And if not an accident, it was deliberate—a deliberate attempt to wound or kill.
Hartley crowded Eden against the tree, making a shield of his body. The forest had grown utterly silent, warning of the intruder by the very absence of sound.
He smelled the scent of man. Man—a man—who had entered his realm for a purpose he could not mistake.
“Hartley—”
He held up his hand to quiet her. “We are not alone,” he whispered harshly.
Eden’s shiver passed into his own body. “What is it? Who—”
“I don’t know. But someone is here in the wood…” Someone who knows what I am. Someone who knows enough to use Cold Iron in its purest form. “… and he meant that shot to kill.”
“But who could possibly…” She wet the lips he had kissed only moments ago. “People do not go about murdering other people with arrows. We have no poachers at Hartsmere—not that I’ve ever heard. Who could wish to kill either of us?”
Considering how close she had been to death, her voice was remarkably steady and her questions perfectly sensible. He felt behind him, reaching for any part of her he could touch, as if to reassure himself that she was unharmed. Her fingers found his hand and clutched it tightly.
Had his head been a fraction of an inch to the right, that arrow would have pierced his neck. And the poison of Iron would have killed him more surely than the wound itself. But had it struck Eden, she, too, would have died just as surely.
He wanted to bellow and paw the earth and charge off to hunt down the unknown enemy who had endangered his woman because of him. He locked his knees to battle the impulse and gritted his teeth against the pain in his forehead.
The man had already fled; he was sure of it. If the hunter knew Hartley’s nature, he would not linger once he had failed in his mission. Hartley was too distracted to summon help from the forest creatures, at least until Eden was safe.
But as long as the enemy remained within the dale, Hartley could find him. And discover his purpose.
“You must go back to the house at once,” he said, turning to her. “I will accompany you as far as the garden wall.”
She frowned at him, all the softness of their loving gone from her eyes. “And then? Do you intend to seek this person? Why are you so sure that he meant to—”
“I know.”
“Even if what you say is true, and someone wishes to kill us”—she shook her head in disbelief—”surely this is a matter for the constable. I shall—”
“No.” He took her arms and forced her to look at him. “Do as I say, Eden. Go back to the house and remain there. Speak of this to no one. Do not let Donal leave the house for any reason. When it is safe, I will tell you.”
“Donal?” Her body grew rigid. “Is he in danger?”
“That is what I intend to learn.”
“By placing yourself in danger as well? This person must be a madman.” She twisted her arms so that she could grip his. “Please, Hartley. Do not risk your life.”
He swallowed the sudden thickness in his throat. “I promise you that I will come to no harm.”
“You know more of this than you are telling me. Hartley, is it something from your past? Have you enemies?”
His laugh remained safely within his chest. “I cannot speak of it now.” Without further warning, he picked her up and began to run toward the edge of the wood.
“I can walk,” Eden protested.
“Not fast enough.” He increased his pace, flying over obstacles and through impenetrable thickets. If Eden was afraid of this precipitous flight or wondered at his ability to move so swiftly in the dark, she did not reveal it. She merely clung to his neck and let him keep his breath for the run.
At the edge of the wood, where moonlight made a silver ocean of the sloping pasture, the hunter tried again. This time the arrow went wide and buried itself in the tall summer grass. Eden gasped. Hartley never paused, but leaped the rock wall and hurtled down the fell to the park and then to the border of the garden.