EXCERPT from WILD ROSE by Sherrie Hansen
“Ian MacCraig. St. Conan’s vicar.” The man nodded at a stone cottage with
windows rimmed in tiny stones. It was mostly overgrown with creepers. She
had assumed it was unoccupied.
She gave her hand, took his, and was surprised by his warmth. “Rose
Wilson.” Her hands had been perpetually cold ever since Robert had died.
The only reason she’d come to meet Digby in the first place was to get
warm. But holding hands with Digby didnae even compare to the heat this
man radiated. “I’m nae from Lochawe. Just up for the day from Glasgow.”
She turned just enough to get the sun out of her eyes and looked up into
his face. And started to melt. Warm times ten. Honest, intelligent eyes,
longish hair the color of butterscotch. Wide shoulders perfect for
shielding a companion. A genuine, concerned smile tinged with the
slightest whisper of what? Guilt? Her mind flipped back a page. Forgive
him for what? For startling her? For intruding on her reverie? For being
concerned enough to acknowledge her presence? To see if she was in need of
someone to talk to?
He had such a beautiful aura aboot him. So serene. So utterly masculine.
She felt like she was in a dream, or starring in a film. She resisted the
urge to pinch herself. The vicars she knew were old and gray – most, gone
completely bald. This vicar – Ian – didnae fit any of the pastoral images
she held in her mind.
Pastor Ian’s eyes blinked wide open a split second before she felt a
movement to her left. A stream of men streaked towards them, guns drawn.
She could see them out of the corner of her eye. What the devil was going
on?
In the moment it took to comprehend that they were slowly being surrounded
by armed constables, her mind, ever agile, jumped to the conclusion that
Ian must be a convict, recently escaped. Oh – my – God. Nae doubt “Ian”
had killed the real vicar while he slept. It would have been a simple
matter from there to don the poor gent’s clothes. He was probably planning
to take her as a hostage so he could escape across the border to England,
make his exit on a ferry, and disappear on the mainland. It was the only
explanation she could fathom.
That was when she realized he was still holding her hand, smiling at her
with all the sincerity in the world. The man certainly didnae look like a
convict. Perhaps he’d come to St. Conan’s for sanctuary.
“Step away from the vicar.” A voice boomed through a megaphone.
She looked at Ian and dropped his hand, fully expecting the constables to
rush him once she’d safely backed away.
Instead, two strong arms wrenched her from behind, pulled her hands behind
her back and slapped on a set of cuffs.
“What on earth?” she said, nearly toppling over from the shock of her
capture.
Ian looked even more apologetic that he had before, with a little relief
mixed in. Forgive him for what? For this? Had he called the police on her?
“I’ve done nothing wrong,” she cried. “I’m nae sure what’s going on here,
but there must be some mistake. I’m Rosalie Wilson from Glasgow,” she
tried to explain when she wasnae struggling to stay on her feet, bucking
this way and that as they pulled her over the rough terrain.
“She had nothing to do with the actual theft,” the vicar was saying,
following close at her side. “She was already gone when her man stole the
artifacts.”
Her man? Digby? What were they talking aboot? Digby wouldnae...
“Ye said she was on the tape,” the constable said.
“The earlier part, when they were...” the vicar stammered.
The man holding her cuffs snickered.
Oh, God. They couldnae have a tape of her and Digby. Could they?
“Do ye want us to call ye a solicitor?”
“No,” she said, sure of that at least. If Robert’s barristers ever found
out, or his sons, or the press...
Oh, God. How mortifying! How could she have? She’d risked Robert’s good
name, his reputation, and his millions, and for what? To feel a man’s
touch for a mere five minutes?
Amazon Buy Link:
https://www.amazon.com/Wild-Rose-Wildflowers-Scotland-Book-ebook/dp/B00CRGA4F6/ref=sr_1_5?keywords=Sherrie+Hansen&qid=1561652901&s=digital-text&sr=1-5
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