She shoved the cape in the saddlebag the moment McAlistair returned. She was going to bury the filthy thing at the very first opportunity. No doubt, it would be more satisfying—it would certainly be less work—to burn it, but heaven knew what sort of vapors the thing would give off.
For now, Evie was relieved just to have it out of sight and away from her nose.
The hour was much too early for her taste, and her aching body resisted both the climb into the saddle and the soft jolting as the horses moved forward into the street. But having escaped another encounter with the hideous cape was sufficient to warrant a measure of optimism for the coming day.
The storm had passed, leaving behind cool air and soft ground…well, soft once they left the confines of the soggy yard. The sun had yet to show itself, but a glow from the horizon had chased away the complete darkness of night. In the dim light, Evie could make out the gray shapes of shops and homes lining the street. A few windows flickered with candlelight, but for the most part, the town remained asleep.
With the inn nearer the edge of town than the center, it took no more than a quarter hour for houses to give way to farms, and soon those farms gave way to open fields of uncultivated land.
McAlistair led them off the road into one such field just as the sun broke over the horizon. With a wistful sigh, Evie twisted in her saddle for one last look at the road. It would be the last she saw of civilization for a while.
By midmorning, the weather had gone from cool to muggy. Heated by the sun and humid from the previous night’s downpour, the air felt heavy and close, with the promise of becoming more uncomfortable as the day progressed.
Evie finished the apple McAlistair had tossed to her earlier—she was happy to say she’d only bobbled it once—and looked to the stream they’d been following since leaving town.
It wound through the land like a wide ribbon, twisting and curving, flowing in and out of view. She threw the apple core for the birds and watched as the stream disappeared into a narrow stand of trees that lined the water on either side. It would reappear, she knew, somewhere in the next mile or two.
And she’d be longing for a dip in it before the day was over.
She wondered if McAlistair would be agreeable to the idea. It was impossible to know, as he’d made it impossible to carry on any sort of conversation. He’d spent no more than five minutes of the last five hours within speaking distance, and those only in ten-second increments. And during those brief interludes, his dark eyes seemed to be constantly scanning the horizon, peering at every rock or shrub large enough to cast a shadow, looking intently at every feature of the landscape, every mark in the dirt. Everything, it seemed to Evie, except her. Even when they’d stopped so she could rest her leg, McAlistair had left her to go prowling about. He rarely went out of sight and was almost never more than fifty yards away, but unless she cared to shout, conversation was once again out of the question.
She was giving serious thought to following him on his little excursions—just to see what he would do, really—when her horse stumbled suddenly, jostling Evie in the saddle. It took only a few steps for the mare to right herself again, but when she moved forward it was with an uneven gait.
“Well, look at us,” Evie murmured, pulling the limping horse to a halt. “We’re a matched set.”
Chuckling a little at her silly joke, she swung her leg over and climbed down.
She’d barely righted her skirts before McAlistair had galloped to her side and dismounted. “Evie?”
“Thrown a shoe, I think,” she informed him and bent down to gently coax the mare into lifting her front leg. The hoof was a little ragged where the nails had pulled loose, but it was nothing a good trimming couldn’t remedy.
“No injury,” McAlistair murmured, taking a quick peek over her shoulder.
“Mmm. Just a bit tender, aren’t you?” she crooned to the mare, setting the hoof down. “I would be too, if I had to walk without one of my shoes. Not to worry, sweet…” Her voice trailed off. “I don’t know her name.”
“Sorry?”
She turned to look at McAlistair. “The horse’s name. I’ve been riding her for days and haven’t bothered to learn her name.”
“That troubles you?”
“Yes, it seems…” She almost said it seemed rude, but feared he would laugh. “It seems as if I should know.”
He nodded in quiet understanding and took the reins. “It’s Rose.”
“Rose?” She felt herself smile. “That’s my middle name. Well, one of them.”
His eyes shifted to something over her shoulder. “Is it?”
“Yes. The other is Elizabeth.” She ran a hand down Rose’s withers and nodded toward McAlistair’s mount. “And what is his name?”
“I don’t know. He’s Hunter’s.”
“Oh.” She shrugged, a little disappointed, and turned back to murmur to Rose. “What are we to do with you, then?”
“Replace the shoe,” McAlistair suggested.
“Yes, thank you,” she drawled with a half smile. “Where?”
“There’s a village of sorts, not far.” He tied the mare’s reins to the gelding. “You’ll need to hide your face.
“I am not, absolutely not, putting on that awful cloak—” She broke off when he pulled something dark and flowing from his saddlebag and handed it to her. “Oh.”
It was a wool hooded cape as well, but it was a world apart from the ill-fitting green monstrosity. This one was rich brown, lightweight, soft, and clean.
She fingered the material. “Where did you get this?”
“Randswith. With the supplies.”
“Oh, you should have said something.” She reached into one of her own bags for her coin purse. “I owe you—”
“Keep your money.”
She stopped her search to look at him. “But it’s very fine. It must have cost—”
“Keep it.”
She felt her brows go up at his stern tone. “It isn’t proper for a lady to accept articles of clothing from a gentleman.”
