noticed, and certainly — contrary to what Kirby was imagining — felt no vanity over protecting.
She was very attached to that face — exactly as it was.
Jaw setting, she glanced around. Her gaze fell on a fallen branch — a nice, stout oak branch — large enough for a cosh, small enough for her to heft — best of all, close enough and free of debris so she could lift it undetected.
Kirby's back was to her. The branch was in her hands before she'd finished the thought.
She paused, gathered her strength, took one step as she lifted the branch high—
Kirby sensed her, started to turn—
She brought the branch down as hard as she could. It broke with a satisfying crack over Kirby's head.
He didn't go down. But he wobbled.
Very slowly shook his head.
Lips grimly set, Luc stepped forward, caught Kirby's wrist, holding the knife at bay. With his other fist, he delivered the coup de grace—Kirby dropped like a stone to the leaf-strewn ground.
Clutching the remnants of her club, Amelia stared. "Is he…?"
Luc glanced at her, then bent and removed the knife. "Unconscious. I don't think he'll wake for a while."
In the distance, they heard voices, calling, coming nearer, yet here and now, there was just them.
And the silence.
Still ringing with all she'd said.
She frantically replayed all she'd gabbled to Kirby — how much had Luc heard? He could have been there for some time… but he couldn't possibly believe… think she believed…?
She dropped her club, pressed her hands together, cleared her throat. "I—"
"You—"
They both stopped, gazes locking — locked. She felt like she was drowning in the intensity of his eyes. Her lungs seized, as if she stood teetering on the brink of… happiness or despair, she wasn't sure which.
Stiffly, Luc stepped nearer, reached for her hands. Then he sighed and hauled her into his arms. Crushed her close. "I want to shake you for running off alone into danger." He growled the words into her curls, his arms an iron cage about her.
Then she felt his arms ease.