“That’s hardly reassuring.” He joined her at the head of the path.
Jane tucked her gloves into her pocket and tramped ahead, Michael following.
She’d been in a much better mood by the time they’d started their ride, and he could only surmise it was because she’d sent poor Ammon off with another note for the suddenly popular Lady MacDonald, warning her not to divulge any secrets.
If Michael hadn’t expected such a stratagem, he might have been upset, but he trusted in two things to make his afternoon adventure worthwhile—first, the tendency of women (other than Jane) to artlessly blurt out every thought in their heads, even when they knew better; and second, his own charm in getting the lovely Lady MacDonald to reminisce about her history. He would wager a golden ankh that those memories would invariably hold some reference to Jennet MacNeil.
He looked at the barely visible track they were following. “You’re a bit free with the term ‘path.’”
She threw him a quick glance, amusement twinkling in her brown eyes. “What’s wrong, Hurst? Worried?”
“Do I look scared, Smythe?”
“No, you look as you always do—smug and arrogant.”
“And you look as you always do—impertinent and fresh.”
She chuckled, her booted feet moving swiftly along the cliff head, her skirts rustling in the grass. “Oh, look, it’s low tide now. What time is it?”
He pulled out his pocket watch. “Twenty-one after ten.”
“Then that’s the time we need to be at the bottom of the cliff tomorrow.”
He followed her into the brush, where the path became more obvious. It wended along the cliff face for a short distance, overlooking magnificent views of surf and jagged rocks. Michael enjoyed both views—those offered by the cliff, and the sight of Jane’s trim derriere as she marched in front of him.
She was completely feminine and yet unaware of it. He found that rather entrancing. He was considering saying something to her on the topic, when the path suddenly turned and seemed to plunge off the cliff.
Jane halted, lifting on her toes to peer over the cliff.
Michael grasped her arm and yanked her back.
She landed firmly against him, her chest against his.
He held her there, aware of how small she was compared to his height. “Are you trying to kill yourself?”
She blinked up at him, surprise in her piquant face. “Of course not. I was just looking down at the path.”
“The path is gone. It must have fallen into the sea.”
“No, it’s still there.” At his blank look, she sighed and walked out of his arms, back toward the place where the path disappeared. She pointed down at it. “It’s steep right here, but once you’re on the path, it’s not as bad.”
He came to peer over the edge, his stomach tightening at the sight of a narrow path—more like a goat’s trail—that hugged the cliff face. “That’s bloody steep.”
“It’s more of a climb in places. I used to go down it backward, using the sea grass as an anchor.”
“This path is dangerous. Maybe we should—” But it was too late. While he’d been talking, she’d tucked her spectacles away, dropped to her knees, and then disappeared from sight.
“Damn it to hell! You can’t climb down that— And without your spectacles, too. How will you see where—” But he spoke to blank air. “Damn it,” he muttered, hurrying after her. “Is nothing ever easy with you?” Michael reached the edge and looked over, an icy ocean-scented wind buffeting him, as if to warn him away.
Jane had already climbed down the few feet that were so steep and was making her way along the narrow shelf cut into the cliff face.
“Hold there, you fool!” he called, eyeing the sheer drop. “By the hand of Ra, you could fall—” He frowned as he realized that she was once again out of sight.
He gritted his teeth, dropped to his knees, and crawled down to the small ledge. Once there, he stood and hurried after her. Three steep steps turned sharply to the left as the path followed a natural ledge along the face of the cliff. One side was sheer rock, on the other a sheer drop into a cove where the icy ocean beat against deadly sharp rocks. “Damn it, Jane,” he muttered under his breath, turning his gaze to the narrow path where he could just see her again.
She was carefully edging down the path, her hands flat on the surface of the rock, her body facing it.
At least she was trying to descend safely. Or as safely as she could while following cliff ledges to a sea cave. Muttering under his breath, he did the same and slowly caught up to her. As soon as he was within hearing, he announced, “This is ludicrous.”
She looked amused. “What part of ‘dangerous cave’ didn’t you understand?”
“None of it, apparently. You took this path as a child?”
“Several times.”
“Your father should have been shot.”
“He didn’t know.” Her brow was knit as she concentrated on each spot where she placed her feet.
“Always a rebel, eh?”
She flashed a sudden smile that made their tenuous positions seem rather commonplace. “Don’t pretend to be surprised.”
“I’m only surprised that you’d so openly admit it, especially when so much about you is a secret.” They continued on for a few moments in silence, the surf crashing below. “Surely there have been accidents?”
“Many.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.” He edged toward her, noting how she made her way so surely down the narrow path. She was a resourceful woman, and he could learn a lot from watching her. Fortunately, it was a pleasure to do so, one that increased each day.
“Who made this atrocious path?”
She paused and glanced back at him, and he realized that her spectacles had been hiding her long lashes.
“I was just wondering that myself.” She edged around a small corner. “It has always been here. But I could never ask my father about it, since I was forbidden to use it.”
“It appears to be hewn by pickax.”
“So it does. I’ve often wondered if—” A rock loosened under her booted foot and she stumbled, the rock bouncing down the cliff face, the sound soon lost in the roar of the surf below.
