Tarnished Honor Page 5

  His heart stilled, because he was certain he recognized that voice.

  He turned to the trees just as another missile whizzed through the air. It hit Ennis in the back of the head with a dull thud. The man whirled around and yet another connected with his forehead. This one shattered, leaving a wet white goo in his hair. Suddenly, Daniel realized what the missiles were. Not rocks. Apples. And they continued to fly.

  Ennis valiantly tried to fend off the attack, waving his arms before him, but the apples flew fast and furious.

  While his assailant was thusly preoccupied, Daniel fished out his pistol and trained it on the brigand. When Ennis noticed it, his features clenched and his gaze danced up the road, toward escape. Without hesitation, he hunched over his mount and took off, back the way they’d come.

  Daniel was of a mind to follow him—to follow him and capture him, tie him hand and foot and drag him to the constable in Moulin—but he was forestalled in this when, to his left, a familiar form dropped from the leafy branches of an apple tree.

  He couldn’t stop his grin at the sight of the boy, his erstwhile companion. And then his breath locked.

  A red bloom stained the sleeve of the urchin’s shirt.

  He’d been shot.

  Chapter Five

  Well, hell.

  Fia clutched at her arm where a wayward bullet had grazed her shoulder.

  Bullets hurt.

  She’d never expected there to be so much blood.

  To be precise, she’d never expected to be shot. But when she’d seen that horrible man pull a gun on Daniel and demand that he dismount, she’d been filled with a righteous fury. Not only because she knew the horror of being robbed of the one thing you loved more than anything—and it was clear Daniel loved his horse. Not only because thieves were, at their very core, reprehensible and deserved, above all things, to be splatted with apples. And not just because she had liked him.

  There was more to it, that feeling of protectiveness that had risen up, that sense of allegiance. But she couldn’t put a name to the feeling.

  She’d never felt it before.

  “Holy God. Are you all right?”

  Daniel threw himself from his stallion’s back and rushed to her side.

  Fia flinched as he neared. Covering her wound, she turned away. “I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

  His brows lowered. “It’s not nothing. Let me see.”

  Oh God. No! She couldn’t let him see! To do so, she would have to remove her shirt. And that would be a disaster. “I’m fine.”

  “Damn it, boy. Let me have a look.”

  “It’s nothing.” Oh heavens. She tried to walk away, but for some reason, her legs wouldn’t carry her. Her head spun and her mouth went dry. Prickles danced down her arm. She stumbled and then collapsed and by the grace of God, he caught her. His hold was strong and warm and comforting.

  And his scent? What was that? A woodsy loam and a hint of manly musk? She’d never smelled the like.

  She tried to make her mind focus, but the thoughts kept dancing away.

  Gently, he leaned her against the tree and reached for the buttons of her shirt. She had to stop him. He couldn’t know. No one could know. She set her hand on his and looked up into his beautiful grey eyes, so full of care and concern. It was tempting to allow herself to be cared for again.

  “No.” A croak. “Please.”

  His lips firmed. And they were such fine and beautiful lips. They captured her attention and made her feel quite woozy. She was possessed of a sudden urge to taste them, although she didn’t know why.

  ”Pippin. I must check your wound. And what were you thinking anyway? Barraging him with apples? The man was holding a gun.”

  A trickle of manic humor whipped through her. “I was thinking I wouldn’t be shot.”

  “Good God,” he grumbled. “You need a keeper.” He renewed his attempt to unbutton her shirt until she captured both his hands.

  “I do,” she giggled. She had no idea why he scowled. “At least he dinna get your horse.”

  Daniel blew out a breath. “He would never have had my horse. But aside from that, it wasna worth you risking your life.”

  She attempted to focus on him although, as the dark cloud descended, he became somewhat blurry. “I doona like thieves.”

  “Nor do I, but you shouldna ha’ risked your life as you did.”

  “Pish.”

  He reared back. “Did you say pish?”

