“I don’t think so, love.” He peered at me. “I can assure you if we’d ever met, I’d remember. I have an uncanny ability to remember pretty girls.”
Pretty? Me? Yeah. Sure.
His trim eyebrows waggled. “Unless of course you attend St. Sebastian Academy down in Kent? I admit, I’ve snuck past their fences a time or two. And I may have had a pint or three beforehand. So if we did, as you Americans like to say, ‘hook up,’ I wish to offer my sincerest apology for my poor memory.”
Blood boiled into my face. In my sixteen years on this earth, no guy had ever, ever flirted with me. The redneck boys where I was from preferred girls like my cheerleader cousins. Size two. Blond. Busty. Brainless.
“As you so astutely observed”—from his seated position, he gave a comical bow—“I am Bran Cameron. And, yes. I was photographing you. Though in truth, I was out stalking.”
At my look, he chuckled. “Not in any depraved way, I assure you. I was merely hunting for the Highland stag. Some use guns to stalk. I prefer electronics.” He gave an exaggerated shudder that almost made me smile. “Less blood and entrails, that way. Then I saw a lovely vision on a horse and, well . . . I couldn’t resist.” He shivered. “And now that we are properly acquainted, would you mind terribly helping me off this rock and out of this bloody cold water?”
I realized I was just standing there, gaping at him like a moron, while his lips turned blue with cold.
“Oh.” I held out a hand. “Yeah, okay.”
He took it, pulling himself to his feet. Strong fingers squeezed mine as he bobbled, then steadied. My eyes were level with his chin. I focused on that, instead of his eyes.
Back on dry land, I noticed blood pulsing in a steady stream down his neck, staining the collar of his jacket. I hurried over to Ethel and retrieved a scarf I’d tied to her saddle.
“Here. You’re bleeding.”
Looking up into his odd eyes, once again the disturbing sensation of familiarity rolled over me. When I stumbled, Bran steadied me before I could tumble headlong into the river.
I was blinking too fast, trying to rid myself of the bizarre feeling, when he said, “I’m sorry, but did you tell me your name?”
“Hope,” I managed. “My . . . I mean, I’m Hope Walton. And I’ve got to go.” I eased out of his grip and quickly moved to untie Ethel’s reins from the brush.
“I don’t mean to be a bother,” he called, “but earlier you said you knew me from somewhere.” When I turned, he was close. Right beside me. “Do you?”
“Do I what?” I edged away, nervous at the intense look on his face.
“Know me.”
“No.” The word tasted like a lie, though I couldn’t explain why. “But then again, I’m not one of those slutty St. Sebastian girls.”
He laughed out loud at that. Then groaned as he pressed the scarf against his head.
“Actually,” I said, “I just got here last night, so we couldn’t have met. I-I’ve barely been out of my hometown before. See, it’s my first time overseas. I’m here visiting my aunt, and . . .”
Shut up, Walton. Why are you babbling like an idiot to this stranger?
I shoved the reins over Ethel’s head and tried to mount, but my knees felt shaky, and my wet foot slipped from the stirrup. Ethel took a nervous step, confused at my signals. Bran grabbed her bridle, and when I glanced over to thank him, I saw that his lingering smile had vanished.
“Your aunt,” he said flatly. “Yes, of course. Lady Lucinda Carlyle.”
“You know her?”
He didn’t answer, and the blinding grin he turned on me seemed forced. I managed to make it onto Ethel’s back, but I didn’t leave.
“I want to thank you for rescuing me, Hope Walton,” Bran said. “And, no, I am not acquainted with your aunt. I only know that this is her land.” He reached up and tugged on a thin leather cord around his neck. A silver medallion popped out from beneath his collar, which he absently brushed against his lips. “Say, might I ask a favor? I realize rescuing me from certain death is enough of an imposition, but I should like to ask anyway.”
Still uneasy, I shrugged. “I guess?”
“Would you mind terribly keeping our running into each other today to yourself? You see, this is private property, and I should hate very much to be fined for trespassing.”
“I won’t say anything.”
“Brilliant.” Bran pressed the wad of purple fabric to the side of his head with a hiss. “And. This might be utterly presumptuous of me, considering the circumstances,” he said, “but would you care to go for a proper ride sometime? I’m not a native, of course, but I’ve spent time in these parts. And I know some breathtaking spots you simply must see. Before you say no,” he said, raising a hand in oath, “I solemnly swear not to brain myself on a river rock. Or sneak photographs without your express permission.”
“Oh,” I said, “I don’t . . .”
His rueful expression was so exaggerated, a giggle bubbled up from my chest. It felt creaky and rusty from disuse as it passed my lips.
A sudden crack of thunder split the sky and echoed down the valley toward us. Ethel quivered and pranced beneath me.
I glanced up to where Christopher Manor crouched at the head of the valley. Ominous gray clouds rolled in over the mountain behind it, pulsing with bursts of lightning. Unlit against the odd, stark light of a purpling dusk, the manor appeared dark and somehow menacing. I shivered as I turned back to Bran, the wind cold against my back.
Thunder rumbled again from the dark clouds, making Ethel strain against her bit, eager to be off. I wondered idly what Moira would think about me sneaking off to meet some trespassing stranger. I decided I didn’t care.
“Okay,” I said. “That would be . . . I mean . . . yes, okay.”
This time, Bran’s smile was genuine. “Then I shall look forward to it. If that cantankerous beast over there doesn’t throw me again and break my neck . . .” He made a face at the gelding, now peacefully grazing several yards away. “I will be here the same time each afternoon.” He executed a funny, formal bow. Till then, Mistress Walton. I must say, it was surprisingly pleasant to meet you.” His lovely, mismatched eyes widened a bit. “Surprising considering the situation, I mean.”
I nodded, biting back a grin as the mare took off like a shot.
Under a crack of thunder, I thought I heard a shout. “See you soon, Hope Walton.”
The heavens opened as Ethel and I raced back toward the stable. Pebbles of rain drilled into me, stinging my face. My thighs chafed against the inside of damp jeans as I held on tight.
I should have been miserable. But I barely felt it.
Chapter 6
JET LAG BLOWS.
At least it was morning. Sort of, though according to the bedside clock it was hours till daylight. But Lucinda would be back today. I’d finally get some answers, which was good, ’cause I was really tired of all the secrecy.
The night before, Phoebe had obviously still been banished, since only Mac, Moira, and I shared the quiet dinner of lamb, curried peas, and something called Spotted Dick, which sounded horrifying but was actually a delicious, rich cake filled with currants and covered in a thick custard.