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wouldn’t have set her up on a blind date with a rapist.
    Would she?
    As he freed her mouth and lowered his parted lips to hers, a fresh realization struck terror in Tabitha’s heart. He wasn’t going to rape her. He was going to kiss her. Struck by a vision of this mighty warrior squatting on her chest croaking “rbbit, rbbit,” she turned her face away and gave his chest a panicked shove.
    He rolled off of her with less resistance than she expected, groaning as if in mortal agony.
    Tabitha sprang to her feet. “You were going to kiss me!”
    “I know,” he muttered, eyeing her warily. “Delirium must be setting in.”
    She rested her hands on her hips, trying to decide whether to be relieved or insulted. “You can whine and moan all you like, you bogus Beowulf, but I’m not going to feel sorry for you.” She pulled the sticky flannel from her skin, grimacing in distaste. “Why look what you’ve done! Ruined my very favorite pair of pajamas!”
    “Do forgive me. I’ll take more care where I spill my heart’s blood in the future.”
    She flinched. As he lay there propped up on his elbows in the grass, those golden eyes burning with pride over his pinched, pale mouth, she discovered to her dismay that she did feel sorry for him.
    She dropped to her knees at his side. He eyed her with sullen suspicion, but allowed her to gently pry away the hand he’d cupped protectively over his shoulder.
    “ ’Tis naught but a scratch,” he muttered.
    Tabitha winced. Something had slashed through his armor, carving an ugly furrow just above his armpit. “If that’s a scratch, I’d hate to see what you consider alaceration.” She began to tear the hem from her pajama shirt.
    He nodded toward her straining hands. “I thought that was your favorite garment.”
    “At the moment it’s my only garment,” she mumbled ruefully, using her teeth to rip free a broad strip of the flannel.
    He surprised her by cupping her throat in his hand, his grip somewhere between a caress and a threat. “I might not live to regret this if you turn out to be one of them.”
    The ruthless glitter of his eyes convinced her that this man’s enemy was not something she should ever aspire to be.
    She forced a cool smile. “You won’t live to regret it if you bleed to death either.”
    Conceding her point, he allowed her to proceed. After she’d torn another strip from her pajamas, she peeled back the soft leather shirt beneath his armor to reveal the sort of chest one couldn’t buy from a personal trainer or expensive gym. Oddly enough, the numerous nicks and scars seemed as much a part of him as the crisp whorls of dark hair that fanned across the dusky expanse. Tabitha bit her bottom lip, struggling to concentrate on the task at hand.
    As she wound the fabric around his shoulder, she glanced up to find him transfixed by her feet. He nodded toward her slippers with their bright plastic eyes and cheerfully bobbing whiskers. “What manner of creature did you kill for those?”
    This time her smile was genuine. “The dreaded polyester.” She was securing the bandage with a tasteful bow when his head snapped upright.
    “What is it?” Tabitha whispered. She heard nothing.Nothing but the eerie silence that had preceded his own arrival.
    She sincerely hoped his tense posture was simply psychotic paranoia or overwrought acting. “What is it?” she repeated. “I don’t hear anything.”
    He held up a hand for silence. Lucy crouched on the hillock, fully alert now, hackles rising. The horse tossed his head, whickering a warning. Then she heard it, far off in the distance like an echo from a nightmare.
    The thunder of hoofbeats. The baying of hounds. The excited clamor of male voices.
    The stranger grabbed her hand. “Flee, woman! I’m too weak to ride and if they find you here with me, ’twill not go well for you.”
    “If those are the same men who stabbed you, then I doubt it’ll go very well for you either,” she pointed out with