An early morning ride on Curlin was just the ticket for clearing Emma’s head and building her courage to talk to Dougray.

She’d risen early to get to the stables before anyone else rose, not wanting to talk with Dougray before she knew exactly what she would say.

The gallop along the banks of the stream to the north of Linnhe Lodge fed her with joy. How could life not be filled with possibilities when you saw the beauty all around?

The rain had ceased before dawn broke and the sun was peeking out from behind the clouds. Although it was still cold, the frost on the ground had melted and the birds were singing in the trees.

She reined Curlin in and let him walk to cool down. Her mind turned to the conversation she would have with Dougray. Angus had inferred that Dougray could love again if only he’d let himself. She had never lost anyone close to her, but she could imagine the pain. Emma wondered if she’d be brave enough to love again if she’d lost her true love?

So lost in her plan of how to handle Dougray, Emma hadn’t even noticed that she was almost back at the lodge. She’d reached the orchard when a child’s scream rent the air. It was coming from just ahead, near the stream at the very edge of the lodge’s gardens. She sent Curlin racing across the ground and as she rounded a copse of small bushes her breath lodged in her throat.

Duncan was stuck on a large rock in the middle of the stream, holding a wriggling small black terrier who was barking, whether in fear or excitement she had no idea. James was screaming at Duncan not to get into the water, which was moving at a torrid pace. Little Paul was standing on the bank of the stream crying, while Scott had his back to the stream with his eyes covered.

She leapt from the saddle saying as calmly as she could, “Duncan, stay where you are. Simon run to the house and fetch his lordship. James, come here and help me. And Paul, my brave wee boy I need you to hold these for me, can you do that?”

The little boy stopped crying and she handed him her crop and hat.

“The water suddenly rose, my lady. Sooty got swept away and managed to climb on the rock and Duncan waded across to get him, but now the water is too fast and too deep to get back.”

James’s voice was filled with panic as they both noted the rising water level. It was likely a flash flood from the hills at the top of the loch. She should wait for Dougray and the men but the water was rising at such a fast rate she was worried that the boy and dog would be swept away.

She looked at her strong gelding standing patiently next to her. “Well, Curlin. Do you think you can hold me?” For once she was pleased she was so tall. She walked to the edge of the stream. “James, hold Curlin’s bridle and head and keep him still.”

She took one of the reins and tied it around her waist, anchoring her to the strong, sturdy gelding. Then she eased herself over the bank and into the freezing water. The cold made her take a deep breath, and the force of the current made it difficult to stand as it tugged at her riding skirt. Carefully, she took two steps toward the rock. The bottom was muddy and her large feet sank into it, which, thankfully, helped anchor her.

“Pass me Sooty.” Duncan reached out and the wet smelly bundle flew into her arms. She had to try and calm the dog before turning to throw, or pass, Sooty to James on the bank. “Paul, hold onto him so he doesn’t go in again.” Emma was scared the dog would drown if it fell in and got swept away—something she was hoping would not happen to her or Duncan.

The current was getting stronger and she could barely feel her legs. The water felt straight off a glacier.

She turned back for Duncan. The water was at Duncan’s knees where he stood on the rock and almost to Emma’s breasts.

He shook his head. “Go back, my lady. I’m too heavy and the waters rising too quickly.”

“Too quickly for you to argue. Now hop on my back, Curlin will hold us. NOW.”

Duncan did as she commanded, and she waded back to the bank where James pulled Duncan from the water.

That was when she realized her mistake. The water was now up to her armpits. And her skirt was so wet and heavy she didn’t have the strength to climb up the ever-diminishing piece of bank. The boys tried to pull her, but they were not strong enough.

“James, get Curlin to walk backwards, see if he can take my weight and pull me out.” She prayed the sturdy leather of the reins held her weight.

She didn’t want to panic the boys—or herself—but her legs were now so cold she could barely stand against the current. She gripped the dirt on the bank, one lot of roots in particular, hard. If she went under she could see herself taking Curlin with her, and that gave her the push to kick hard to wiggle up the bank.

To her relief, her idea worked. Curlin was slowly pulling her out of the water. She got her chest and arms on the bank and then Duncan and James were there pulling her out and up onto the safety of the grass.

She was so cold now her teeth were chattering and she couldn’t move. She lay on the bank like a large drowned cow. She didn’t even hear Dougray arriving.

* * *

“Christ almighty.” Dougray’s hands were shaking as he undid the reins wrapped round her waist, and took off his jacket to wrap around Emma before he scooped her into his arms. “What the blazes were you thinking, you could have been . . .” He briefly closed his eyes, couldn’t finish the words. She could have drowned. Images of Francesca lying cold and lifeless in his arms after he’d pulled her from the loch flashed behind his eyelids.

Not again. Never again.

Pain sliced through his gut and he almost stumbled. Emma was heavy, a tall woman with her clothes full of water.

“The b-o-o-y-s”-she tried to speak.

“Angus and Thornton have the boys, and the bloody dog.”

Anger locked the muscles in his throat, which was just as well as he wanted to rant and rave at her for risking her life like that.