Michael’s heart gave a sick thud as Jane teetered on the edge of the path, too far for him to reach, fear on her expressive face. “The grass!” he snapped.
Her frantic gaze found the small outcropping of long grass at the same second and she desperately grasped at it. Though some broke off in her hand, the thick tuft held, and she was able to regain her balance.
Breathing loudly, she pressed herself against the cliff wall.
A million admonitions burned on Michael’s lips as his heart thundered in his ears. “You . . . you . . .” was all he could manage.
Jane turned a white face his way, a plucky smile immediately coming to her lips when she caught sight of his expression. “You look exactly the way you did when you were in that tomb near the southern valley in Egypt and found those snakes.”
“Just be bloody careful,” he ground out, unable to see the humor in anything at the moment. “Or do you want me to have an apoplexy right here on this cliff face?”
Her lips twitched. “Not here, of course, but . . .”
“Then go! Let’s see this cave opening and decide what preparations should be made, and then get to safety.”
They made their way in silence for a goodly distance, the path ledge slowly descending the face of the cliff. Michael forced himself not to relive the sheer terror he’d felt watching Jane teetering on the path, though it was difficult. For some unknown reason, he’d lost his usual calm sense and was beset with reactions about her.
Michael’s hands grew cold holding on to the rocks, his neck exposed without a scarf, and the warmth from his coat stolen by the wind. The air grew chillier and damper as they made their way closer to the pounding surf.
A fat raindrop plopped on Michael’s cheek, and he glanced up
at the darkening sky overhead. Thunder rumbled deeply, a faint wind stirring bits of dirt and causing small rocks to tumble down the cliff.
Michael listened over the sounds of wind and surf. “I can’t tell if the rocks are hitting rock or the water.”
“It doesn’t matter. If you slip, it’s such a long fall . . .”
He kept his focus on Jane after that, noting that as she descended, she paused every now and then to see if he was keeping up. A few times, she noticeably slowed in her progress after seeing where he was.
He frowned. “You’re going slower because of me.”
She chuckled. “Your feet are larger than mine. I thought you might need more time to decide on the best place to set them.”
He’d been doing just that. “Thank you.” Another fat plop of rain was followed by several more. On impulse, he glanced back over at the ocean and let out a long string of Egyptian curses at the gray sheet of rain racing toward them.
Her gaze followed his. “That’s a deluge.” Her voice was sharp with worry. “We must get back to the horses before that rain gets here.” She was already coming his way. “Blast it, I really wanted to reach the cave mouth. It’s so close.”
“We’ll make it tomorrow, if Mrs. Macpherson’s knee is to be believed.” He turned and headed back toward the safe edge of the clearing above, climbing as quickly as he dared.
A few more drops pelted them, the amount steadily increasing, a faint roar announcing the closeness of the wall of rain. “Hurry,” Jane said, her voice low and urgent.
He did so, wishing she were ahead of him now. If she had been, she’d already be safe on the ledge above them.
All he could do was concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other as quickly as he could, but it was too late. The rain slammed into them, and within the space of a few moments, Michael’s head, shoulders, and back were wet through.
Not only were the rocks now slick, but he also couldn’t see a thing. Sputtering, he reached out and grasped Jane’s wrist and continued making his way up the path, his foot slipping here and there as water washed over the rock path.
Jane welcomed the warmth of Michael’s grasp, though she wished he’d use his hand to balance himself. Her foot hit a rock. Wet with rain, the dust that coated it had now turned into a slick slime that sent her boot shooting out from under her.
For a heartrendering moment, she balanced precariously. Michael yanked her forward so that she could grasp the face of the cliff once again, her hands tangling in the sea grass.
“Thank you,” she gasped, the rain pouring down as if from an overturned bucket. “It’s so heavy—” She choked and looked down, struggling to breathe.
Michael squinted against the heavy wash of rain at the cliff edge overhead long enough to see the problem. “The cliff is channeling the rain over the edge like a waterfall, and we’re taking the worst of it.”
Jane sputtered against the water as her hair, weighted by the rain, fell about her face, sticking to her cheeks and neck. But worse than that slight inconvenience was the way the rain weighted down her skirt and filled her boots, until it felt as if she were trying to wade through mud. “We . . . must . . . hurry.”
He took in her predicament at a glance, his eyes dark with concern. “Damn it,” he muttered. He increased his pace. “Stay close.”
She continued on, doing as he’d said and staying only a step or two behind him. Two more times she slipped, her heavy skirts tugging her off balance, and both times he yanked her back. Meanwhile, he grimly held on to the cliff face as safety came ever closer.
Was the path this dangerous when I was a child? I never thought so, though I know Father did. Looking at it through adult eyes, I wouldn’t wish a child of mine on it, either.
“Almost there,” Michael said, his deep voice soothing and calm.
He was always soothing and calm under adverse situations. She, meanwhile, was battling the desire to yell unkind things at the rain.
Finally Michael reached the steep drop that marked the beginning of the path, the rain easing now that they were no longer directly under the edge of the cliff. “Stand still.” He released her wrist and then reached up and hauled himself over the final turn in the cliff path.
