The Billionaire’s Valiant Rescue (19 page)

She couldn’t stay here. She couldn’t join her brothers on the other side of the country. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide from the heartache the divorce had brought.

Shivering against the cold and relishing in the sensation of goosebumps appearing on her alabaster skin, she set foot for the cottage that had been her home for the last five years. Her and Jonathan’s. Briefly, they’d been happy there. Now all that was left were the ruins of their union, and even dwelling on the past made her heart shrink.

As she crossed to the forest that lay between the plains and her home, she thought she heard a cry sound in the distance—carried on the wind. At first, she couldn’t be certain whether it was human or animal in nature—or simply the wind itself howling through the trees.

As she neared the forest, she suddenly saw a streak of red passing between two trees to the left. A fleeting impression that barely registered on her retinae. When she instinctively turned to track the movement, a wail rang out, louder this time, distinctly human.

After a moment’s hesitation, she set foot for the source of the cries, curious to see if one of the townsfolk had perhaps landed in a ditch or a child fallen from a tree. Then a cry rent the air, the pitch urgent—desperate.

Picking up her pace, she hurried over to the edge of the forest where the blotch of red had caught her attention. Man or beast, something was in trouble, and she hadn’t the heart to ignore the desperate cry for help.

As she neared the first trees, something whizzed past her ear and she yelped in surprise. Instantly sensing danger, she scrunched down, then made a run for the forest in hopes of finding cover against this unexpected attack. An arrow or a bullet, she could not be sure, but some projectile had been aimed in her direction.

And as she reached the brambles and hurried around to use them for cover, she saw the man, large as life, suddenly looming up before her frightened gaze.

Not ten yards from where she cowered, he stood tall and proud, his penetrating eyes brooking no nonsense, and when they first hit her, she felt their power shooting sparks of electricity through her huddled body. Had he seen her? Had he spotted her? Only now did she see the bow and arrow in his hands, his eyes narrowed and scanning the forest in the falling dusk. His eyes turned away, and she felt a whisper of relief fluttering through her.

On the forest floor before him, a figure lay, dressed in red and partially obscured by the man’s hulking frame. Inadvertently she brought a hand to her face, eyes wide in horror. The figure in red… it was a woman, a tangle of blond streaking out across the red, an arrow’s vane pointing to the sky, her fingers curled around its shaft, soft whimpering sounds escaping her lips.

She’d been shot.

The tall man—
he’d shot her!

CHAPTER TWO

The woman heaved a guttural cry, and the man turned his fierce dark eyes on her, his archer’s weapon ready, poised for the deadly arrow to swish from his grasp and end his victim’s life.

Joanna couldn’t bear to watch as he readied himself to finish her off, and diverted her horrified gaze. But then a different sound assaulted her ears. Not the sickening thud of an arrow piercing flesh, but the howl of a hunter’s trumpet being blown not far from where she hid.

At the sound, the man whirled in the direction whence it had come, and briefly kneeled next to the woman, speaking harsh words in a foreign tongue before he was up and away, lithely disappearing into the brush. The moment he had vanished from view, Joanna, her heart pounding and her breath coming in short bursts, began an urgent approach. Her eyes darting left and right, she hurried over to where the woman lay and fell to her knees beside her.

She was surprised by how young she was, barely a woman at all. The moment she gazed into her face, she knew she was badly hurt. Her eyes fluttering closed, the young woman nevertheless appeared cognizant of her presence, for she whispered something incomprehensible.

Lowering her ear to the woman’s lips, she held her breath, and when the words registered, she frowned in confusion.

“Mama. Vozmi menya k mame.”

Not comprehending, Joanna whispered back, “I’ll get you to a doctor.”

Though the moment she’d spoken the words, she understood her promise was an empty one. She would never be able to move her. Not with a wound as lethal as the one the man had inflicted. Her eyes were drawn to the arrow as it protruded from the woman’s chest. She didn’t know much about medicine, but from the blood spreading like a bloom, she knew it was bad.

For a moment, she wavered, then made up her mind. She would hide her body in the brush, then run to town for help.

The moment she touched her hands to the woman, her eyes snapped open and she winced in pain. “Don’t leave me,” she moaned.

