Regency Proposal: The Laird's Forbidden Lady / Haunted by the Earl's Touch. Ann Lethbridge
cliff had ceased. The smugglers—a decoy, she guessed—must have run for it. No doubt the Revenue men and the militia would soon realise they’d been tricked and make their way along here.
She had to leave before they caught her.
Ranald also hopped from one foot to the other, looking worried.
‘Go,’ she said.
‘The Laird said I was to watch you. Here.’
‘The soldiers could arrive at any moment. I’ll ride and warn Laird Gilvry, while you follow your men. Help me up on the horse and then you can leave.’
Ranald scratched his head. ‘You’ll go to him?’
She nodded.
‘All reet, my lady, but I am trusting you to keep your word.’ He tossed her up on the big stallion’s back and led the horse to the top of the pathway. ‘Watch your step. It is verra steep.’ He touched his forelock and took off after the others.
She urged the stallion down the rugged slope and hoped to goodness the animal wouldn’t stumble as she let him have his head. Miracle of miracles, the horse seemed to know his way down the rock-strewn path. Ian must have ridden him down this way in the past.
It was a small lonely patch of beach along a rocky shore, known to few but the locals. Or that’s how Ian had described it that long-ago day. A place where they could be alone. She realised now that he had been ashamed to be seen with her.
At the bottom of the incline she found Ian walking up the beach towards her; behind him a rowboat was steadily pulling out to sea. He glared at her as she drew up beside him.
‘What the hell are you doing here? I’ll have Ranald’s—’
‘Hush. The Revenue men are close behind me.’
He frowned. ‘They followed you? Damn it. What game are you playing?’
‘They didn’t follow me. They know exactly where they are going and they will be here any moment. While they come down this way, we can ride up the path on the other side.’
He pressed his lips together. ‘Aye. Hang on tight, then.’
She grasped the stallion’s mane. Ian took a few steps at a run, then leapt up behind her. Impressive.
The sound of men in heavy boots echoed off the gully walls along with curses as they slipped and slid on the tricky path.
‘Time we were gone.’ He leaned forwards and they were off.
The feel of his hard thighs cradling her buttocks was positively indecent. So was his arm around her waist. But locked in that strong embrace, she felt perfectly safe, when she should be feeling terrified.
A cry went up behind them. The Revenue men must have heard the beat of the horse’s hooves on the sand. It also meant they weren’t far behind, but a man on foot was no match for this horse, even carrying two riders.
She set the horse’s head towards the zigzagging path at the other end of the cove. A gentler climb up to the headland. They were halfway there, when a stream of men poured onto the beach from that direction.
‘A pincer movement,’ Ian yelled. ‘That’s how they meant to catch us.’ He yanked the horse’s head around. The beast turned in a circle while Ian scanned the cliffs and the men coming at them at a run from both sides at once.
‘Look’s like we’ve only one option,’ he yelled. ‘Keep your head down.’ He set the horse running at the sea.
Her mouth dried. Her heart thundered. What could he be thinking? They’d drown. From horseback, the sand looked very far away. Too far to jump off. At this speed there was nothing she could do but hang on.
The wind whipped her hair out of its pins and it flew wild in her eyes. She leaned low over the horse’s neck so Ian could see where they were going.
Where were they going?
Surf splashed up around them. Ian didn’t slow the horse’s pace. The water hit her face like icy needles and soaked her legs through the clinging fabric of her skirts and then the wool fabric of her knee breeches all the way to her waist. She gasped.
A howl of dismay went up from the men running after them.
‘Load.’ The terrifying shout came from the behind them. They were going to shoot!
The horse tried to turn back as its feet lost contact with solid ground.
Ian slid from its back into the water. ‘Come on, Beau,’ Ian yelled. ‘It’s all right, lad.’ The horse’s ears pointed forwards, its body low in the water, its breathing fast and laboured.
A volley from the beach kicked up spurts of water all around them. Selina closed her eyes, waiting for the pain. Nothing.
‘Hang on,’ Ian shouted. ‘We are nigh out of range.’ He struck out strongly, with the horse trailing behind. Laying along the stallion’s back, her skirts a tangle around her legs, Selina clung to the horse’s neck for dear life. Waves hit her in the face with a salt-laden slap, making her gasp and blink to clear her stinging eyes. It was impossible that this horse could swim very far.
Another volley. Selina glanced over her shoulder to see the waterspouts a few feet behind and, if her eyes weren’t deceiving her, the men were already waist-deep in the sea. Surely they didn’t stand a chance of hitting them now. She prayed she was right and concentrated on holding on to the pitching beast.
Ian slowed and swam alongside. ‘Come on, old fellow, you can do it.’ He directed the horse to swim parallel to the shore, heading south.
How Ian kept swimming in such chilly water she didn’t know. Her hands and legs were numb, her teeth chattering. She tried to remember how far it was to the next beach and wondered if they would get there before they drowned. Or perished from cold.
It might be better to drown than be caught with a known smuggler. Father would never forgive her and even the placid Dunstan would never marry her.
When she’d finally found the perfect man and plucked up the courage to take the matrimonial plunge, she’d ended up up to her neck in the sea instead.
She just had to make it home without anyone finding out.
The cold seeped into Ian’s bones. He wanted to turn over on his back and float as what little heat he generated from motion was leached away by the chill of the sea. With an effort he glanced over at Beau and his passenger. The lass had heart and no mistake, but it was clear she’d not last long. And the horse was snorting and blowing hard, starting to tire.
He peered through the spray at the top of each wave, searching the shore, seeing only the faint phosphorous glow of sea breaking on rocks. There. A dark patch. He veered towards it, praying there were no watching eyes up on the cliff.
Unlikely. It would take those on the beach too long to make the climb, and surely they’d be more interested in chasing the contraband.
It had seemed like eons before he felt sand under his feet and heard the gentle hush of surf on sand. Not that there was much of a beach. A sliver, only revealed at low tide. But it was enough. The horse passed him, eager to be clear of the water, and pranced up onto the dry ground like a colt, while Lady Selina clung on for dear life.
Ian dragged his weary legs through the surf, weighed down by his kilt and grabbed at the bridle. ‘All right,’ he soothed, patting the sodden neck. ‘You did it, old fellow.’
He reached up for the girl. She fell into his arms a dead weight. Dear God, don’t say she was hit. He didn’t think the shots came anywhere close. ‘Selina. Are you injured?’
‘J-just c-c-cold.’ Her teeth clattered together.
He