He quickened his pace. At least the second shot told him she was well enough to reload and shoot. But he knew nothing else. Did she hunt for sport? At this time of year! Or did she protect herself from danger?
His heart raced, and not only because he ran. It raced because of that gut-deepsomethinghe preferred not to acknowledge.
He tripped and almost tumbled to the ground. Stumbling, he righted himself against a tree and looked at his feet. A cloth of some sort wrapped around them. He grabbed it. No, two cloths, pieces of clothes. He held the garments up one at a time. A cloak and a pelisse. And—there on the ground nearby—a rifle.
But no Jane.
George scratched his head and turned in circles, searching. “Where the hell is she?”
“Oi! Stop shaking the tree!”
George’s heart stopped, and he slowly lifted his gaze to the treetops. And found Jane. She formed a dark speck against the white sky, obscured by the heavy slashes of tree branches. He calmed his breathing and focused on her figure, nestled in aVmade by the trunk and branch near the top. How high up was she? Impressive, that. Didn’t know a single other woman who could do that, and few men, let alone those who would want to do it. But there she lounged, smiling and daring and strong.
An admirable woman.
Yet. He frowned at the tree, inspected the thin branch nearest him. Not particularly substantial.
“What are you doing up there, Lady Jane?” George kept the urgency and fear from his voice. Good.
“Is that you,Sir George?”
She must be well if she was using that blasted nickname for him. “It is. What are you doing up there?”
“What areyoudoinghere? Chasing dragons?” The tree shook.
His heart jumped into his throat. The tree was too frail to take much jostling. “Chasing you. Tell me now—what are you doing up there?”
“You can divest yourself of your shining armor, sir knight. No need for heroics. I’m merely gathering mistletoe. I shot it twice with the rifle, but it’s stuck. The branch it’s stuck on is too flimsy to hold my weight.”
Oh, God. The branches up higher were no better than those down below. “Come down from there!”
“Not until I get the mistletoe.”
“No parasite is worth risking your life, Jane. Come down now.”
“Parasite?” The tree shook.
He looked up.
She’d shimmied lower on the tree and peered down at him, her pale face a study in curiosity. “What do you mean?”
“I’ll tell you if you come down.”
She grinned. “I will. After I retrieve the parasite. Hm. This tree is dying, I think. Perhaps if I break this off.” Grunting. “Yes. Perfect. I can use it to poke the mistletoe out of its place. But I really should come down. I begin to think this is not a good climbing tree.”
Her every word terrified him. A dying tree? Breaking branches?
Bloody hell. His heart would give way on the spot, as if he really were the old man she accused him of being. He leaned against the tree. He’d have to wait, or…
He stood upright and called into the branches above. “Come down andI’llgo up and retrieve the mistletoe.”
“Always so gallant,” she grumbled. “No, no. I’ll get it myself. It’s almost there. If I can get a bit clos—ahhh!”
Her body dropped through the branches. George sprinted around the tree until he stood right beneath her. He reached his arms out, but she fell at an odd angle. Scratches crisscrossed over her pale cheeks; a deep scrape trailed blood down one temple. Her long dark hair streamed behind her falling body like ribbons on a gusty day. Their gazes caught, and her chocolate eyes drowned in fear.
Her body crashed into his, and they both hit the ground. Something hard and sharp slammed into the back of his head and his shoulder, and the world darkened around him. But he tightened his arms around Jane. If he must die, he might as well enjoy his final moments.
Chapter 3
