His trim eyebrows waggled. “Unless of course you attend St. Sebastian Academy down in Kent? I admit, I’ve snuck past their fences a time or two. And I may have had a pint or three beforehand. So if we did, as you Americans like to say, ‘hook up,’ I wish to offer my sincerest apology for my poor memory.”
Blood boiled into my face. In my sixteen years on this earth, no guy had ever, ever flirted with me. The redneck boys where I was from preferred girls like my cheerleader cousins. Size two. Blond. Busty. Brainless.
“As you so astutely observed”—from his seated position, he gave a comical bow—“I am Bran Cameron. And, yes. I was photographing you. Though in truth, I was out stalking.”
At my look, he chuckled. “Not in any depraved way, I assure you. I was merely hunting for the Highland stag. Some use guns to stalk. I prefer electronics.” He gave an exaggerated shudder that almost made me smile. “Less blood and entrails, that way. Then I saw a lovely vision on a horse and, well . . . I couldn’t resist.” He shivered. “And now that we are properly acquainted, would you mind terribly helping me off this rock and out of this bloody cold water?”
I realized I was just standing there, gaping at him like a moron, while his lips turned blue with cold.
“Oh.” I held out a hand. “Yeah, okay.”
He took it, pulling himself to his feet. Strong fingers squeezed mine as he bobbled, then steadied. My eyes were level with his chin. I focused on that, instead of his eyes.
Back on dry land, I noticed blood pulsing in a steady stream down his neck, staining the collar of his jacket. I hurried over to Ethel and retrieved a scarf I’d tied to her saddle.
“Here. You’re bleeding.”
Looking up into his odd eyes, once again the disturbing sensation of familiarity rolled over me. When I stumbled, Bran steadied me before I could tumble headlong into the river.
I was blinking too fast, trying to rid myself of the bizarre feeling, when he said, “I’m sorry, but did you tell me your name?”
“Hope,” I managed. “My . . . I mean, I’m Hope Walton. And I’ve got to go.” I eased out of his grip and quickly moved to untie Ethel’s reins from the brush.
“I don’t mean to be a bother,” he called, “but earlier you said you knew me from somewhere.” When I turned, he was close. Right beside me. “Do you?”
“Do I what?” I edged away, nervous at the intense look on his face.
“Know me.”
“No.” The word tasted like a lie, though I couldn’t explain why. “But then again, I’m not one of those slutty St. Sebastian girls.”
He laughed out loud at that. Then groaned as he pressed the scarf against his head.
“Actually,” I said, “I just got here last night, so we couldn’t have met. I-I’ve barely been out of my hometown before. See, it’s my first time overseas. I’m here visiting my aunt, and . . .”
Shut up, Walton. Why are you babbling like an idiot to this stranger?
I shoved the reins over Ethel’s head and tried to mount, but my knees felt shaky, and my wet foot slipped from the stirrup. Ethel took a nervous step, confused at my signals. Bran grabbed her bridle, and when I glanced over to thank him, I saw that his lingering smile had vanished.
“Your aunt,” he said flatly. “Yes, of course. Lady Lucinda Carlyle.”
“You know her?”
He didn’t answer, and the blinding grin he turned on me seemed forced. I managed to make it onto Ethel’s back, but I didn’t leave.
“I want to thank you for rescuing me, Hope Walton,” Bran said. “And, no, I am not acquainted with your aunt. I only know that this is her land.” He reached up and tugged on a thin leather cord around his neck. A silver medallion popped out from beneath his collar, which he absently brushed against his lips. “Say, might I ask a favor? I realize rescuing me from certain death is enough of an imposition, but I should like to ask anyway.”
Still uneasy, I shrugged. “I guess?”
“Would you mind terribly keeping our running into each other today to yourself? You see, this is private property, and I should hate very much to be fined for trespassing.”
“I won’t say anything.”
“Brilliant.” Bran pressed the wad of purple fabric to the side of his head with a hiss. “And. This might be utterly presumptuous of me, considering the circumstances,” he said, “but would you care to go for a proper ride sometime? I’m not a native, of course, but I’ve spent time in these parts. And I know some breathtaking spots you simply must see. Before you say no,” he said, raising a hand in oath, “I solemnly swear not to brain myself on a river rock. Or sneak photographs without your express permission.”
“Oh,” I said, “I don’t . . .”
His rueful expression was so exaggerated, a giggle bubbled up from my chest. It felt creaky and rusty from disuse as it passed my lips.
A sudden crack of thunder split the sky and echoed down the valley toward us. Ethel quivered and pranced beneath me.