“Do you care?”
“Not particularly, not under the circumstances.” And if it bothered him to take her money, she wasn’t going to press the issue. Besides, it probably wasn’t his money, was it? He was a hermit, or had been, and hermits weren’t exactly known for their financial independence. Likely as not, Whit had given him funds before they’d left Haldon. She flung the cape over her shoulders. “I’ll just say thank you, then. It was very thoughtful. And it feels like heaven, even without comparison to the last.”
He gave a short nod, which she interpreted as “you’re welcome,” then swung up on his horse and held out his hand.
She stared at it. “Er…”
“Don’t you need help?”
“Help?” She looked from his hand to his face. “With what?”
“Getting on the horse. Or were you planning on walking?”
She was, actually—or had been. It was simply what one did when one’s horse came up lame. “You said it wasn’t far.”
“It’s not, on horseback. Four miles.”
“Oh.” She let him pull her up behind him.
Thirteen
Evie found sharing a saddle with McAlistair a strange and wonderful experience. True, she felt a trifle insecure without the reins in her hands. And it bothered her a little that she wasn’t able to see where they were going unless she leaned around him for a peek. But the sheer proximity to McAlistair’s body lent an intimacy she found positively thrilling. Her knees bumped his legs, and her hands gripped the material of his coat at his hips. She’d considered wrapping her arms around his waist, but hadn’t been able to work up the nerve. That would have put her snugly up against him, her front pressed firmly to his back, perhaps with her cheek against his shoulder. It was an appealing thought, really, and it was only a difference of inches from where she was now. But as they were traveling at a leisurely walk—eliminating safety as an excuse for her conduct—those inches marke
d the line between agreeably exciting and dangerously bold.
Bold wasn’t such a terrible thing, but dangerously bold very well could be.
McAlistair turned his head to speak over his shoulder. “Nearly there.”
She leaned around him and caught the faint outline of chimney smoke rising from beyond a distant roll in the land.
“Pull your hood up before we arrive,” McAlistair ordered. “Keep your face hidden, and don’t speak.”
She sat back with a roll of her eyes. “Yes. Yes.”
“I’ll have your word on this, Evie.”
“I won’t give it,” she replied in an easy tone.
He stopped the horse abruptly and shifted in the saddle to stare at her. As it was a look of surprise rather than his usual cool countenance, Evie decided not to take offense.
She shrugged. “Promises made without forethought are too easily broken.”
“Very well.”
To her own surprise, he turned back around without another word. And then, to her complete bafflement, he simply sat there, staring ahead, saying nothing, and moving not an inch.
“What are we doing?” she inquired after a moment.
“Waiting for you to think.”
She ran her tongue across her teeth, fighting a smile. “And if, after serious consideration, I should still refuse to promise?”
“We’ll wait for you to think again.”
“That’s what I thought.” She laughed. She couldn’t help it. “McAlistair, this is absurd.”
He turned around again. “I’ll have your word.”
“I don’t want to give it. There are too many variables, too many reasons I might need to break it.”
“Such as?”
A reasonable question. Blast. “What if…what if I should see a crazed bull charging?”
“Is this a magical bull only you can see?”
“I…” What sort of question was that? “Well, it needn’t be magical—”
“How else would I fail to notice a hundred-stone animal running straight for us?”
“A poor example,” she conceded. “What if I should see a suspicious character lurking about in town, and—”
“Nudge me and point.”
A reasonable solution. Damn. “Very well, what if…what if…”
McAlistair waited with an air of great patience while she wracked her brain for possibilities. To her frustration, she couldn’t come up with a single situation that couldn’t be resolved with a nudge and a point.
“Done thinking?” McAlistair asked after a time.
She scowled at him.
“Promise, Evie.”
She couldn’t see a way around it. Not unless she was content to spend the remainder of her life sitting on a horse with McAlistair in the middle of nowhere.
Not that she found sharing a horse with McAlistair unpleasant; it was the rest of her life in the middle of nowhere that—
“Evie.”
“Fine.” She heaved a sigh. “I promise.”
“Not a word. Not a peep.”
Although it amused her to hear McAlistair make use of the word “peep,” amusement was overshadowed by the implied insult.
She raised her brows. “You would insist on my word in one breath and impugn its worth in the next?”
He inclined his head. “Point taken.”
She sniffed rather regally. It was a bit much, but after losing the argument, she was inclined to make the most of what small victory she could claim.
McAlistair appeared singularly unimpressed. “Hop down.”
She blinked at him. “Hop down?”
“You can’t ride into town this way.”
She glanced down at herself and knew he was right. Her skirt was up past her knees again. “I’d stopped noticing sometime yesterday,” she said absently before looking to him. “Shall I walk?”
He shook his head and helped her off the horse. “Sidesaddle.”
She peered up at him. “How am I to manage that?”
He scooted back a little and patted the saddle in front of him.
Evie felt her eyes grow round. His lap? He wanted her to ride in his lap?
“Um…”
“If you prefer, I can walk.”
“No.” She swallowed and reached out her hand. It wouldn’t be fair to make the man walk the next two miles because she was feeling priggish all of a sudden. Hadn’t she just been wishing for an excuse to be closer to him? “No, this is fine.”
