'To where? Your home? He's doubtless already in France.'
She paced and he wondered how many soles she went through in a year. Didn't matter—he would always encourage it. 'Do you have relatives in France?'
Shaking her head, she said, 'No, my mother's family is in Spain, in Castile.'
'Any friends or connections?'
Her brows were drawn. 'There are only two places in France that I have connections to and both are near Paris.'
'Which are?'
She answered absently, 'My mother's grave and my old school.'
Wait…. 'Your mother does no' rest on your family's land?' He tried to read her expression, but she appeared deep in thought. Why the hell wouldn't she? And if not there, then at least in Spain?
'We could send a message to The Vines!' she continued as if she hadn't heard him. 'He'll check for information there.'
'We'll see.'
'I'm not going anywhere until you promise.'
'Fine, promised,' he grated. 'Now go get in the coach.'
'Coach? But the Rechazados will catch up.'
'I doona want you riding anymore. And if it rains, we'd have to stop then anyway.'
'I will not slow us down.'
'Anna,' he began in a warning tone, 'the coach, or I'll take my kiss and I'll take it back in the bed.'
She must have believed him, because she glowered at him, but only while sashaying to stand beside the coach.
When Groot brought out their things, Court tossed the bags to the coachman, then set about loading the weapons that Hugh and Ethan had unknowingly paid for this morning. He couldn't resist running a hand over his new rifle, near lovingly. A repeating rifle, five shots in one loading—he'd heard tales of them coming in the future, tales in the same vein as those of the beast of Loch Ness, but he'd never seen one. This rifle meant dead Rechazados.
Once they were set and Groot had returned inside, she mumbled, 'I still say we should ride.'
'Anna, you're no' as strong as you think.'
'No, I'm not,' she said, her chin at a stubborn angle. 'Every time I conclude how strong I am, I surprise myself. I continue to exceed my conclusions, so I must be stronger than I think.'
She surprised him, too. Constantly. Like now, when after her rousing statement about her growing strength, the prim little lady stood outside the coach's door, directly beside the folding step, waiting for him to assist her in. She didn't even realize she should be making a show of helping herself inside, making a gesture of independence.
His eyes narrowed. Or perhaps she did realize it and wanted all things her way.
As he strode toward her—and how could he not when she put her arms out to him?—he thought about the paradox. All Court knew was that a woman who peered at her nails infinite times in a day should not know how to hide a rock in her skirt to pummel the unwitting Scot.
Her incongruent actions went against all that was right and governable in the laws of nature.
He shook his head hard, then handed her in, growling under his breath, 'Fascinatin' woman.'
Chapter Nineteen
'Isn't the countryside lovely?' Annalía asked as she gazed out over a valley in Burgundy. The land was bedecked with patchwork fields of sunflowers and vineyards, and she smelled damp earth. When the sun came out from behind white clouds, a breeze blew, but swayed only the squares of towering blooms. And she couldn't stop smiling.
'Lovely,' he agreed though he'd never looked away from her. He'd been watching her closely ever since her… indiscretion four nights ago, though Annalía wished he wouldn't read too much into her actions. She'd simply been reacting to the traumatic events of the day, and there'd been imbibing once more, but he acted as though something had changed between them other than the fact that she no longer detested him.
To be honest, she didn't even think she could manage to dislike him anymore. She'd seemed to grow used to him, becoming more comfortable around his size, becoming more aware when his sharp words were like teasing.
And she suspected that the impulses to be good to her and even possibly gentler with her were within him. Unfortunately, she also suspected that he didn't know quite what to do with those impulses.
She could nearly think of them as uneasy allies, except for the fact that his help would come at a price. Her knight slayed no dragons without a payment, one that he hadn't yet demanded.
As they rode through the first town in the valley, the bright colors of the homes struck her, and she thought she heard music. When she tried to work her coach window open, he quickly reached across her to shove it down with ridiculous ease. It was a gesture a Castilian gentleman might make. Except for the total destruction of the window rails.
With the breeze blowing in, she could hear the music carried along, could hear it even over the horses' hooves clacking on cobblestone. 'I want to stay here tonight.'
'There are hours until dark. We need to get farther on.'
Each night he would take a room for her, just long enough for her to rest and change her bandage or get a bath and for Coachy to sleep on his bench. Making up for time lost to daily morning storms, MacCarrick pushed them well into the night and then had them setting out before dawn, though she never saw him sleeping.
She thought the only reason he'd stopped at all was because he didn't want her to get too exhausted. So she sighed wearily. 'I just felt…faint,' she lied. 'From the arduous pace you've been keeping.'
He gave her an irritated look. 'You doona feel faint or I'd know it. Do you want to stay here so badly that you'd lie to me?'
She scrunched her lips. 'Well, yes.'
He scowled. A minute later, he called out new directions.
She gave him her most winning smile, which made him scowl deeper, but she didn't care. She felt the sun on her face and realized she was…happy, genuinely happy, and it startled her.
Her brother was not only alive, but he was free as well, which was a gift beyond measure. The man with her, whom she'd suspected of awful things, hadn't done them and was actually behaving for the most part like a gentleman instead of a Scot.
Was life perfect? No, she still didn't know what to do with the Highlander during those times when he did not act the gentleman, and she still feared the Rechazados. On the outside, she'd acted unconcerned about the attacks, but in reality they'd terrified her. That fear was part of why she wanted to revel today.
They passed a group of giggling young women strolling along the street with their baskets swinging and their pied skirts swaying, and a thought struck her. 'I want clothes.'
'What?'
'I need clothes,' she amended. 'Mine are all gowns, except for my one decent dress, but even though it's been repaired it still reminds me of when I was shot.'
Did he wince at that word? 'How do you plan to pay for them?'
'You must buy them for me.' They would be simple in a village like this, but she didn't care.
'And I would do that because…'
'You said you'd keep me safe. That was our bargain. Well, look at the clothing here. See those girls. Their garments move—I'd be able to move more easily.'
'You're trying to convince me that new clothes equate to safety?' He looked at her as if he'd never understand her.
'Yes. How am I doing?'
'No' too well. But the way your mind works is intriguing.'
