SEATED BEHIND Emerald in the saddle, Jason watched her head bob as she drifted in and out of sleep. He found himself leaning close, hoping for a whiff of the flowery scent he’d already come to think of as hers. Whatever it had been—bath oil, perfume, or the like; he was certainly no expert on women’s toiletries—the rain had washed away every trace.
But plain Emerald smelled nearly as good.
He glanced at the sky, happy that the rain had let up. The road in this area was clay, normally stiff and easy to travel, but the miserable wet had made it into a path of mud. On both sides of the slushy mess, barley fields glistened green in the dwindling drizzle.
When he stood in the stirrups to relieve his stiffness, Emerald came awake with a start. He grabbed her to keep her from falling. She yawned into a dainty hand.
It certainly wasn’t a hand that looked accustomed to holding a pistol, but he supposed that was to her advantage. The less she looked like a threat, the more likely outlaws wouldn’t notice her coming after them.
“Tired, are you?” he drawled, resettling both her and himself and adjusting again to Chiron’s rhythmic sway.
“I didn’t sleep, if you’ll remember.”
“Ah. You must be sure to have a nap next time you resolve to sneak off and get yourself killed.”
“Humph. What’s it to you if I get myself killed, as long as you get to Gothard first?”
Jason heaved a sigh. “Emerald—”
“How many times must I tell you I’m not Emerald MacCallum?” She twisted around to see him. “Why won’t you believe me?”
“You tell a pretty story, but it doesn’t wash. For one thing, it hinges on you or your brother inheriting some land. Besides the fact that I cannot imagine you as a landowner”—that earned him a glare before she turned away, her chin tilting up—“you’re from Scotland. Land there isn’t owned by individuals,” he said smugly. “It’s owned by the clans.”
“A fat lot you know.” Her voice was unmistakably scornful. “I’m from the east, not the northern Highlands. Can you not tell from my accent?”
That lilting accent was muddling his brain. “You sound like a Scot to me.” He guided Chiron back to the center of the road, away from the dangerous bogs that plagued the edges. “Scots are Scots.”
Before him, her back went stiff. “Curious,” she said softly. “You don’t strike an initial impression of an uneducated fellow, yet you seem to be unaccountably lacking in knowledge.”
“And I suppose you’ve been to university?” The fact that he hadn’t rankled him. Following the Civil War, he’d spent his adolescence in exile with the king. Of all the Chase brothers, only the youngest brother, Ford, would ever have the benefit of a formal education.
“Close enough,” she said. “I read all of Adam’s books after he was booted out. Didn’t want to see them go to waste.”
“Don’t tell me they believe girls should be educated in that wilderness you call a country.”
Though he’d said the words in jest—he’d seen to it that his sister Kendra was educated—an outraged squeal came from before him. Emerald bounced, her elbow unintentionally lodging in his gut.
At least he thought it was unintentional. “Ouch!” He rubbed his ribs. “Sit still, will you?”
“Well,” she said with a huff, “I’m thinking you should buy another horse. Then you wouldn’t care how I sit. And we could go faster. The Gothard brothers are on two horses.”
“Don’t I know it,” he grumbled. His two horses.
She had a point. But though yesterday he’d planned to buy another horse, today he was having second thoughts. With another horse, Emerald would have the means to run off on her own.
Besides, her squirming aside, he rather liked having her sitting in front of him.
“This horse is faster,” he said. “Even with us riding double.”
“How can—”
“Take my word for it.” He knew those horses; they were decent stock, but not in Chiron’s class. The Gothards had started well ahead of him toward Pontefract, yet he’d beaten them there traveling wounded.
“I’m sure they’re not riding any more hours than we are,” he said, anticipating her next protest. “This road is plagued by highwaymen at night, not at all safe to travel. And their horses need the rest; they’ve been riding them for weeks.”
“They said they would ride like the dickens,” she reminded him. “They could be changing horses.”
“I’ve no fear of that. They haven’t the money to be changing horses.”
Beneath her borrowed hat, her plaits swished as she shook her head. “If you haven’t the money for another horse,” she said in a patronizing tone, “you can just say so. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
She truly had no idea who he was. He smiled to himself, glad to see his cover of a commoner was convincing. It was safer that way for them both.
“Speaking of money,” he said, “why didn’t you take some when you tried to leave? How did you expect to fend for yourself with no silver to pay your way?”
She was silent a moment. “Are you saying I should have stolen from you?”
“Some folks wouldn’t look at it as stealing.” When Chiron started up a hill, she slid back against him. Too close. “As you miss no chance to point out, it’s my fault you have no coin. It’s a dangerous world; you really need to look out for yourself.”
