Run Wild (Escape with a Scoundrel) - By Shelly Thacker Page 0,66

fall to her knees in gratitude and dance across the grass at the same time. Joy welled in her heart and flooded through her, so overpowering it brought tears to her eyes, so refreshing she swore she could taste it.

Then her eyes fastened on the stream, and she glanced at the rogue, and she didn’t need to express the thought they were both thinking.

Water.

They rushed, stumbled, ran toward the stream, fell onto the bank and slurped up handfuls of the fresh, clear, sweet liquid. She didn’t bother to dig out the cups from the fishing creel. She splashed her face, her hair. Her relief bubbled up in her throat and came out as laughter.

A small, furry creature dashed away from the opposite bank to take refuge in a nearby shrubbery.

“A rabbit,” she exclaimed in delight, breathless, falling onto her back. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so wonderful in my whole life.”

“Forget wonderful—he looks like supper to me.” The rogue studied the spot where the rabbit had disappeared. “Where there’s one, there are probably more. Maybe a whole warren.”

“But how can we catch them? We don’t have the pistol anymore.”

“We’ve got fishing line. I’ll make some snares.” He stretched out beside her, looked up at the night sky.

And suddenly cursed.

“What?” Sam followed his gaze, but saw nothing threatening in the cloudless black sky spangled with stars. “What’s wrong?”

“The moon is wrong,” he choked out, sitting up. “The night we stayed at the cabin, it was a quarter full. Look at it now.”

“It’s half full.” Sam shrugged. “What does it matter?”

“It matters because we weren’t in there for three or four days. We were in there for a week. I’ve lost an entire week.” He uttered a short, vicious oath. “I’ll never make it to York in time.”

Chapter 15

“I don’t understand why you are in such a foul mood.”

Nicholas didn’t reply to Miss Delafield’s annoyed comment. He was busy gnawing on a piece of rabbit, and he wasn’t about to apologize for his swearing, his table manners, or his temper.

They had settled beneath a stand of trees a few yards from the small waterfall. The moon and the firelight shone on the remains of their supper, scattered around them on the riverbank. They had roasted two rabbits and a fish, fried a half-dozen eggs—gathered from a nest near the water’s edge—in the biscuit tin, and made short work of a score of wild strawberries found growing beneath the evergreens.

But even a hot meal in his belly hadn’t improved his humor in the least.

One week. He had lost an entire week. Which left him only five days to get to York before Michaelmas. Impossible. Food and rest were helping to restore his strength, but he would never make it in time. Not on foot. He needed a horse.

And how the devil was he supposed to obtain a horse in the middle of Cannock Chase?

“I honestly don’t see what difference a few extra days makes.” Miss Delafield lay on her back, her head pillowed on the fishing creel, as she contentedly munched a strawberry. “Surely whoever you’re meeting in York will understand the delay.”

“Not bloody likely,” Nicholas muttered, sitting near her feet, his back against a pine tree. He finished eating and flicked a bone toward the stream.

“Well, we’re alive. That’s something to be grateful for.”

He slanted her a glare. Her cheery attitude had grated on his nerves all night, ever since they had left the cave. “Why?” he snapped. “What’s there to feel grateful for? That the inevitable has been postponed? It may have slipped your mind, your ladyship, but we’re still facing a few problems. Like these for one.” He shook his right leg, jangling the shackles. “Not to mention a few dozen lawmen out there somewhere”—he jerked a thumb toward the far end of the glade, where it opened into the forest—“who want to put a bullet or two or ten into us. It’s a little early to be holding a victory parade.”

She sat up, her expression as calm as her voice. “I think the fact that we were in the cave for seven days instead of three or four is a good thing. It works in our favor. The lawmen obviously gave up searching this part of the forest a long time ago. Maybe they’re looking for us in the towns by now. Or they think we’re dead. Or—”

“Or maybe they’re still out there somewhere. Waiting for us to fall into their snare just like Mr. Bunny here