She couldn’t remember ever uttering a more blatant falsehood.
The old bawface looked dubious. “Your cousin hired me to look after you, lass, and—”
“Only so far as Pontefract. He was well aware I was getting off here, aye? My brother will hire a chaperone for the return journey.”
Though Mrs. Dochart sniffed, it was clear she had no wish to tramp over the countryside. “If you’re certain, then—”
“I’m certain.” For want of another way to end their association, Caithren executed a little curtsy. “It’s pleased I am to have met you, Mrs. Dochart, and I thank you for keeping me company.”
That lie might have topped the first one; Cait wasn’t sure. Feeling a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders, she crossed the inn’s taproom and headed out into the waning sunshine and down the road.
She hadn’t progressed ten feet when the woman’s voice shrilled into the quiet street. “Ah, Caithren, lass!”
With a sigh, Cait composed her face and turned back to the inn. “Aye, Mrs. Dochart?” The bawface stood framed in the doorway. A cracked wooden sign swung in the light wind, creaking over her head. “I told you I shall be fine.”
“But the innkeeper said east. It’s west you’re walking.”
“Oh!” Cait’s cheeks heated. “Right.”
“Nay, left.”
“Right. I mean to say, aye. Left, east.”
Reversing her direction, Cait hurried past, murmuring “Thank you” over her shoulder. She heard the woman mutter under her breath and was soon relieved to be out of earshot.
The evening was warm, and the slight breeze felt wonderful after the stuffy, confining coach. It was passably pretty country, the land green and flatter than at home. She much preferred the harsh contours of Scotland—the beautiful glens, the blues and purples of the wooded mountains, the little lochs and streams and waterfalls everywhere. But she didn’t have to live here, after all. She could enjoy the land for what beauty could be found.
Her heart sang to be free at last, on her way to meet Adam and perhaps rest a few days, depending on the returning public coach’s schedule. In two weeks’ time she’d be back at Leslie, signed papers in hand, giving Cameron the tongue-lashing he deserved for saddling her with that irritating old woman.
Glancing down, she spotted the distinctive red-green leaves of meadow rue poking from the edge of a ditch. With a gasp of delight, she knelt to pick some, wrinkling her nose at the strong, unpleasant scent. Bruised and applied, it was good to heal sores and difficult to find near home. Pleased, she tucked the meadow rue into her pocket and continued on her way.
She rubbed a hand across her forehead and tried not to think about how tired she was. Instead she focused on the hours ahead. Following what promised to be her first decent meal in weeks, tonight she’d luxuriate in a big tub of clean, steaming water. She couldn’t wait to wash off the dust of the road. And she couldn’t wait until tomorrow morn, when she’d be snug in a soft feather bed at Scarborough’s, imagining the public coach rattling down the road toward London with that bawface tucked inside.
The thought was so vivid and appealing, she nearly missed the gravel drive that led to a yellowish stone mansion in the distance.
The building threw a long shadow. The sun was setting. She tucked her plaid tighter around her black bodice and skirt. When Adam saw her dressed in mourning, he’d understand right off how completely he’d neglected his family and home. It would be a simple matter to persuade him to sign the papers MacLeod had drawn up.
In the fading light she hurried along the path, marveling at the way the gravel was so raked and pristine. Scarborough must employ an army of servants. But they weren’t here now, she realized as she drew close.
The mansion was shut up tight as a jar of Aunt Moira’s preserves!
The sun sank over the horizon as Caithren stared at the heavy, bolted oak door. Hearing the call of a single hawk overhead, apparently the only living creature in the vicinity, she stifled a sob.
So much for her happy daydreams. She would have to stay the night in Pontefract, steel herself to climb back on the coach in the morning, then somehow survive the nine days it would take to reach London.
She counted on her fingers. She should arrive on the day of Lord Darnley’s wedding, just in time to present herself as an uninvited guest. It was the only place she knew for certain she’d be able to find Adam.
Touching her amulet, she prayed there’d be no summer storm or anything else to delay the coach, because she hadn’t the slightest idea where Adam would be headed the morning of August thirty-first.
A scuffling sound on the roof made her glance up. Probably some sort of wee animal. Or rats.
Cait shuddered. “Set a stout heart to a steep hillside,” she said aloud, imagining her mother saying the words. She squared her shoulders and was turning back toward the road when there came the snort of a horse and an answering neigh.
Horses meant people. Her spirits lifted. Maybe Adam and his friends were here after all, and they’d just been out hunting. And even if it were strangers, maybe they could spare her the long walk—
She heard a muted thump and the crunch of gravel, as someone apparently dropped from the roof. Then another thump.
“Sealed up. Cannot even get inside and snatch a few trinkets to pay our way.” Coming from around the side of the mansion, the man’s voice sounded cultured. But he was cursing a string of oaths the likes of which Cait had never heard.
She scooted into the archway that housed the front door and pressed herself against the cold stone wall.
“I’m glad it’s sealed up.” The second man’s voice was whiny. “I don’t fancy taking things, Geoffrey.”
“Everything here is ours, Wat. Or should be. You crackbrain.”
The man called Wat didn’t respond to the insult. “But
