Embrace The Dawn. Jackie Summers

But these woods aren’t safe. You might meet a straggling Royalist, limping home like a whipped dog from last week’s battle.”

      Anne sprang to attention. How she wanted to shout back at this black-hearted enemy that she’d welcome the chance to meet one of the king’s soldiers. Praise God, the poor soul might have news of her father. Instead, her mouth formed a tight line in answer; she dared not trust herself to speak out. He met her silence with interest.

      “Could it be that the lovely maid hasn’t heard of our victory over Charlie Stuart?”

      Haven’t heard, indeed! Her uncle had boasted of nothing else since word came that King Charles had barely escaped from Cromwell’s armies and was fleeing for his life. If only she dared ask him if he had news of her father. Possibly, an officer in Cromwell’s army might know if one of the most wanted Royalists, next to the young king, of course, had been captured.

      But she dared not risk any action that might give away her identity. If this officer were to report seeing a red-haired maid in the river, even her uncle’s feeble imagination would tell him she was the only soul who would dare do such a thing.

      Silently, the soldier studied her like a fox waiting to spring at the henhouse door. “Tell me who you are, lass.”

      The sheep bells tinkled beyond the meadow and, with them, an idea sprang to mind. “I’m a shepherdess at Wycliffe Manor.” Hopefully, the fib might keep her identity safe.

      He gave her a skeptical look while he carelessly raked back the lock of hair that fell across his forehead. When he moved, she noticed the gold cords dangling from the wide shoulders of his jacket, signifying an officer’s rank. “The other servants don’t mind tending your sheep while you idle away the day?”

      “What the servants do is none of your business, Private,” she added, hoping the snub would wipe away his confidence.

      The corners of his mouth quirked up. “Lieutenant,” he corrected, “but why don’t you call me Nat,” he said softly.

      The bold familiarity of his intimate suggestion left her a little breathless. “If you must know,” she managed, “a servant threw a trinket of mine in the river. I—I refuse to leave here until I find it.” She hoped he hadn’t heard her teeth chatter.

      “Why would he do such a vile thing to a sweet maid as yourself?” His dark eyes seemed to ignite as he gazed at her.

      “B-because I wouldn’t k-kiss him, that’s why.” Despite the chilly water, Anne felt her cheeks flame with anger as she recalled what Lyle had done.

      His mouth lifted slightly in a crooked smile. “And you didn’t kiss him because your heart belongs to another?”

      “Of c-course n-not.” She rubbed her arms to warm herself, the water splashing bubbles to the surface. “I didn’t kiss Lyle because he’s an oaf and I—I hate him.”

      His smile broadened and her gaze lingered on his full, chiseled mouth and the white, even teeth that contrasted with his suntanned face. He looked no more than a few years past twenty when he smiled like that.

      He strode to the edge of the grassy bank and stopped, booted legs spread apart, large square hands on hips. God’s bones, he was going to wade in after her. Instead, he removed his helmet, revealing a face much younger than most of the officers who visited with her uncle. Younger and surprisingly handsome, for a Roundhead. Dark brown hair brushed his collar, a sharp contrast to the short, bowl-cut style of the officers who supped with her uncle. His straight nose and well-shaped mouth meant he could be gentle, Anne knew. She had overheard Daisy, the kitchen maid, talking about men. His thick dark brows and square chin meant he could be stubborn, if he had a mind. Aye, Daisy and the other maids would be all aflutter when they saw this turkey cock!

      He peered out at the river, as though surveying the flow. “There’s a dangerous look to the current,” he said, his face serious. “There’s a mean look about those dark swirls over there.” He pointed toward the middle of the river. “An undertow if I’d have my guess.”

      “Nonsense,” Anne tossed back, angry at herself for her girlish reaction to him. “I—I’ve no more time t-to talk to you,” she added. “If I lose the sunlight, I’ll n-never be able to find my trinket. I—I’ve known this r-river all my life and th-there’s no undertow.” She could tell by the way the soldier studied the current that he wouldn’t be leaving soon. “I wish you’d go on about your business, and leave me to mine.” With that, Anne peered down through the water where the sun glinted and flickered.

      The officer remained on the bank, arms crossed, watching her. “You’d best come out of there, at once.”

      Ignoring him, she took a deep breath and plunged into the water. This time, she moved farther from shore. Trying to judge her bearings, she looked about the murky bottom. She remembered Lyle had been standing on the granite outcrop when he tossed the locket into the river, the same place where the lieutenant now stood. Her fingers carefully threaded through the soft ooze with steady motions. A flash of a shiny object beneath the silt caused Anne’s heart to hammer. It was her locket! It had to be!

      She reached out to grab it when a sudden rush of movement nearly toppled her over. A giant swell of bubbles pulled at her. She felt a tight constriction across her chest as if caught up by the relentless arm of a sea monster. The river demons had snatched her, just as her uncle had warned! God’s bones, she was being yanked into the bowels of the river, down, down, down, toward the serpents of Neptune!

      No, she wasn’t! She broke the bubbly surface and gasped as she discovered it wasn’t the serpents of Neptune, but the lieutenant. The powerful arms that fixed tightly beneath her armpits held her fast. He leaned low from his saddle and swept her out of the water. She sputtered and coughed as his sturdy hands clamped her sides and dragged her across his lap, then propped her against his chest, facing him.

      Anne gulped a deep breath of air and coughed again. “Wh-what are—?” she choked. She struggled against his commanding grip. “Wh-what are you doing?”

      “Saving your sweet neck, chit.” His arms bulged with muscle as his grip tightened about her. With a jingle of spurs, he urged the stallion toward shore. High bursts of water splashed at their sides, spraying them as they lunged forward.

      The horse leapt over the bank, its mane streaming like black silk ribbons in the breeze. Anne fell back against Nat’s hard chest. Her heart skipped madly as she pulled the streaming curtain of hair from her face.

      “Y-you’ve n-no right!” She drew a shaky breath. “There was no undertow. If you hadn’t...” Her words trailed off when her gaze met his dazzling brown eyes sheltered beneath thick dark brows. Luxuriant black lashes fringed eyes the color of the dark, secret places of the forest. The wind snatched a lock of unruly chestnut hair, swirling it against his sun-browned forehead. The high cheekbones and strong jaw brought power and authority to his face; the full mouth brought sensuality. His closeness sent an unbidden thrill shooting through her. She felt as skittish as a newborn lamb.

      His gaze lowered boldly to her breasts and her cheeks burned with indignation. Her hands flew to her bosom in a desperate attempt to cover herself.

      He flashed a rakish grin before reaching behind the saddle and throwing a horse blanket over her. When he shifted, she felt his hard thigh muscles beneath her. Her flush deepened, and she was aware that her face must appear more scarlet than the crimson scarf tied about his waist.

      Gratefully Anne covered herself with the scratchy blanket. She tried to speak, but no words came. Shivering, feeling deathly cold, she wanted to jump out of his arms, like a fish, and slide back into the river.

      His arms tightened about her. “Stop fighting me, mermaid. I mean no harm, although I can’t speak for all of the soldiers posted here.”

      She stole another glance at him, but his visor had slipped down about his face. She stopped struggling. She knew her efforts were futile.

      His buff leather coat was unlaced at the throat. He didn’t wear the gorget,