Joanna's Highlander (Highland Protector #2)(21)

“Hell’s hounds and damnation!” He jogged after her, loping around a winding curve and up the last incline before the path would turn downward and head in the direction of the other side of town. He’d catch up with her in no time and when he did, he had a good mind to…

Joanna was nowhere in sight.

“Sons a bitches!” He increased his speed and cut loose another frustrated roar that shook through him, burning his throat upon release. He didna ken what the hell he’d do when he caught up with the vexing female, but he’d damn sure make her rue not listenin’. And where the devil was she? She’d no’ gotten that much of a start on him.

Grant gradually slowed, then came to a stop at the trail’s summit. He climbed atop the flat-topped boulder that he and Ramsay had placed at this point in the trail as a marker. The nearly full moon flooded the landscape with enough blue-white light that Grant could easily see in all directions. Still no Joanna. Not on the path. Nor on any of the land that had been cleared of trees. The small patches of grass waiting for the installation of picnic tables for the tourists were empty save for one or two foraging deer. The infernal woman had managed to disappear into thin air.

“She wasna runnin’ that fast,” Grant said under his breath. If ’tis a hunt she wants…’tis a hunt she’ll have. Eyes narrowed, he studied the area closer, backtracking and examining the path for signs. He turned his face away from the wind and listened, concentrating on picking up the slightest noise.

There. Southward. In the direction heading back to the bed-and-breakfast. Any lighter, and he would’ve deemed the noise an errant squirrel disturbing last year’s leaves and pine needles scattered across the woodland floor. But he kent verra well that a squirrel wouldna risk becoming dinner for an owl by scurrying about at this time of night. And the sound was too loud and consistent to be the careless shuffling of the nocturnal possum or skunk, the first too stupid to attempt to avoid predators, the latter too well armed to care.

It was Joanna. Attempting t’sneak through the woods. Making her way back the way they’d come without taking to the trail. Grant nodded with a grin. Smart woman. She knew she’d ne’er outrun him. At some point, she must’ve darted off the path, hidden quietly, then retraced her steps after he’d run past her.

Good. I’ve no’ had a hunt this fine since I was torn from Scotland.

He took to the path and hurried back the way he’d come. Once he’d reached a point well ahead of Joanna’s woodland noise, he’d cross over into the woods and cut her off. He’d overtake her easily. She wasna moving fast. The density of the thicket and her unfamiliarity with the forest had slowed her to a stubborn crawl.

Moving as silently as a shadow, Grant eased into the forest, making his way to a large decaying log lying directly across Joanna’s route. He crouched behind the massive moss-covered stump of the tree belonging to the log, poised to stand as soon as Joanna attempted to pass. Judging by the sound of her footfalls, the lass was headed directly for him. The soft, steady shuffling rattled within a few feet of him.

’Tis time. Grant rose and stepped out from behind the stump.

“Son of a bitch!” Arms flailing, Joanna stumbled backwards, then fell flat on her ass. Without rising, she grabbed a nearby rotting stick and threw it at his head. “What the hell is wrong with you? You trying to give me a heart attack?”

Grant charged forward, stabbing the air with his finger as he spoke. “I told ye no’ to run alone. Did I not?” Stubborn woman. Time t’make her see the danger and folly of her hardheaded ways. “D’ye ken now how easy ’twould be for someone t’make ye their prey? Ye best learn t’listen when I speak, ye headstrong woman.”

Joanna scrambled backwards, grabbing up anything she could pry loose from the forest floor and throwing it at him as she moved. “You can’t tell me to do or not do a damn thing. What I do is none of your business, you…you…asshole!”

“Here I am concerned for yer safety and ye slander me.” Grant stopped and shook his head. “Shame on ye, woman. A lady doesna call her man an arsehole.”

Joanna stopped crab-crawling backwards and squinted up at him, an open-mouthed scowl on her face. “What?”

Grant lowered his voice to a more amiable tone. “Ye shouldna call me an arsehole. ’Tis ill-mannered.” Máthair would be so proud of him for speakin’ to Joanna in such a patient, caring tone after the way the woman had sorely vexed him.

Joanna shook her head while waving one hand back and forth in midair. “That’s not the part I was ‘what-ing’ you about.” She held out her hand. “Help me up.”

Grant gallantly took her hand and pulled her to her feet. “What is it exactly that ye dinna understand?” He felt much better now that Joanna was back safely under his watch and appeared to be attempting to actually listen to what he was saying.

“A lady doesna call her man an arsehole,” Joanna repeated in a sadly butchered Scottish accent. “There aren’t any doubts about the asshole part, but since when are you mine?” Her tone had grown sharp and fierce, taking on a defensive note that concerned Grant no small amount.

The severity of what he was about to say tightened vise-like knots in his gut. Such a risk. He stared at Joanna, dreading what she might say. Aye. A risk worth takin’. I must ask her. “Have ye no wish t’claim me as yer own?” There. He’d said it aloud. She’d kissed him well and good. Twice. Surely, she’d ne’er kissed another in such a way.