She edged closer, wondering how she’d pull herself and her wet skirts over the rise. She was so tired and her arms ached and—
Strong hands reached down from above to grasp her and lift her clear. As she was pulled over the edge of the cliff face, she saw the strain in Michael’s face as he carried her, wet skirts and all, away from the pathway and into the safety of the copse.
Just as they reached the horses, Michael slipped on the wet grass, and with a gasp, they both went tumbling backward.
CHAPTER 11
From the diary of Michael Hurst.
So there I was, flat on my back, Jane sprawled across me, both of us completely soaked, rain pelting down as if it had a vendetta against us . . . I had every reason to jump to my feet and—dragging Jane—find shelter, which is what a sane man would have done.
But instead I just stayed there. On the ground. Holding her. And damned well not willing to let her go.
Somewhere between Oban and this cliff side, I’ve gone stark, raving mad.
Jane expected Michael to release her once they’d come to rest, but instead his arms enveloped her and he held her in place. She grasped his lapels and buried her face in his wet shoulder as her heartbeat returned to normal.
Though the rain was shivery cold, Michael radiated warmth. She pressed her forehead to his coat and felt his chin lower to the top of her head as she lay upon him, the rain beating down.
It was heavenly, and she realized how afraid she’d been moments before. Now, nestled against him, her heart slowed with each breath as she soaked in Michael’s heat.
She rubbed her cheek against the wool of his coat, her body shivering from both the cold and something else. Something Michael. She shifted, seeking . . . she didn’t know what, only that she was restive and wanted, needed, to be even closer to him.
He used his wet sleeve to wipe some of the water from his eyes, his hat long gone, his hair wiped back from his face. “That was exhilarating.”
She nodded as the rain pelted the back of her head and ran down her neck. “We should find some shelter.”
“Why?” His blue eyes crinkled as he flashed an unexpected smile. “So we can stay dry? There’s not a scrap of dry clothing on either of us.”
She chuckled. “True.”
“So what’s the hurry?”
His deep voice rumbled in his chest and through her own. She shivered at the pleasurable feeling.
His smile disappeared. “You’re cold.”
“Not a bit.” She shrugged. “I’m just suffering from a belated reaction to our misadventure.”
His gaze narrowed on her and a reluctant smile touched his hard mouth. “It’s going to be a miserable ride home.”
“Not as miserable as if one of us had fallen over the edge.” Just saying it aloud made her stomach ache as if she’d been stabbed with a pickax.
“I’m glad we don’t have far to reach the horses.” Michael sighed. “After climbing that cliff face, it seems that here, close to the earth, is the safest place to be.”
Jane laughed and rolled to one side and rose, pushing her wet hair from her face. The rain pelted them relentlessly as Michael rose as well, and then, as if mocking their escape, the rain grew harder, roaring as it poured.
“Oh, no,” Jane muttered, following Michael as he plunged into the thicket, the rain splashing onto his sopping-wet coat.
They reached the horses just as a huge split of lightning dashed across the sky, dazzling in its brightness. Both horses began to prance.
Michael grabbed both sets of reins. “Get on!” he yelled over the sound of the rain.
She reached for the saddle but Michael was faster, swooping her up and depositing her and her wet skirts upon her horse. She was secretly glad; it would have
been difficult to maneuver with yards and yards of soaked material hanging from her waist like so many bags of wet sand.
Soon they were on their way back to the inn, the thunder escorting them. Michael watched Jane as she rode ahead of him. Small and neat, she rode as if born to the saddle. Now he knew why: during her entire childhood, she had been riding across the deeply sloped, rough hillocks of her island kingdom.
The path widened as they grew closer to the inn. Jane’s wet hair hung down her back in long brown strands. Michael urged Ramses forward until they were abreast. With her hair slicked back from her face, her profile was as pure as an alabaster statue’s. Has she always had such a perfect nose? Even the—
Her horse stumbled on the wet, uneven path, and he reached impulsively toward her reins. She shot him a hard look, and he retracted his hand immediately.
“I am fine. The trail is a bit slick, is all.”
For some reason, it irritated him that she never seemed to need his help with anything. Ever. “You were daydreaming and not minding your horse.”
She stiffened. “I was not daydreaming.”
“You’ve done nothing but daydream since we came to this island.” He flashed her a smile, knowing it would irk her. “It’s time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”
To his surprise, she met his sally with a sudden grin. “I’ve never been called Sleeping Beauty before. Or princess. I could get used to that.”
That’s because most men are damned fools and see only what they expect to see. The thought came unbidden, tinged with regret, for he’d been guilty of the exact same thing.
They turned onto the main road and it was only a short ride until they arrived back at the inn. They rode the horses directly into the barn, where Turner met them. He took the horses, calling for the footmen to come and rub them down.
Dripping wet, Michael and Jane made their way to the inn. Mrs. Macpherson didn’t look at all happy to see them, tsking loudly as they both dripped steadily in front of the fireplace. “I warned ye aboot the rain,” she said to Michael.