CAITHREN SET down the candle and shook Jason’s shoulder. “Wake up.”
“What?” He struggled up, then fell back to the pillows. “It’s the middle of the night,” he complained, blinking in the near-darkness. “The birds haven’t even started their chorus yet.” He rubbed his eyes, then focused on her. “You’re already dressed?”
“You said you wanted to leave at first dawn.” She turned away and reached for her shoes so she wouldn’t have to look at him.
She could hardly live with her own ashamed thoughts, let alone what Jason must think of her. She’d made such a fool of herself. She’d acted like a girl of low morals and even lower dignity.
Impulsive, that’s what she was—Cameron’s teasing had proved right on the mark. She only wondered how she’d made it to her seventeenth year before thoroughly disgracing herself. She had to learn some self-control.
She wanted to be outdoors, in front of Jason on his horse, where he wouldn’t be able to see her face and she wouldn’t be able to see his. She wished more than ever that he’d obtained a second horse, because she suspected sitting so close to him would be nearly as agonizing as looking at him.
He was falling back asleep.
She shook him again. “You said this town made you uneasy.” Thank heavens she had a viable excuse to wake him and leave while it was still dark. “Do you wish to overtake the Gothard brothers, or nay? We haven’t any time to waste.”
“All right. Give me a minute.” With a groan, he rose from the bed.
She looked away as he changed his shirt.
While he readied himself, she parted her hair and hurried it into two plaits, tying the ends with the green ribbon he’d bought her at the fair. Thankful that her own clothes were dry, she folded the red dress and chemise and packed them away.
“Make haste,” she said.
“What’s going on here?” he mumbled, tugging on his second boot.
He was going to keep at her unless she managed to put this behind her. She gathered herself together. “About last evening,” she said to the floor, “do you reckon we can just forget it happened?”
“Nothing happened.” He shoved yesterday’s shirt into his portmanteau.
She pulled it back out to fold it. “Jase—”
“I’ve forgotten it already. I lack the sleep to think straight. I scarcely remember my name, let alone anything else.” He lifted the portmanteau and opened the door. She followed him out, feeling weak with gratitude. His brusque pardon had been exactly calculated to avoid further embarrassment for them both.
On the way from the inn he peeked wistfully into the dining room, but it was unattended and pitch-black. “The minute the sun comes up, we’re stopping for food.”
“Far be it for me to deny your stomach.”
He handed her the room key, dug in his pouch for some coins, and slapped them into her hand. “Leave these on the counter, will you? I’ll ready Chiron. No sense ruining the stable lad’s sleep, too.”
With a theatric sigh, he headed for the stables.