Passionately Yours (Hellions of High Street 3)

Too late. In a blur of thrashing limbs, he tumbled over the edge of the ledge.

A sickening thud, a groaning gasp—and then silence, save for the patter of the dying rain on Thayer’s body as it rolled face up on the jagged stones fifteen feet below.

Alec looked down at the corpse for a fleeting moment, eyeing the knife protruding from the dead man’s chest without a twinge of regret or remorse. It was, he decided, poetic justice that such a thoroughly bad man should die by his own evil hand.

But thoughts of a far more compelling poetry quickly pushed aside any musings on death and destruction. Whirling around, Alec raced to where Caro was trying to rise and gathered her in his arms.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“I’m sorry.” Caro forced her eyes open, hardly daring to believe that she wasn’t imagining the murmuring voice, the muscular arms lifting her from the cold, hard ground. “I’m sorry, I’m—”

The press of lips stilled the rest of her words.

Alec. Alec. She reached up to feel the familiar shape of his jaw, the slant of his cheekbones, the texture of his hair, unsure whether the moisture streaming down her face was the rain, her tears… or his.

It didn’t matter—he was here. Solid and warm, a safe haven from any storm.

He lifted his mouth to feather a kiss to her brow.

“Th-Thayer…” she whispered.

“Hush, Love,” he murmured, when she tried to speak again.

Love?

The wind and wet wool muffled around her ears must be playing tricks with sound. She tried to shift.

“Don’t tax your strength. You’re safe. He won’t hurt you or anyone ever again,” said Alec. “I’ll soon have you sheltered from the wind and cold.”

Caro wanted to assure him she was fine, but she couldn’t seem to make her body obey. Her head was still woozy from the fall, and her limbs felt too weak to move. Snuggling closer to his chest, she closed her eyes and let the steady thump, thump of his heartbeat lull her to sleep.

Alec took cover beneath a ledge of overhanging rock to survey the surroundings. He dared not try to carry Caro back down to the inn until he knew how badly she was injured. A broken rib could be dangerous.

As could a fever. The memory of how close Isobel had come to death from exposure to the elements sent a spike of fear through his chest. Caro felt cold as ice in her wet garments, and her face looked unnaturally pale.

Damnation—Thayer deserved to die a second time for all the harm he had caused.

Cradling Caro tighter in his arms, he edged along the high ledge looking for a niche in the granite big enough to protect them from the wind and rain. The cluster of pine trees on the nearby slope would provide wood for a fire, and the sack tied to his saddle contained a small cooking pot and provisions for tea and porridge.

Rounding an outcropping of tumbled stones, Alec spotted a large crevasse in the rock wall. Closer inspection of the wind-carved space showed it was more than deep and wide enough to be a comfortable shelter from the storm. He ducked inside and, after laying her down on the smooth stone, quickly stripped off his coat to wrap her in another layer of wool.

“Rest easy, sweeting,” he murmured. “I shall not be gone long.”

She stirred and her hand found his. Their fingers curled together.

For a long moment, Alec didn’t move, letting the warmth suffuse their wind-lashed skin. Two as one, he thought, looking down at the dark-on-dark silhouette. Despite the dangers swirling around them he felt a surge of hope.

Gently untwining himself, he rose and hurried into the night.

After fetching his supplies and the oilskin-wrapped bedroll, he sheltered his horse within a cluster of trees close to the trail, then made his way to the pine glade. Grateful that the dead branches beneath the needled boughs were moderately dry, he quickly gathered an armload and returned to the rocky refuge.

Caro was sleeping fitfully. Alec touched her brow. Was it only his own exertion, or did she feel too hot? Unrolling the dry blankets, he peeled away his damp coat and tucked them around her.

Fear speared him to hurry in pulling out his flint and steel. A swift strike lit a spark in the tinder and the flames came to life.

Blowing out a sigh of thanks, he built up the fire to a cheery blaze and heated a potful of rainwater.

“Come sweeting, drink this down.” He roused Caro and held a tin mug of sweetened tea to her lips.