“I won’t leave you,” assured Joanna, then slipped her arm beneath the woman’s back and gave her a gentle tug. When no response came, she realized she’d passed out, her body limp and her eyes now closed. Swallowing away a lump of fear, she started dragging the victim behind the brambles that had provided her a hiding place from the man.

Either the woman was heavier than she looked or her strength was failing her, for she had only progressed a few yards when the sound of a bugle startled her. This time it seemed much closer, and she knew she didn’t have much time before the hunters would be upon her.

Using all the strength she had, she dragged the poor woman away where she hoped she would be safe, then quickly covered her with fallen leaves and clumps of grass, concealing her from the passing observer as well as she could.

Pricking up her ears, she waited for a moment, trying to steady her racing heart, then moved away from the undergrowth and snuck to the edge of the forest, looking out across the meadows for a sign of danger.

When nothing stirred, she sprang up and made her dart to safety, crouching low and making haste, putting as much distance between herself and the man as possible. She needed to get to town, and fast, before the woman succumbed to her wounds.

And she’d just reached the open fields, when a voice rang out behind her.

“Come back here, you!”

Making a wild dash, she ignored the command and ran as fast as her legs could carry her across the soggy land. Just then, an arrow whizzed past her ear, and she cried out in terror and fear.

“Stop right there!” the voice came. “Or the next one will hit its mark!”

Trembling like a leaf, she abruptly halted in her tracks, her wild streak at an end.

“Turn around!”

Slowly, she heeded the order and started turning to the source of danger. When her eyes met the tall man’s, she knew this was the end. And even though just before she’d been contemplating ending it all, she now found she wasn’t ready. She wanted to live—not die like a beast in this field.

“Just—let me go!” she cried out, her voice quaking. “You don’t have to kill me.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. With steady steps, he approached her, his bow now slung over his broad shoulder, the arrows poised in their holder, dangling from his waist. Up close, he was even more impressive than she’d thought. His eyes were a striking fawn with not a hint of mirth. His face was hard and angular, his brows hooked over his eyes and his nose a sharp slash.

There was power in those eyes and those irregular features, and even though he wasn’t handsome in a traditional sense, she felt a twinge of regret she couldn’t have made his acquaintance under normal circumstances, instead having to view his face as the last she’d ever gaze upon.

When he was upon her, she closed her eyes, knowing that the end was near. This brute would slay her like he’d slain the woman in the forest. Blood would soon bloom on her chest as well, and she brought her hands to her heart in a final gesture of defiance. Protecting her chest from the invading iron.

When fingers clasped around her wrist and yanked her hand away, her eyes flashed open, and she found herself face to face with him now, and her impression that he was a force of nature increased. Hair the color of coal fell across his tan brow, and when she raised her eyes to his, she was surprised to find there, not murderous intent, but… curiosity.

His full lips worked as he subjected her to an intent study, then he grunted, “Don’t you know it isn’t safe here, woman? That you could get shot?” His inflection was foreign—Russian if she would venture a guess.

Her lips opened, then closed in confusion. “What—what do you mean? Are—aren’t you going to kill me?”

His scowl deepened, and the grip on her arm tightened. “Kill you? Why on earth would I want to kill you?”

Helplessly, she tugged to free herself, but it was as if her hand was caught in a vise. “You shot that woman. I—I saw you.” Abruptly she closed her mouth. It was the worst thing she could have said, she knew. Never tell a murderer you’ve seen him commit the terrible crime. He will want to get rid of the witness. “I mean, I didn’t actually see you…” she tried, her voice trailing off.

He gave her a curt nod. “So it was you who moved Yana. I thought so. Do you know anything about medicine? Perhaps you could take a look?”

The abrupt change this conversation was taking surprised and confused her. “So you didn’t try to… kill her?”

He gave her wrist a tug and started walking back in the direction of the forest, forcing her along. When finally she fell into step beside him, he let go of her arm. Casting her a sideways look, he said in his deep, rumbling voice, “Tell me, why would I want to kill my friend?”

“She’s… your friend?”