  “I did.” She grinned. “I was completely hidden in the branches.”

  “He still managed to hit you.”

  “That was a fluke.”

  “He had a loaded gun. He could have hit anything. You’re lucky you are not dead.”

  “Pish.” There was nothing else to say. Besides which, her brain was becoming fuzzier and it was harder to think. The pain in her arm was still sharp but was becoming a warm glow. And my, he was diligent in his attempts to disrobe her, despite her diligent efforts to stop him.

  It devolved into something of a scuffle.

  “Pippin, I must see. I need to stop the bleeding. I need to know if the bullet is still in your arm.”

  It wasn’t. She knew it. It had only grazed her, but she couldn’t form the words. A great fatigue closed in on her like a rolling fog. Her lids became too heavy to hold open. “Daniel?” A wraith of a whisper.

  “Aye, Pippin?”

  “Do be gentle.”

  He made a sound. Something strangled. “Gentle? I…of course.”

  “And Daniel?”

  He sighed. “Aye, Pippin?”

  “Do forgive me.”

  “Forgive you?” Did she imagine the thread of tenderness in his tone? “For what, lad?”

  She rallied her strength. She had to tell him. He needed to know. He would discover for himself, and soon. Indeed, even now, she could feel the lapels of her rough shirt loosening. But for some reason she very much wanted him to hear it from her own lips.

  “For what, lad?” he prompted.

  “For lying to you.”

  Lying?

  About what?

  Daniel gazed down at the boy, his mind awhirl. For one thing, he was concerned about the lad’s color. He’d gone a disturbing grey. His delicate features, which had been far too pronounced before, were positively sunken. That he could barely speak, that his mind was clearly wandering were also bad signs.

  But what on earth had he lied about? Hell, they’d barely had a complete conversation.

  It hardly mattered though. Daniel knew from past experience, this wound needed to be treated. If nothing else, the boy was going into shock. Once his hands fell away, Daniel deftly unbuttoned his shirt and tugged the shoulder down. The lesion was deep, but not serious. The bullet had, indeed, glanced him, which was lucky. But he’d lost a lot of blood and he was still bleeding. The injury needed to be cleaned and bound.

  Daniel pushed back, intent on heading for his saddlebags for the necessary items, when something captured his attention and he stilled.

  Froze.

  Stared.

  Holy hell.

  He didn’t know much in this world, but he surely recognized a breast when he saw one. A perfect, lush breast with a delicate coral tip.

  After a stunned moment of study, his gaze flicked to that face once more. Those elegant, fragile lines. The high cheekbones, the slender nose, the swanlike neck, the bow-shaped lips and almond-shaped eyes with a thick shadow of lashes.

  Hell.

  How had he not seen it?

  How had he not known?

  For not only was she decidedly female, she was exquisite. The sight of her, the knowledge of her, awoke something within him. A burn. A want. A hunger he barely recognized, an urge he could no longer name. It wasn’t lust. It couldn’t be.

  But it was something.

  The desire to feel again, perhaps.

  Though he was in a daze, he lurched up and riffled in the saddlebags. He had no idea how he found what he needed. No idea h
ow he cleaned the wound and wrapped it. No idea how he found another shirt for her—one of his, which was way too large, but at least it wasn’t soaked in blood.

  His mind was utterly beset with the realization that this lad—this lad he had deserted, more than once, left to his own devices in a dangerous, treacherous world—was no boy at all.

  Guilt rose again to claim him but he didn’t allow it. He was beyond that. What was done was done. What mattered now was keeping this woman safe. That, and the choices he made moving forward.

  Though it was only early afternoon, he knew they wouldn’t be traveling any farther today so he went about setting up camp, building a fire and making a comfortable pallet for her. Oh, it wasn’t as comfortable as a bed in an inn, but it would do. For his part, he could sleep anywhere.

  After that he tended to the horses—hers and his—and then prepared a meal for when she awakened.