Rather than take her hand, he leaned down, turned her around, wrapped an arm around her, and lifted her into the saddle as if she weighed nothing at all.
Good heavens.
Evie had only a moment to marvel at his remarkable strength and balance before she found herself settled on the horse, half on the saddle and half on his legs. Then she simply marveled at how remarkably uncomfortable that position was.
She shifted in an attempt to escape the edge of the saddle digging into her leg. Shifted again to keep her feet from kicking the horse’s shoulder. “This isn’t at all how Kate’s novels describe it.”
“Beg your pardon?”
She squirmed a little to straighten out her skirts where they were bunched under her seat. “Kate. She has a penchant for torrid novels. They always describe sharing a saddle as a romantic and adventurous endeavor.” She squirmed again. “Adventurous, I’ll give them.”
McAlistair wrapped his hands over her hips, lifted her up, shifted himself, and set her back down. This time she was settled against his chest and almost entirely on his lap.
“Better?”
She had to swallow past a dry throat. “Yes.”
It was better. It was also suddenly every bit as romantic as Kate’s novels had led her to believe.
Or perhaps romantic wasn’t the right word. Perhaps wicked was.
She was, in a very real sense, on top of the man. The heat of him came through her gown to warm her skin. The smell of him, both familiar and exotic to her now, teased her nose, and she had the oddest urge to turn her face into his shirt and breathe him in. The taut muscles of his thighs shifted beneath her with the movement of the horse, making her heart race. He seemed to wrap himself around her as he shortened the reins, his broad shoulders looming over her. The hard expanse of his chest pressed into her side. And his arms, lean and strong, brushed against her breasts, sending a shiver of pleasure along her spine.
She felt embraced, surrounded, protected. And decidedly overheated.
“Not far, is it?” she asked in an attempt to break the spell. Her voice came out squeaky, but that couldn’t be helped. She found it amazing she was able to speak at all.
“Not far,” he replied gruffly.
Though she’d known the answer already, she nodded, stared resolutely ahead, and made a mental note to be more careful with what she wished for in the future.
The village consisted of no more than a half dozen huts very loosely grouped together around what she assumed was meant to be the town center, but was really little more than a large grassy field.
Evie tugged at the hood of her cape. “How did you know of this place?”
“Map. Keep your face hidden.”
“It is hidden. This is on a map?”
“Mr. Hunter’s map. No more talking.”
As they had just reached the first hut, and because she had no intention of breaking her promise, Evie gave her hood another tug and fell silent.
The blacksmith’s was easily located. The single-story, thatched-roof cottage sat at the end of a large dirt drive, a thick plume of smoke issuing from a workshop in back.
McAlistair brought the horses to a stop and dismounted before reaching up to grasp Evie around the waist and lifting her to the ground.
He leaned down to whisper, “How is your leg?”
Knowing full well he couldn’t see her expression while her head was down, she raised her brows at the question. Did he expect her to break her promise so soon?
She shook her head
at him.
Whether he took that to mean it wasn’t bothering her or she wasn’t going to answer, she couldn’t say. He simply took her gently by the arm and led her to a small bench under the single tree in the yard.
“Stay here,” he ordered as she took a seat. “I’ll—”
“Trouble, sir?”
The pair turned their heads as the blacksmith came around the side of the cottage. Evie took a discreet peek from under her hood, careful to keep her features hidden. He was a broad man, thicker than he was tall, with wide arms and legs, and a barrel chest covered by a leather smock. His face was red, smashed flat like a bulldog’s, and smeared with soot. If it hadn’t been for his friendly smile, Evie might have found the man’s appearance unsettling.
In a surprisingly graceful move, he bowed to McAlistair. “Mr. Thomas, at your service.”
McAlistair returned the greeting and spoke in a hearty, even cheery voice entirely unlike his own. “Mr. Thomas, a pleasure. I am Mr. Black. My sister, Miss Black. On our way to visit our dear mother to the east. Bit of the gout, don’t you know. Lord knows she’ll be well by the time we make it, but you can’t say no to your own mother, can you? Thought we’d make it in a day, but Lottie’s—that is, Miss Black’s—horse threw a shoe, not two miles back. Damnedest thing.”
Mr. Thomas cocked his head at Evie. “All right, then, miss? Weren’t hurt, were you?”
She wouldn’t have been able to answer even if she hadn’t made the promise to keep silent. Under the cover of her hood, she was gaping at McAlistair. Where the devil had this jolly idiot come from?
“A mite shy, my sister,” McAlistair informed Mr. Thomas with a grin. “Right as rain, though. She’ll be happy enough to sit a spell on the bench, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Sit as long as you like,” Mr. Thomas told her kindly.
He turned to Rose, ran a gentle hand down her foreleg, and examined her hoof. “Nothing damaged,” he pronounced, straightening. “Bring her along, then. We’ll fix this lovely lady up.” He looked to Evie again. “If you see my apprentice about—tall young man with a long nose—point him my way, would you, miss? Boy’s forever disappearing when there’s work to be had.”
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