The road flattened, giving him relief when she drew herself straight. “Two wrongs don’t make a right.”
“Does your mother say that, too?”
“Everyone says that. You must have heard it before?”
“I’ve heard it.” Spotting a bridge up ahead, he tensed. “I’m just not certain it applies in this case.” Deliberately he drew his gaze from the bridge. “Have you ever considered there might be such a thing as being too honest?”
“Wheesht! You actually sound angry I didn’t take your money.”
“Not angry. Only concerned for you, with your habit of chasing all over England.” The sun peeked through the clouds just as the road fed onto Bridgegate. “I won’t always be here to protect you.”
“My habit of chasing all over England? I’ve never been here before. And it will be a long time before I’m tempted to come back. And I can take care of myself.”
He’d seen no evidence that was true, but he was wise enough not to argue. Stopping at the bridge’s end to wait for a cart and two mounted riders coming from the other direction, he wondered how she managed on her own. As unpleasant as this association had been, he felt he’d be signing her death warrant if he allowed her to go it alone.
Father would never have left a woman to cope by herself. Especially not a girl of just seventeen—if she truly was as young as she claimed. Though she certainly looked the part in those ridiculous twin plaits.
Just then, the sun came out. The River Idle sparkled in the new, bright light, and a brilliant rainbow arched from its center.
“Oh, the colors are lovely!” Some damp strands had escaped Emerald’s plaits, and she pushed them off the side of her face. “But rainbows bring bad luck, aye?”
“You think so?” he asked, amused.
She nodded. “I know a verse against it.”
A carriage lumbered toward them across the bridge. “By all means, chant it if it will make you feel better.”
Her chin went up. “Are you mocking me?”
“Never.” At the driver’s wave, he smiled and inclined his head. “I’m waiting to hear it.”
She cleared her throat.
“Rainbow, rainbow, haud away hame
A’ your bairns are dead but ane
And it lies sick at yon gray stane
And will be dead ere you win hame
Gang owre the Drumaw and yont the lea
And down by the side o’ yonder sea
Your bairn lies greetin’ like to die
And the big tear-drop is in his eye.”
Finished, she waited expectantly.
“What a long, bothersome charm that is,” he said. Not to mention he’d understood but half the words. “Can’t you just cross the rainbow out?”
“Cross it out?” When Chiron shifted, she knotted her fingers into his mane. “What do you mean by that?”
“Hereabouts, folk place a couple twigs on the ground in the form of a cross and lay four pebbles at the ends.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing.” She cocked her head. “Will you be doing it, then?”
“Of course not. I don’t fancy myself superstitious.” Another rider was crossing the river. “Would you like to get down and do it?”
“Nay. The verse will do well enough.”
Chiron snorted and gave an impatient toss of his head, making Emerald sway. Hearing a little whimper escape her lips, Jason steadied her. Was her ankle still paining her? She’d given no sign before now.
“Shall we cross already?” she asked.
A father and two sons were on the bridge. “I just…” There was no way to hide it—they’d be crossing many rivers. He took a deep breath. “I prefer to ride down the center of bridges.”
“Down the center?” He could hear the smile in her voice. “And you say you’re not superstitious.”
“The bridge is clear now,” he muttered and started across.
“Down the center,” she repeated with a giggle. “I’d never have thought you’d keep a ritual like that. A man who scoffs at ghosts and superstitions.”
He kept his eyes trained on the far side of the river. “I’m pleased to entertain you.”
Though her shoulders shook with mirth, she kept her counsel as they rode through the town to the square.
The marketplace bustled with commerce. Sellers hawked wheels of yellow and white cheeses while buyers haggled over fresh produce. Cattle for sale crowded a smelly pen, and farm laborers stood around, waiting to be hired. Noticing a booth filled with a mishmash of household goods, Jason thought he spotted a few garments in the mix. With any luck, a dry skirt for Emerald.
Perched along one edge of the square, Ye Olde Sun Inn was a timber-framed building with a central chimney and a narrow upper story beneath a steeply sloping roof. “Olde,” indeed. But delicious scents wafted out the open door.
“Egad, I’m hungry,” he said.
“When are you not?”
“Since I met you? Never. You’ve a disconcerting habit of keeping me from my breakfast.” As she drew breath to protest, he added, “I’ll buy us a meal and take a room for a couple of hours. You can wash off the mud and then sleep while I find you dry clothes.”
“Sleep,” she breathed, apparently placated for the moment. “Oh, a wee sleep sounds heavenly.”