While the Duke Was Sleeping (The Rogue Files #1)(72)

Poppy sighed in exasperation. “Bry,” she said in warning. “I feel as though I need to deposit you in the nearest convent.”

“Go. Lecture me later. Catch up with him before he’s gone.”

Poppy nodded slowly as her sister’s advice stole over her and took root. She had nothing to lose. If she didn’t do something, Struan would be out of her life forever. She’d lose him anyway. “Very well.” She glanced at her sister in concern. “You will be well here?” She wagged a finger in warning. “Do not leave this room. I’ll be back shortly—”

“Go.” Bryony pointed to the door with a huff of breath. “I’ll be fine.”

Nodding decisively, Poppy snatched up her cloak and hurried out into the hall, down the stairs and outside in the direction she had seen him striding.

The streets were crowded with people bustling about, intent on their shopping. A long line stretched outside the butcher’s shop. Apparently everyone was attempting to buy provisions for their Christmas day feast. She closed her eyes in a pained blink. She and Bryony would be alone Christmas morning.

Looking both ways, she stepped out onto the street to go around the winding line of people and dodged a single rider. The gentleman scowled down at her from his mount and tossed out a terse, ungentlemanly reprimand. She supposed, dressed once again in her shabby garments, she looked to be a female of no account or worth.

Ignoring him, she narrowed her gaze ahead to the red-bricked inn at the end of the lane. It was a far more prosperous-looking establishment than the one she and Bryony had let for the night, well out of their price range. Her limited purse required they stay at the village’s far more meager inn.

A delicious aroma of roasting meat drifted out the front door and carried across the distance as someone passed through it. Her stomach grumbled, reminding her that she had not yet eaten for the day. Perhaps Struan was staying at this establishment? The smells were certainly an enticement and far better than anything she had smelled in the kitchens where they were taking lodgings.

She was about to cross the street when she spotted him emerging from the inn. He wore his great coat with the collar hiked up to ward off the worst of the frigid wind.

She froze, unable to move or speak. Someone jostled her rudely from behind and it was as though the movement served to wake her up.

Sucking in a deep breath, she waved her arm wildly. “Mr. Mackenzie! Struan! Struan!” she called.

He heard her.

He stopped and looked around. She called his name again. His gaze found her. Surprise and something else flashed across his features before his expression settled into an impassive mask. For a moment, she thought he would continue on his way and ignore her altogether. Instead he shook his head and stepped toward her, resignation in his steps. Not the most promising reaction, but at least she would see him again. Hope swelled in her chest. He would give her a chance and hear her out. A chance. She sucked in a stinging breath. A chance was all she could ask.

The snow-slickened sidewalk grew more crowded as a parade of women hefting their Christmas geese, fractious children in tow, blocked Struan from view.

She craned her neck, losing sight of him in the melee. Suddenly, a fight broke out among the children. A mother cried out and grabbed for one of the squabbling boys, swinging her enormous goose as she went. The slippery boy dodged her hand and collided into Struan, casting him out into the street and propelling his great body directly in the path of that peevish rider who nearly struck Poppy earlier. Struan backed away hastily to avoid the horse and rider, hitting on an icy patch that sent his feet flying. He landed hard on his back in a great heap. Poppy winced.

The frazzled mother called out an apology, seizing her child as she did so.

Struan regained his footing, shaking his head as though to clear it. He beat his hands against his breeches, trying to rid himself of mud and snow.

That wasn’t all she saw.

A carriage was bearing down. Fast. It was like déjà vu.

Everything dragged to a crawl as she watched its speeding approach.

The driver struggled with the reins, trying to slow the racing carriage. People standing in its path dove out of the way, but Struan wasn’t looking. In the din of the busy village it was just more noise. Struan bent to pick up a goose that had tumbled into the street with him.

Her heart dropped to her feet as she watched the carriage and horses with their steaming breath and wild eyes closing the distance, mud and snow spitting up at their hooves. Struan called something to one of the mothers, holding up that blasted goose, oblivious to the impending collision.

No. God, please, no.

Again, as before, she didn’t think, simply reacted, rushing straight into the street. Except unlike before, her chest actually constricted so much it hurt. And that would be just the beginning of her pain. She knew her life would be shattered if anything happened to this man. There was no doubt of that.

She knew because she loved him.

She loved him.

Cold washed through her. “Struan!”

His gaze lifted, eyes widening as he spotted her, and she knew she must look like a madwoman. She vaulted the last bit of space separating them, flinging her body against him. A cry escaped her as they flew through the air, clearing the carriage’s path. They slammed together on the ground. They collapsed on the other side of the street the precise moment the carriage roared past. Hard arms wrapped around her, the big body cushioning her.