“And is he still alive?”
“Aye, sir,” she said tight-lipped.
“You seem to have had a lot of bad luck with relatives dying around you.”
“That’s nae reason to mock me, Mr. MacNab,” she said sharply, before she recalled that a mere stableboy would never rebuke the laird’s nephew for his lack of manners. All her instincts screamed at her to run, but something in that steady gaze kept her pinned to the snowy ground, shifting from foot to foot.
“Perhaps not.” He kept staring at her.
She’d had foolish dreams of one day appearing before Quentin MacNab as Christabel Urquhart and dazzling him with her charm and beauty. In dreams, she always chose to be charming and beautiful. Why not? But now that she’d attracted his notice, she wished him to Hades.
She needed to get away from him. And she needed to do it now.
“It really is going to snow, sir, and we’ve wandered a long way from the house.” As if to confirm that, a few soft flakes brushed her nose and settled on her eyelashes.
At last he glanced about the woods. His expression told her that until now, he’d paid no heed to her warnings about the weather. “By Jove, you’re right. Why on earth didn’t you say something?”
She bit back a retort, then noticed the creases of amusement around his eyes. He was teasing her. Which, heaven help her, made him handsomer than ever. He was going to be a favorite with the ladies at the Christmas ball.
Through the worsening weather, they turned back the way they’d come, and Mr. MacNab took the handle of the cart, despite her attempt to retain it. Thickening snow tumbled down around them, turning the woods into a confusing white wilderness. The weather here on the west coast of Scotland could change on a sixpence.
At least the need to get back to Lyon House saved Kit from more questions, but as conditions soon became impossible, she couldn’t find too much satisfaction in the reprieve. Vision soon shortened to a few yards, then a few feet, and the temperature dropped with every minute that passed.
Kit stumbled to her knees as she rushed to keep up with Mr. MacNab. “Please lend me your hand, sir,” she panted.
He turned and set her back on her feet with capable hands. Despite their danger, a ripple of sensation ran through her at his touch. “This is hopeless. We’ll never make it back to the house.”
She stared up at him in dismay, as more snow settled on his hair and shoulders. “But what can we do? We have to find shelter.”
“There used to be a woodcutter’s cottage just off the path here. Let’s leave the cart and see if we can find it.”
“We can’t see anything.”
“I’ve got a pretty good sense of direction. Will you trust me?”
“Aye, sir,” she said, to her surprise, meaning it.
“Take my hand and don’t let go.”
She curled her fingers around his. Despite the danger and two layers of leather gloves, she felt a jolt of heat at the contact. A jolt of heat and a surge of confidence.
Because she’d been watching Quentin MacNab just as closely as apparently he’d been watching her. One thing she’d noticed was that this was a young man remarkable for his competence. If anyone could get them out of this fix, he could.
Common sense told Kit that they only struggled through the snowstorm for half an hour or so, but the time stretched for what felt like forever. The wind had come up, whipping around her and making her shiver. There was no point trying to talk, even if she had the breath for it.
Mr. MacNab never released her hand. That firm clasp made her believe that they were going to make it through this icy wilderness.
Kit should be terrified out of her mind, but even as she sank up to her knees in snowdrifts and breathed air so cold it hurt her lungs, her stubborn heart told her that Mr. MacNab wouldn’t let her die.
“Oof!” She crashed into something and gave up what little breath she had.
The something was Mr. MacNab’s back. She fumbled to hold onto his thick coat and find her balance. He was shouting something, but even so close, the wind stole his words away. She followed as they stumbled forward, and it took a real effort not to cling to him like a frightened kitten.
She was half-blind with the snow and exhaustion, but soon even she couldn’t miss the dark shape that loomed out of the featureless whiteness.
Mr. MacNab released her hand to tug at the door. The small porch provided a bit of shelter, or else she feared the driving snow would have blocked the entrance.
“Damn it, open!” he muttered, and Kit was close enough to hear him this time. He must have been trying to tell her they’d reached the cottage when she ran into him.
She thought she’d been trudging through the snow for a month. It seemed to take another year before the rough wooden door creaked open. The cottage’s bulk offered slight protection from the wind, but now she’d stopped moving, she became aware of just how cold it was. If they couldn’t get inside quickly, they were in real danger of dying.
“We’re in,” he said, but his words didn’t make sense to her.
“What…”
“Kit, hold on.”
She felt giddy as he swung her into his arms and carried her inside, into what seemed like a dark cave. The wind remained loud in here, but compared to outside, the quiet was shocking.
Kit couldn’t see a thing. After the struggle through the snowstorm, her sight needed time to adjust to the dimness. Through her frozen stupor, it took her a moment to realize that Mr. MacNab shouldn’t be holding her like this. His arms were sure and strong, even after their ordeal outside, but she was a stableboy and he was the master’s nephew.
“Put me down,” she forced through chattering teeth.
He must have better night vision than she did, because he set her unerringly on a wooden trestle bed in the corner. Although her limbs felt like wet string and her brain was sluggish, she struggled to sit up. It was cold inside the hut, but nowhere near as cold as it was outside.
She felt too vulnerable lying flat on her back. Because of course, she wasn’t a stableboy, but a girl in male clothing. While her mind made sense of little else, it recognized that she was alone and unprotected in a virile young man’s company.
Don’t be a goose, she told herself sharply. He thinks you’re a boy. Anyway, nothing you’ve seen indicates that he’s likely to hurt you.
“Ah, that’s what I thought. It’s still here.”
“What…what’s still there?” Cold and tiredness for once meant Kit didn’t have to add artificial depth to her voice.
“A tinderbox and fuel for a fire. It’s been set already. Hamish and Emily must use this place as a shelter. Once I get the fire going, I’ll shut the door. At least the hut is sound. I remember it from playing on the estate when I was a boy. Most years, the family came to Glen Lyon for summer holidays.”
“You…have a good memory. And a good sense of direction.”
Thank God he did. She mightn’t want to be alone with Mr. MacNab inside this hut, but it was better than dying out in the blizzard.
“I like to keep my eyes open to what’s going on around me.”
She stiffened, although surely that wasn’t a threat. He couldn’t have guessed her secret. Nobody else had. But the reassurances felt hollow.