Highland Heiress - By Margaret Moore Page 0,1

color of velvet—hardly the outfit of a thief or vagabond.

“I’m all right. Are you injured?” he asked as he considered what to do about the situation, especially that threatening, growling dog.

He had a pistol in his indigo greatcoat, for no man traveled alone and unarmed in this part of the country if he could avoid it, but shooting the animal should be a last resort. It might, after all, only be doing what it was supposed to do, if the young woman had ventured onto private land, for instance.

So instead of taking out his pistol, he bent down and picked up a rock that fit comfortably in the palm of his hand. He’d been a fairly skilled cricket player in his school days, and he prayed his aim hadn’t deserted him as he threw the rock at the dog’s hindquarters.

It struck the animal hard enough to draw its attention; unfortunately, it didn’t run away.

He swiftly searched for another suitable missile that would be heavy enough to make the beast leave, but not to seriously hurt it. A solicitor, he could easily imagine an irate farmer bringing a lawsuit against him for killing his dog that had been dutifully protecting his property.

“This branch is creaking. It’s going to break!” the woman cried.

And that would be a long way for her to fall.

He grabbed a rock slightly larger than the last. It was covered with mud and slippery, but he managed to lob it at the dog before it slipped from his gloved hands. It sailed through the air, bits of dirt and debris flying off it before it landed squarely on the dog’s back.

Finally the dog fled, loping away through the trees toward the river, where they could hear it splashing.

“Oh, thank you!” the woman cried as Gordon hurried to the foot of the tree. “I was afraid I’d have to stay here all night!”

He could see her better now. She stood balanced on a branch that was only about three inches thick, her arms wrapped around the slim white trunk. In addition to her velvet riding habit, the young woman, who looked to be about twenty, wore tan kid leather gloves and boots. Her skin was fair and smooth, her lips rosy and bow-shaped, and her big coffee-brown eyes regarded him with admiration.

“I’m happy to be of assistance.”

“I was lucky you were riding by,” she said as she began to climb down with unexpected alacrity, “and equally fortunate I spent so much time climbing in my father’s warehouses when I was a girl, or I daresay my fate would be worse.”

Warehouses? Of course, her father must be rich. That would explain the velvet. He wondered if she had a mother, brothers, sisters or possibly a fortunate husband.

His curiosity on that point was momentarily suspended when the hem of her dress got caught on a smaller branch, revealing first her booted foot, then her shapely ankle, then her equally shapely, stocking-covered calf….

Good God, what was he doing? Or rather, not doing? “I beg your pardon. Your dress is caught.”

“Aye, so it is,” the fair unknown replied, tugging it free while a blush added more color to her smooth cheeks. “I had no trouble getting up in the tree when I was afraid that dog would hurt me, but getting down is a different matter.”

“Allow me to assist you,” he offered when she reached the lowest branch about three feet from the ground.

Although he wasn’t quite sure exactly what he was going to do, Gordon stripped off his muddy gloves and shoved them into his pocket before stepping forward.

Not that he should touch her. That wouldn’t be proper.

On the other hand, surely these were exceptional circumstances.

She spared him having to come up with a plan by putting her hands on his shoulders. He lifted his arms and grabbed her around the waist. Then she jumped.

Her action was so quick, so confident, he wasn’t quite prepared and nearly lost his balance. They both would have fallen to the ground if he hadn’t immediately put his arms around her.

He didn’t even know her name, yet holding her in his arms felt undeniably…right. No, better than just right.

It felt wonderful, as if somehow, this woman was meant to be in his arms.

Which had to be the greatest flight of fancy his logical lawyerly mind had ever taken.

Worse, he was blushing like a schoolboy, although he was nearly twenty-nine. Nor was this the first time he’d ever held a woman in his arms.

“There you are, safe