be tempted to leave Snip out here to fend for himself.
Something white flashes in the corner of my eye, but when I turn and look closer it’s gone. A shudder runs through my body. “Snip?”
A moment later there’s a rustle behind me and I close my eyes, letting out a sigh of relief. Maybe the end of this unpleasant day is finally in sight. “Well, you certainly took your sweet time. I hope you’re happy with your—”
I freeze at the sound of a heavier tread, my words dying in my throat. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and I don’t have to turn around to know that it’s not Snip behind me.
Do they have bears out here? Or maybe it’s a moose. I once saw a picture of a moose in a book. They’re taller than a man and they can toss you up into the air with their great antlers. But even as I curl my fingers into my skirts, preparing to turn around, I know that it’s not an animal.
I take a deep breath and spin around.
It doesn’t matter that I knew there would be someone there when I looked, I still almost jump out of my skin when my eyes land on the young man that has seemingly appeared out of thin air behind me.
“I’m sorry,” he says quickly, taking a tentative step forward. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He must see my heart pounding in my throat, because he stops, and his lips twitch up at the corner. “I think I failed on that account.”
My breath comes out in a hiss. “Yes, well, in the state I was in I think anything would have startled me.” I lean back against the wet bark of a tree and close my eyes, waiting for my heart to slow.
I open my eyes. He doesn’t look dangerous. Despite the rain having its way with him, his clothes are fine, and there’s something warm and familiar about his face. I probably look a good deal more suspicious in my torn and muddy dress and bedraggled hair.
He takes his hat off and rakes his fingers through his wet hair, brushing it out of his eyes. “Are you all right, miss? Are you lost?”
“Quite all right,” I lie. I’m not used to anyone—let alone a handsome young man—talking to me as if I weren’t part of the most reviled family in Boston, or an unchaperoned woman wandering the woods in a torn and muddy dress for that matter. “And it’s my dog—or rather my sister’s dog—who is lost. I’m trying to find him.”
“Ah.” He rocks back on his heels, hands in pockets. “A noble reason to be out in such conditions. Mine are much more foolish.”
He doesn’t give me a chance to ask what his reasons might be, and he doesn’t elaborate before asking, “Perhaps I could be some assistance in your search? I’m quite familiar with these woods.”
I should thank him and tell him that it’s not necessary. I should say good-day, turn around, and go find Catherine and Emeline. There is no good and proper reason for me to accept the company of a strange man I found wandering in the woods, even if the man in question looks like he just stumbled out of one of my novels with his fair good looks, a Lancelot. Yet when I open my mouth, the only words that come out are, “I think he went up that way.”
I gesture up the bank and the man’s gaze fixes on my hand. “You’re hurt.”
It isn’t a question so much as an accusation, as if I should have told this stranger the moment I set eyes on him that I had a small scrape on my palm. I open my mouth to protest, but he closes the small distance between us in three long strides.
“May I?” Before I know what’s happening, he’s taking my hand in his gloves, gently wiping away the dirt from the cut. His movements are deft and quick. “You’ll have to wash it when you get home, but this will at least keep any more dirt from it.” He takes his cravat off and I watch him wind the white linen round and round my hand until I can barely flex my fingers.
“There now, that’s better,” he says with a smile as fast and brilliant as the lightning. When he’s done he ties it off neatly. My hand lingers in his for a moment, relishing the warmth, before I remember myself and pull away.
“Thank you,” I mumble.
Perhaps realizing just how close we’re standing, the man steps back with a brisk nod. “If we’re going to find your dog we should do it now while we have a break in the rain.”
I’d hardly noticed that the rain has lightened to nothing more than a misty drizzle while his strong fingers held my hand. “Do you think you can manage...?” He trails off, looking discreetly at the ground. The cool breeze on my ankles reminds me that between my dress and the cut on my hand, I probably look like I’ve been mauled by wolves.
I tug at my bodice and adjust Catherine’s shawl in a vain attempt at modesty. “Perfectly fine,” I assure him, and, as if accepting a challenge, add, “I love a good walk in the woods.”
He inclines his head, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, and we set off.
We crest the little embankment, the man shortening his strides so that I don’t have to run to keep up with his long legs. I chance a sidelong glance at my knight, wondering what on earth brought him to the woods in a storm at the same time as me.
“He can’t have gotten far. The river cuts through over there, and if he has any sense he’ll have stayed put on this side.”
“I’m not sure sensibility is Snip’s strong point. Chasing his tail, maybe. Or barking at shadows.”
The man’s eyes—arresting eyes, which are somehow blue and green at the same time—settle on me and he flashes me a grin before putting a light hand on my elbow and guiding me up the bank.
I’ve nearly forgotten about my sodden shoes and the stinging from my cut. The fresh, resinous smell of the woods fills me with renewed energy. We’re Lancelot and Guinevere, fleeing through the forest from a jealous King Arthur. Any moment we’ll come upon a white steed and Lancelot will swing me up upon its jeweled saddle and we’ll gallop off together.
“There!”
My dream comes to a halt as I follow Lancelot’s pointing finger down to the edge of the water. It’s not a white steed, but a muddy Snip. He’s gnawing on something, a piece of rotted wood it looks like, as we slowly approach.
Snip eyes the man suspiciously as he slowly advances with one outstretched arm, but doesn’t make any move, just pants contentedly with his tongue lolling out. “I suppose he’s had enough adventure for one day,” Lancelot says as he scoops up the unprotesting Snip and hands him to me.
I almost wish Snip did have some chase left in him so that I could prolong my adventure with this handsome stranger. But he just wriggles around in my arms and plants me with a sloppy kiss, and we head back to the old building.
* * *
“There you are! I was just about to...” Catherine’s words trail off as the man steps into the little porch behind me. Her mouth falls open as her gaze swings up to him, then narrows suspiciously on me.
“Snip!” Emeline is up in a flash, arms outstretched, receiving her wayward pet among a tangle of dirty paws and frantic licks.
“Remember your manners,” I say as I try to brush off Snip’s dirt from my already ruined dress. “Thank Mr....” I flush.