  And then, when all of that was done, he sat with his back against a tree and watched her sleep.

  He shouldn’t have. He knew he shouldn’t have, but he couldn’t help it. There was something about her that drew his gaze, captured it, held it. He thought back to their earlier interactions—attempting not to cringe as he remembered how horrid he’d been. He focused instead on all she’d said, her tone, the timbre of her voice.

  She’d been robbed.

  She was hungry.

  She was traveling all alone.

  And then, when he’d asked why she was going to Wick: I am running away. From a place she did not want to be.

  Holy God. How could he not have responded to that? Asked more? He could only imagine what had happened. And his imaginings devastated him.

  He’d asked her then if she had people in Wick and she had hesitated.

  He set his teeth. When she awoke, he had questions for her. And by God, she would answer.

  When Fia came to, it was dusk. She knew at once she was still in the apple orchard where she’d been shot—shot!—but she was alone. A flare of panic rose until she saw the huge grey stallion hobbled next to Blaze, and Daniel’s saddlebags propped against a tree.

  Thank God. He hadn’t left her.

  She sat up and winced as pain danced down her arm. She glanced at it and was surprised to see she wore a clean shirt, though it was huge on her. The neckline draped down over her shoulder, exposing a good portion of her chest. Heat prickled and she rearranged the garment.

  Holy heaven. He knew. He knew.

  What was more, he’d seen her.

  He had to have, if he bound her wound. If he changed her clothes.

  He knew.

  A movement to her right captured her attention. Daniel emerged from the falling shadows, carrying a bucket in one hand. When he noticed her gaze on him, he stilled. His lips tightened.

  Oh dear.

  But he came to kneel by her, handing her a cup of water. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  She took the cup and drank greedily, then said on a damp gust, “Fine. Better.” She couldn’t hold his gaze. “I…ah, thank you for helping me.”

  He barked a laugh, which made her glance at him. She was surprised to see his lips tweak into a smile. “Thank you for helping me.” He settled beside her and dipped the cup in the bucket once more. “I dinna say it earlier, but I do appreciate what you did.”

  “You did appear to need saving.”

  For some reason, he scowled. “I dinna. But I thank you nonetheless. It was verra brave.”

  His words made her want to puff out her chest. It wasn’t often she felt brave, but it was nice to be considered as such.

  A pity he went and ruined it by adding, “But foolish.”

  “Foolish?”

  “You really must restrain yourself in future, Pippin.” His eyes narrowed. “If that is indeed your name.”

  Indeed, it was not. But she didn’t respond; annoyance with him prickled at her nape and she set her teeth, glaring at him mutinously.

  He blew out a breath. “Did you think I wouldna notice?”

  “Notice?” She fluttered her lashes as innocently as she could.

  He didn’t appreciate her dissembling. His brow lowered into something that could have been terribly ominous if he hadn’t been so damned handsome. And so close. If he didn’t smell so…delicious. “That you are a woman.” A whisper. If that.

  “Ah.” She took another sip. “You wouldna ha’ noticed, had I not been shot.” This she said with all the aplomb she could muster. “My disguise was verra good.”

  He snorted. “How could anyone be fooled?”

  “You were fooled.”

  “I most certainly was not.”

  “Pish.”

  He waggled a finger at her. “See. That. Just there. Boys doona say pish.”

  “Pish.”

  “And that…” He waved a hand at her face.

  “That what?”

  “Your…”

  “My what?”

  “Your face. Your nose. Your eyes. Your lips. Those lashes.”

  She fluttered them once more. “I do have them.”

  “No boy has such fine features.”

  Had he called her fine? Well, this was going nicely. She had no idea why he looked so exasperated.

  He sat back and fixed her with a brooding frown, which she attempted to ignore. Daintily, she slurped her water and fixed her attention on the road instead.

  “You should ha’ told me you were a woman,” he said. “I would no’ have deserted you.”

  “I’m gratified to know that.”