By the time he had carried her to her room, Mrs. Jones had a hot bath steaming and ready. He handed her into his housekeeper’s and her lady’s maid’s care, and backed out of the room.

He made his way to his study and poured himself a huge whisky. He didn’t need to turn around to know who was standing in the doorway.

“She’s not Francesca. She’s strong. And clever. If she hadn’t done what she did, Duncan might well be dead. The water was well over the stone by the time we got there.”

Spots swam in front of his eyes. He could not speak. He’d almost convinced himself that he could let himself love Emma. But Christ, he’d almost lost her today. What was it about this lodge that led to such accidents?

Angus stalked into the room and took the whisky decanter out of his hand. “She’s alive. Don’t go into a fit of despair.”

He tried to get the decanter back off his cousin. This time she’d survived but what if . . .

“You must have pretty strong feelings for Emma if you’re reacting like this.”

Angus’s words drew him up short and he sank onto the chair by his desk. “I don’t want to care for her—to—to love her.” But God help him he did.

How could he not? She was the most amazing woman he’d ever met and if he’d not been so young and stupid and had not confused lust and attraction with love, he would probably have come home from Italy eight years ago a single man and fallen madly in love with her.

“Thank Christ! I was beginning to think your heart had shriveled up and died when Francesca did.”

“I should never have married Francesca and brought her here.” He took a long swig of whisky. “It’s my fault she died.”

His cousin did not contradict him. “She wasn’t suited to the wilds of Scotland that’s true. But you did not kill her. It was a dreadful accident. You weren’t to know she’d go swimming in the loch on her own. All Scotsmen know not to do that, but she wasn’t born here.”

“I’d warned her but she was so angry that I’d not come with her . . .” Guilt swamped him again. “You know what hurts the most is the sudden realization that hit me when I met Emma. It wasn’t my love for Francesca that stopped me moving on. I know now it’s my guilt. I feel guilty about having taken her from Italy, from everyone and everything she knew, and she died. If I’d never married her she might well be alive with a dozen children.”

“Guilt can eat a man up until he’s a shallow husk. And that would be a waste. Most of all it would hurt Emma. She loves you. So let go of your needless guilt and don’t let her, or you, live a wasted life.”

“Emma is an extraordinary woman. Who would have thought of tying yourself to a horse?”

“Aye, she’s a clever lass who has more courage than the two of us put together. She came here and risked hurt, humiliation, and scandal because she is not afraid to go after what she wants.”

Angus’s words were true. It shamed him to think of himself as a coward. “I never thought I’d find someone who would affect me as much as she does. I have to admit, I’m terrified of loving again, but I don’t think my heart is giving me any choice.”

Angus handed him a glass. “We can’t help who we fall in love with, believe me I know.”

He looked at his cousin, really looked. How had he not noticed the tiredness and sadness in Angus’s face? He’d probably not noticed because he was too caught up in his own sadness and problems.

“You are in love?” he asked.

Angus sank into the chair next to his and took a long slug of his whisky. “You know this is verra fine whisky if I may say so myself.”

“That it is,” he agreed.

They sat in silence, drinking the whisky until the bottle was almost empty.

“Who is the lady that has stolen your heart?” he finally asked. “You keep telling me that I should open mine again, yet you can’t seem to declare your love at all. Bloody hypocrite,” he added under his breath.

“Fiona Mackenzie.” At Dougray’s amazed look Angus repeated himself, louder this time, “I love Fiona Mackenzie.”

Dougray sat back in his chair. “Does she love you?”

The smile on Angus’s face gave him his answer.

Dougray burst out laughing. It was either that or cry. “Why the bloody hell did you not tell me? It would have saved us all a lot of, if not heartache, then headache.”

Angus ran a hand through his hair. “What could I say? Mackenzie is set on a marriage with you to save his family. And you made a vow to your father. Fiona told me she tried to be as disagreeable as possible to you, but that didn’t work.”

Dougray shook with laughter. He’d thought Fiona a shrew. “You idiot. Ian Mackenzie won’t take charity, as he calls it, from me, says it’s his pride, but I know he wants Fiona wed to me. But he’ll have no choice if I give the money to you,” he put up his hand to stop Angus’s objection, “and you marry Fiona. I shall call it a loan against the business we are setting up. This whisky is going to make you, and me, very rich men. If Smith at Glenlivet can do it, so can you.”

“Ian won’t agree. He has his sights set on an Earl for his daughter.”

Dougray slammed his glass down on the desk. “Then we shall make him agree. It looks like there will be two couples heading to Gretna Green.”

Angus swung to look at him. “Two. Lady Emma?”

His smile faded. “Not me. Thornton and Serena.”

“Let’s make it three couples then. You have no excuse not to marry for the right reasons this time, now that you’ve found a way to help the Mackenzie. Don’t let Emma’s rescue of the boys set you down a path of loneliness again.”

This time a smile broke over his lips. “I just need a few more whiskys and then, I think it’s about time I go after what I want.”

Angus smiled. “What a good idea. I’ll take some more then, too.” He held out his glass.