The sun came back out, dispelling her anxiety somewhat. She took a deep breath and straightened. “I don’t have time to go inside. The coach is leaving.”
He nodded. “I’ll walk you through.”
“There’s a door on the other side?” She frowned but followed him, dimly wondering why she was cooperating with an Englishman. But she felt that he meant her no harm.
Inside, it was cool and deathly quiet. Deserted as well, at two o’clock on a Thursday afternoon. The flames of votive candles made shadows dance in the dim light that filtered through the kirk’s beautiful stained-glass windows. She paused to silently admire the ancient grandeur, loath to disturb the utter peacefulness with unnecessary words.
With a tug on her hand, he urged her down a side aisle.
“Last call!” The driver’s voice managed to pierce the thick stone walls. Looking up, Cait could see that some of the colorful windows were old and broken, no doubt letting in the sound, as well as the wind that had frightened her in the graveyard.
“Let go of me,” she whispered, trying to pull from the Englishman’s grasp. He had no business touching her. “I must go.”
He held tight and continued doggedly toward a small private chapel that projected outside the main wall. It would be near Church Street and the inn. She guessed she’d find the door there.
But when they stepped through an archway and inside, a scan of the wee chapel revealed only a single wooden bench and a simple altar with three small burning candles. Afternoon sun shone through a cracked window, projecting brilliant colored patches on the stone floor.
Alarm skittered through her. “There’s no door.”
“I never said there was a door.”
She stifled her urge to yell—she couldn’t be making a racket in the kirk. “I must go.”
“I think not.”
He wanted to keep her here? She moved for the main sanctuary and front door, but he was faster and blocked her path. Losing patience, she shoved at his arm. “Please move out of my way.”
“I’m not going to hurt you.” He wedged himself into the archway, spreading his feet at the bottom and his hands at the top. “I want only to protect you.”
Protect her? The man was daft. She beat both fists against his chest, and he yelped. But he was solid and immovable.
Through a high cracked window, she heard the call of her name. Panic welled in her throat. She needed to be on the coach. Her future depended on finding her brother. She didn’t have time for this stranger and his odd definition of protection.
She gave him another shove and kicked at his shins, but he stood firm, his mouth a straight line beneath his silly, slim mustache. She heard her name called again and wished she hadn’t left Da’s pistol in her satchel on the coach.
When she heard the creak and groan of the coach departing, her panic blended with white-hot anger. Frantically she tried to duck under his arms, through his legs, and finally turned her back, sputtering incoherently. Only when the sound of the wheels faded into the distance did he step from the archway.
No matter they were in a kirk—she whirled and slapped him hard across the face.
“Egad!” His hand came up to cover his cheek where her finger-shaped imprints were already making a blotchy, red presence. “You’ve got a devil of an arm.”
“Don’t you blaspheme in the kirk!” she yelled, bringing her hand up again.
Neatly he caught her by the wrist. “Once, you’re quick. Twice, I’m stupid,” he said drolly.
“You’re stupid, all right! You made me miss my coach!” She wrenched free and shrank away from him, back into the wee chapel.
“There’s nowhere for you to go,” he said calmly. “I won’t hurt you.”
“Why should I believe you?” But she did, though it made no sense. “How am I going to get to London?”
“There will be another coach.”
“In three days! And I must be in London by next week!”
He rubbed his injured cheek. Absurdly, she noticed he hadn’t shaved. He must have been in a hurry this morning.
“Next week,” he mused, as though to himself. “What for?” He came close, his hand dropping from his face to clamp her shoulder, holding her from bolting. As if she had anywhere to go. “Why do you need to be in London? Think fast—I’m sure you can come up with a good one.”
“My brother is expected there.” She twisted from his grip. “I told you I’m looking for him. I need him to sign some papers.”
“That story’s getting old, Emerald.”
“It’s the truth!” She was too distraught to keep her voice low now. Tears threatened, but she blinked them back. She didn’t know whether she was more enraged that he’d detained her or that he insisted on calling her Emerald. Both made her spitting mad. “If I miss him in London, he might go to India. And how will I find him then, I ask you? What will I do then?”
“India? Your creativity knows no bounds.” Wincing, he bent to rub one of his shins, and she was gratified to think she’d damaged him. “India,” he muttered, his voice unmistakably disgusted.
The tears did fall then, fast and furious. All she’d wanted was to find Adam. It had seemed such a simple matter to go to him and have him sign the papers. Now everything had gone awry.
“I must get to London!” The Englishman’s face looked all blurry through her tears. “Why did you keep me here?” she wailed. “Whatever for?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again. “I told you last night. I feel responsible—”
“I’m not your responsibility!”
“—for seeing to your safety,” he continued unperturbed. “I only hoped to delay you a few days, to allow me to deal with Geoffrey Gothard before he can do you harm.”
“Gothard again?” She stamped her foot, hard. It seemed the candle flames wavered, but the
