Read Online Snowy Night with a Highlander by Julia London - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Julia London
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he was now without making everything she’d said of him seem true.
Nevertheless, he racked his memory for the night in question, and vaguely remembered an encounter with Molly Elgin, but for the life of him, he could not remember saying such a thing.
He did not remember it, but he could not doubt it. She was right—he’d been terribly cavalier with other people’s feelings then. Especially women. But where he’d once treated pretty young women as cattle, he would now be on his knees with gratitude if but one of them could see past the scarring of his skin and the scandalous death of his close friend.
A deep sense of regret and loss pervaded him as he checked the wheel once more. That he could have been so cruel to someone as vibrant and lively as Fiona Haines made him feel more inhuman than he normally did, and he’d not thought it possible to feel any lower.
He dusted off his buckskins, walked to the driver’s bench, and shoved the broken spoke beneath the bench. One of the horses whinnied nervously; he assumed the horse wanted a warm stable. But another horse snorted and bumped against the harness, and Duncan glanced over his shoulder at Fiona.
What he saw made his heart stop beating.
Now all of the horses were shifting nervously and tossing their heads. Fiona was oblivious to it—she was holding out her gloved hand, watching the snow fall into her palm. Behind her, not more than ten feet away, was a very lean wolf, crouched low on its haunches, stalking the horses.
The number of wolves had been drastically reduced in the Highlands to save sheep, but Duncan had heard tales of the occasional desperate and hungry lone wolf. He could see the ribs on this one; it was hungry, and Fiona stood between him and a meal.
All of the horses were stomping and snorting now, whinnying at Duncan.
Fiona glanced at the horses, then at Duncan. “They must be hungry,” she said brightly. “Look at this snow, will you? It’s really beautiful, aye?”
Duncan nodded as he carefully reached beneath the driver’s bench for his pistol.
“Have you blankets for the poor things?” she asked. “Perhaps they are cold.” The wolf was only five feet from her now. If she cried out, if she made any sort of threatening move, Duncan feared what the hungry wolf might do. He had one clear shot, but he couldn’t sight the wolf properly with the patch on his eye.
“Lass . . . listen to me now,” Duncan said softly as he pushed his hat from his head. “Stand where you are, but donna move a muscle. Do you understand me?”
“Why ever no’?” she asked laughingly. “You sound so ominous, sir. Why should I no’ move? Please allow that I might at least stamp my feet, as it is right cold.”
He pushed the patch from his eye and wrapped his hand around the pistol, snaking his finger into the trigger. He’d have only seconds to fire.
Fiona’s smile faded. “Why are you holding that pistol? You are frightening me,” she said, the gaiety gone from her voice.
“Donna move,” he said again, shifting his gaze to the wolf, who had begun to inch forward. The horses sensed it; one of them tried to break forward, but the wagon was dead weight, the wheels locked by the hand brake. The horse whinnied again, high and shrill, prompting the others to do the same. The sound of their nervous cries startled Fiona—she moved.
Duncan lunged toward the wolf to draw his attention from Fiona and fired. Fiona screamed, covering her ears with her hands. One of the horses tried to rear, shaking the wagon as the wolf fell to its side with a bark of pain. He began to claw his way up; Duncan pushed Fiona behind him, trained the gun again, and fired, killing the wolf.
The horses were frantic now, bumping against one another and dragging the wagon behind them. “ Fuirich, fuirich !” Duncan shouted at the horses to steady them as he whirled around and grabbed Fiona up before she could scream, before she could see the blood of the wolf pooling
Nevertheless, he racked his memory for the night in question, and vaguely remembered an encounter with Molly Elgin, but for the life of him, he could not remember saying such a thing.
He did not remember it, but he could not doubt it. She was right—he’d been terribly cavalier with other people’s feelings then. Especially women. But where he’d once treated pretty young women as cattle, he would now be on his knees with gratitude if but one of them could see past the scarring of his skin and the scandalous death of his close friend.
A deep sense of regret and loss pervaded him as he checked the wheel once more. That he could have been so cruel to someone as vibrant and lively as Fiona Haines made him feel more inhuman than he normally did, and he’d not thought it possible to feel any lower.
He dusted off his buckskins, walked to the driver’s bench, and shoved the broken spoke beneath the bench. One of the horses whinnied nervously; he assumed the horse wanted a warm stable. But another horse snorted and bumped against the harness, and Duncan glanced over his shoulder at Fiona.
What he saw made his heart stop beating.
Now all of the horses were shifting nervously and tossing their heads. Fiona was oblivious to it—she was holding out her gloved hand, watching the snow fall into her palm. Behind her, not more than ten feet away, was a very lean wolf, crouched low on its haunches, stalking the horses.
The number of wolves had been drastically reduced in the Highlands to save sheep, but Duncan had heard tales of the occasional desperate and hungry lone wolf. He could see the ribs on this one; it was hungry, and Fiona stood between him and a meal.
All of the horses were stomping and snorting now, whinnying at Duncan.
Fiona glanced at the horses, then at Duncan. “They must be hungry,” she said brightly. “Look at this snow, will you? It’s really beautiful, aye?”
Duncan nodded as he carefully reached beneath the driver’s bench for his pistol.
“Have you blankets for the poor things?” she asked. “Perhaps they are cold.” The wolf was only five feet from her now. If she cried out, if she made any sort of threatening move, Duncan feared what the hungry wolf might do. He had one clear shot, but he couldn’t sight the wolf properly with the patch on his eye.
“Lass . . . listen to me now,” Duncan said softly as he pushed his hat from his head. “Stand where you are, but donna move a muscle. Do you understand me?”
“Why ever no’?” she asked laughingly. “You sound so ominous, sir. Why should I no’ move? Please allow that I might at least stamp my feet, as it is right cold.”
He pushed the patch from his eye and wrapped his hand around the pistol, snaking his finger into the trigger. He’d have only seconds to fire.
Fiona’s smile faded. “Why are you holding that pistol? You are frightening me,” she said, the gaiety gone from her voice.
“Donna move,” he said again, shifting his gaze to the wolf, who had begun to inch forward. The horses sensed it; one of them tried to break forward, but the wagon was dead weight, the wheels locked by the hand brake. The horse whinnied again, high and shrill, prompting the others to do the same. The sound of their nervous cries startled Fiona—she moved.
Duncan lunged toward the wolf to draw his attention from Fiona and fired. Fiona screamed, covering her ears with her hands. One of the horses tried to rear, shaking the wagon as the wolf fell to its side with a bark of pain. He began to claw his way up; Duncan pushed Fiona behind him, trained the gun again, and fired, killing the wolf.
The horses were frantic now, bumping against one another and dragging the wagon behind them. “ Fuirich, fuirich !” Duncan shouted at the horses to steady them as he whirled around and grabbed Fiona up before she could scream, before she could see the blood of the wolf pooling
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