Embrace The Dawn. Jackie Summers

she forgot her own embarrassment and flushed deeper at the strange sensations she felt at his nearness.

      When they reached the small clearing on shore, he slid to the ground with her. She saw the mare toss her head, then whinny, as if in a relieved greeting.

      “Is that what you went after?” he asked roughly.

      “Wh-what?” Her eyes never left his.

      “This?” The lieutenant squeezed her hand and she looked down into her own small fist to see her gold locket and chain.

      “My locket.” Clutching it to her breasts, Anne gave a little cry. “I did grab it when you came crashing in after me.” She held on to the blanket with one hand while she slipped the locket around her neck and embraced it.

      “Now that you’ve got your trinket, you’d best get dressed and return to your flock.” Nat gazed into her wide blue-green eyes. Aye, those eyes, fringed by wet, long, spiky lashes—she looked like a water nymph sprung to life.

      He watched as she wrapped the blanket about herself. “Turn around while I get my clothing,” she ordered.

      Nat raised an eyebrow. “Your sudden modesty is a bit late, wouldn’t you say, wench?” He saw the blush stain her cheeks—more from anger than shame, he’d wager. Nonetheless, he turned his back as she scrambled toward the outcrop where her crumpled garments lay.

      Frowning, Nat crossed to a rock and sat down, ignoring the sloshing at each step he took. His boots were soaked, his wool breeches drenched, and water splotches stained his leather coat.

      She marched back toward him, her hastily gathered clothing over her arm. “It’s your own fault you’re wet,” she said, her eyes sparkling with self-satisfaction. “There was no undertow, I tell you.”

      “If I hadn’t come along when I did, you’d be food for the minnows, by now.”

      “Nonsense!” She strode past him on her way toward a copse of willows away from shore.

      He pulled off his left boot and emptied the water from it, stealing a glance at her over his shoulder. She lifted her shoulder in an arrogant gesture despite her shredded dignity, before disappearing behind a small willow to change her clothing.

      Nat chuckled and crossed his legs in front of him while he considered the tempting wench who had gotten him wet. Tempting liar was more like it. Damn, but she was as much a shepherd maid as he was a lieutenant in the bloody Roundhead army!

      He absently rubbed the dark stubble about his face as he remembered reading Babson’s smuggled report that mentioned George Lowell’s young ward, Anne. But nothing had prepared him for the beguiling vision of the lass in the river. The sight of those soft feminine curves had nearly undone him. And that mouth! How tempting her heart-shaped lips had looked—as sweet as a sun-warmed peach. And those eyes! Their blue-green color captivated him, changeable and turbulent like the first time he had seen the Mediterranean Sea during a tempest.

      Nat pulled off his other boot and removed a sock, wringing it as dry as he could. He took a deep breath and frowned. How long had it been since he had been with a woman? If he’d had anything on his mind besides his own secret mission to meet up with the king, those bright eyes and generous mouth might be just too tempting to resist.

      But when the dangers of these next few days were over, he’d have plenty of time to slake his desires with one of the lusty tavern wenches at the Pied Bull Inn. Until then, although she was a tempting lass, he’d best keep his mind on business.

      Nat’s jaw tightened when he remembered the gold locket. Had that bauble she had risked her pretty neck to find been a gift from Colonel Twining? he wondered. If so, Anne would be expected to wear it this evening, no doubt, when her betrothal to the colonel would be announced. No wonder she had been in such a bother to find it.

      Babson. How lucky he was to have a loyal informant in such a crucial position as valet to Colonel Twining. Although Nat would ordinarily relish any information, however trivial, about the powerful Roundhead, the fact that Anne would soon become Twining’s bride caused an unsettling feeling through him. How he’d like to taunt Twining with the fact that he’d held his betrothed’s near-naked body close against him. And a very tempting body it was, too.

      His mouth twitched. Too good for the likes of Twining.

      Another of the items in Babson’s report came to mind. Anne was the daughter of the Royalist, Jonathan Lowell. No doubt the wench followed her uncle’s politics, Nat decided, since she was about to marry one of Cromwell’s puppet officers. No wonder she had been so fearful of being recognized and the retelling of her actions getting back to her betrothed, Colonel Twining.

      The bushes rustled again and Nat turned to see her snatch up the blanket, toss it over her shoulder and storm toward him. Her long red hair was knotted on top of her head. She wore a rumpled muslin gown that was at least two sizes too big, and by the damp marks already appearing across her bodice, it was evident she hadn’t removed her wet undergarments.

      She whipped her eyes back to his. “Are you still here?”

      Nat shaded his eyes from the sun as he watched her approach him. “I’m waiting to hear you say thank you to me for saving your life, mermaid.” He chuckled as he saw her shoulders stiffen and her hands ball into tiny fists in response.

      He stretched his bare feet lazily in front of him and leaned back against the rock. “I’ll see you to your flock, if you wait while I put my boots back on,” he teased, knowing the last thing she wanted was for him to follow her.

      When she neared, he saw the thought struggle in her blue-green eyes, just as he hoped. When she came to within a foot of him, she dropped the horse blanket over his head without breaking stride and marched toward the mare cropping grass nearby.

      “I don’t need an escort to find my way.”

      “You’re not very friendly, considering you owe me your life,” he shouted back, tossing the blanket to the side. “I’ve enough misery without ruining my uniform and boots trying to save the likes of an ungrateful chit.” He tried unsuccessfully not to grin as he wrung out the other sock. “Remember, if you sprint about as a water nymph again, the next man you meet may not be a gentleman.” He saw her cheeks redden and her eyes flash.

      “You’re not a gentleman,” she replied. “A gentleman would have left the minute he noticed a maid in the water.” She glared with undercurrents more dangerous than those of the river. Grabbing the reins of her mare, she trudged back toward him.

      Nat squinted up at her. “You’re a bale of trouble, wench.”

      Anne reached out and grabbed one of the boots he had discarded, then quickly mounted her horse. Narrowing his eyes from the sun, Nat stretched out for it, but a second too late. He heard her smug laugh as he scrambled to his feet and hopped after her, but the sharp stones and rough ground slowed his pace.

      Without so much as a look back she goaded the mare into a gallop toward the river.

      “Bloody hell!” Nat shouted. “Don’t you dare...!”

      She flung his boot into the water with all of her might. With a throaty chuckle, she whipped her horse around and faced him with a triumphant grin. “Watch out for the undertow, Lieutenant!” She wheeled her mare around and gave him a parting salute as she set off at a gallop along the hedgerow in the direction of Wycliffe Manor, her silver laughter ringing out after her.

      * * *

      Chickens squawked and flew in the air as Anne ran across the fowl yard toward the buttery, her black skirts flying behind her. At the garden post, she paused, her fingers toying nervously with her locket as she peered around the shrubbery before making a beeline for the servants’ stairs at the rear of the kitchen.

      It had taken her less than a half hour to sneak along the hedgerow to the milking barn and change into the proper dress which she had previously stashed in the hidden space behind the boards of her mare’s stall.

      Before