He inclined his head. “I told her not to come. She should have listened. Hunting is not for the uninitiated. And when she left our company and ventured out on her own…”

The truth suddenly came home to her. “It was an accident.”

“Spartak. He thought he saw a pheasant. The moment he released the arrow, he realized his mistake, but it was too late.”

They’d arrived at the spot where she’d left the man’s friend. A second man stood hovering over her, his face ashen. This, Joanna assumed, was Spartak.

Spartak’s eyes instantly flicked to her. “Doc? Thank God you’re here—“

“She’s not the doctor, Spartak.”

“Christ!” cried Spartak. He turned desperate eyes on the tall man. “We need to do something, Vitaly. She doesn’t have much longer.”

Vitaly stared down at the body of the woman, his face working. “We can’t move her. It’s too dangerous. All we can do is wait. And pray.”

Joanna, feeling ill at ease in the company of these strangers, thought she detected a glimmer of anger in Vitaly’s voice. And when he suddenly turned on his friend, her suspicion was confirmed.

He grabbed Spartak’s collar and bunched his fist, practically lifting the other man clear from the ground. “Why did you have to let her wander off, huh? None of this would have happened if you had kept your eye on her.”

Spartak’s face lost what color it had left. He looked as if he was about to be violently sick, and when he merely muttered something incomprehensible, Vitaly released him with an impatient grunt.

A whimper had them all look down at the stricken woman. Yana had regained consciousness, and when her eyes focused, a slight smile played about her lips. “I should have listened to you, Vitaly,” she whispered. “I should have stayed home today.”

Vitaly went down on one knee in the mulch and gently stroked her cheek. “It’s all right, Yana. Everything is all right.”

Joanna was surprised by the note of tenderness in both gesture and words. If she’d been terrified before, she now felt nothing but sorrow over the fate that had befallen these people.

“Next time—“ Vitaly started to say.

Yana shook her head sadly. “There won’t be a next time. I’m going to die today.”

“Don’t you say that,” rumbled Vitaly, his voice dropping an octave. “You’re going to be just fine, Yana. Trust me.”

She kept shaking her head, her eyes now fluttering closed. “No, Vitaly,” she murmured. “This time… I won’t.”

CHAPTER THREE

A strong sense of helplessness seeped into Vitaly’s consciousness as he gazed down at the immobile daughter of his employer. He’d clasped her lifeless hand in his own, and if he could have, would have breathed life back into her limp body by the sheer power of his will. But he knew that this was one of those moments that willpower alone wouldn’t cut it.

Yana, he knew, had been mortally wounded, and nothing short of a miracle could save her now.

A soft voice spoke beside him, and instinctively he knew better than to cut it off.

“Perhaps I know a way,” the striking female stranger murmured, then crouched down and took Yana’s hand in hers, curling strong fingers over delicate ones. Staring down at the arrow that rose from Yana’s bosom, the woman started murmuring words whose significance escaped him. They sounded Gaelic to his unpracticed ears, but that’s as far as his guess went.

He didn’t ask questions, didn’t stir, even held his breath for a moment to prevent the deep sob that was rising in his chest from breaking the surface of his bottomless sorrow. Was this woman the miracle he’d been praying for?

He eyed her from beneath long lashes, unable to move. Her eyes, he saw, were a deep green—like the sparkle of the brightest emerald. Her red, flaming hair reminded him of fire kindling, a mass of curls that spread out across her shoulders. Her face was strikingly beautiful with its delicate, even features, and as she closed her eyes, her brows knitting, she presented a study in grace and poise.

She was a witch—a wood nymph come to life to offer her help to mere mortals who’d ventured into her realm. Or perhaps she was an elemental, materialized to protect her land. Whatever or whoever she was, all hope now rested with her. Or perhaps it was too late already—Yana having passed on from this plane to the next. To be reunited with her mother.

He was not a religious man, but as he closed his eyes and stammered broken phrases to a God he hadn’t acknowledged in the thirty-two years he’d been walking this earth, he found a deep peace descending upon him, and then a sudden gust of wind stir the forest’s quiet. And when he looked up, he had the fleeting impression the world had grown lighter—less oppressive. Could it be?