  “Damn it, Pippin! Do you have any idea how dangerous these roads can be?”

  She lifted her arm. “I am shot.”

  He glared. “For a woman. You could have been…accosted.”

  “I was robbed.”

  “You know what I mean. There are worse things. I would never have forgiven myself if…”

  “Ah, but you would never have known.”

  For some reason, he didn’t find this logic soothing. “From here on out, we are traveling together.” This, he barked. A command.

  She hardly minded the idea, but the bossy bits of it set her teeth on edge. Which was probably why she murmured, quite beneath her breath, “I believe I suggested that.”

  He paled. His lips worked. An agonized expression flickered through his eyes.

  She swept away the guilt at causing his chagrin. Because it was true. She had suggested it. But his only response was a muttered, “We are traveling together.”

  Her stomach growled and she set her hand to it. She took another sip of water to help ease the pang. Daniel’s expression darkened. He leaped to his feet. “Oh my God. You havena had anything to eat.”

  Not true in the slightest. “I’ve had apples.” Plenty of apples. She’d eaten several perched up there in the tree—surely not waiting for him to pass by.

  He shot her another pained glance. “I have pork pie.”

  Another growl, nay a howl. She swallowed the drool in her mouth. “P-pork pie?”

  “Aye.” He riffled in his bags and pulled out a small wrapped package. He thrust it at her. “Here.”

  “I canna eat your pie.”

  “You must. You’ve been wounded.” He forced a grin and swept out his arm to encompass the orchard. “I shall have apples.”

  “We shall share.” She unwrapped the pasty and broke it in half before he could demur. When he took his half, their fingers brushed. It sent a skein of heat down her spine.

  The taste, the delicious explosion of flavor on her tongue, filled her with warmth and utter satisfaction. She’d been so hungry. And this, this was bliss.

  Daniel settled down beside her, which made her feel very warm as well. She was certain it was only that she was pleased not to be alone. Surely it had nothing to do with the fact that he was a man. A large, looming, handsome man. Who was warm and generous and wanted to protect her. And feed her.

  She shot a look at him as he licked some juice from his slender fingers and her gaze sta
lled. My. His fingers were long, his hands large. His forearms muscled and sprinkled with fascinating black hairs. And his chest, so broad. His shoulders were massive. They rather made her breath catch. And then there was his neck…thick and sturdy. She liked his chin. Square and strong with the hint of a dent. And his lips of course. She had already studied those at length. His nose was fine too, noble and strong. And his eyes…

  She stalled at his eyes, those somber grey orbs fringed with thick lashes…because they were fixed on her.

  Oh dear.

  He’d caught her staring.

  But he didn’t frown or wince or anything quite so heinous. Instead, he swallowed. She tracked his Adam’s apple as it made the leisurely slide down and then up the column of his throat.

  She met his gaze again and something shot through her, something unfamiliar and at the same time as recognizable as her own name. It felt like hunger, but a hunger of the soul.

  She wanted nothing more than to kiss him.

  It was a silly urge. Surely a man like this would want nothing to do with a woman like her. For one thing, she was dressed as a boy. For another, she was penniless and helpless and bleeding.

  Aye, it was a silly urge, but one difficult to thrust away.

  On her endless journey to who-knew-what, she’d had a lot of time to think about what the future might hold. She knew it wouldn’t be the one she had envisioned growing up.

  She’d always dreamed of finding love, experiencing passion, belonging to someone. All that had been stripped from her upon Graeme’s death. Now, there would be no season. There would be no titled husband. No husband whatsoever. There would be no suitors—for who wanted a penniless servant? Everything she’d ever envisioned for herself had dried up and blown away one summer’s day in Belgium. And while she couldn’t deny deep regret at the loss of a life that should have been hers, in truth, it wasn’t the money, houses or titles she would miss as much as the choices such privilege had afforded her, the ability to frame her own world.

  Her choices were limited now.