“I remember,” she said. “But—”
“Are you not going to take off your outerclothes?” His second boot fell to the floor with a loud plop. “I’m still not planning to attack you.”
“I have nothing else to wear, thanks to you. My night rail is in my satchel. In the—”
“—public coach.” He peeled off a stocking. “I know. That thing beneath your bodice, the garment that looks like a blouse? I’m no expert on girl’s clothing, but it’s quite long, is it not? A shift, is it called?”
“Aye, it’s a shift.” She plucked distractedly at its sleeves. “Not that it’s any of your concern.”
She stalked to the bed and tucked the shirts and breeches she’d folded back into his portmanteau, then moved it to a table. Pulling back the lovely counterpane, she found a thick quilt resting beneath. She lifted one corner and climbed into bed.
“Sleep well,” she said, in a tone meant to speak of finality.
He rose and moved to look down on her. “You’re going to suffocate,” he predicted. “At least loosen your bodice. And what of this? Won’t it poke you?” He reached for the amulet.
“This stays,” she said firmly, her hand closing around the stone protectively. “I never take it off.” To appease him—and because the bodice really was rather tight—she pulled the quilt up to her chin and began loosening her laces underneath.
He shrugged and moved to the foot of the bed to pull off her shoes. She was so surprised at his touching her feet—even through leather shoes and wool stockings—that she didn’t move or make a sound.
“Now you’ll rest easier.” He flipped the quilt back to cover her.
Glaring at him, she lay silent as he walked around the room snuffing the candles. In increments, the chamber descended into darkness. He slid in on the other side of the bed, his substantial weight depressing the feather mattress, making her nearly roll into him. She gripped the quilt in tense fists, holding herself in place.
“Sleep well, now,” he called in a voice that was annoyingly unperturbed. Apparently giving him the evil eye had had no effect on him at all. “We’ve a long journey ahead of us.”
When he leaned to blow out the candle on the small table by the bed, Caithren raised herself to an elbow to do the same on her side. Her heart pounded hard in her chest as she lay back down and stared into the darkness. It didn’t seem as though he planned to attack her, and yet…
She realized suddenly that her pulse wasn’t racing from fear, but from something else.
Da had fed and clothed her, Cameron had offered protection and companionship, and more than one unwelcome suitor had connived to steal a kiss. But no man had ever made it his business to care for her in a physical sense. The Englishman’s hands on her had felt different than Da’s or Cam’s or those fumbling courting lads’.
She wasn’t at all sure whether she cared for the feeling. And why did it matter, aye? Her hand went up and gripped her amulet. She’d be rid of him after tonight.
Rigid, she lay beside him, willing herself to stay awake while her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Had they crossed their arms over their chests, she imagined she and the Englishman would resemble one of the marble effigies in her village kirk, a lord and lady frozen together in time. But she was no titled lady, and the Englishman was certainly no lord.
He wasn’t even a gentleman. Gentlemen didn’t make lasses miss their coaches against their will, now, did they?
She had to get away from him. Back to the coach, where she hoped and prayed they were still carrying her belongings. It would be a miracle to find her money there as well, but she couldn’t worry about that now.
It seemed like forever before his breathing evened out in sleep. She waited a few minutes until she was sure, then jogged his shoulder to double-check. He groaned as though in pain, then settled down with a soft snore. She leaned over him, remembering other moments he’d seemed to be hurting. Suddenly she wondered if he could have been injured last night as well. Helping her.
Rising, she swept her shoes off the floor, then caught herself looking back to him. But even if he’d been hurt, it was no fault of hers. She couldn’t let herself be swayed.
Slowly she backed away, then turned and opened the door. With one last glance over her shoulder, she slipped into the corridor and eased the door closed behind her.
Leaning against the wall, she calmed her pounding heart while she straightened her bodice and relaced it snugly. Then she slid into her shoes, marched downstairs, through the taproom, and out into the night, trying her best to look as though she hadn’t a care in the world.
It was chilly and drizzling. She had no money to hire a horse, no alternative other than to start walking. But the coach would have stopped in one of the towns they’d passed, so if she followed the road, she’d be sure to get back to it by morning.
She set off into the long night that loomed ahead.
TWENTY
“MAMA, MUST you go? You’ve been home nary a month.”
“I must, wee Alison.” Flora MacCallum moved to her youngest’s bed and bent to kiss her little forehead. She smoothed the fine, chestnut hair from her daughter’s face. “Maybe, with a little luck, this time will be the last.”
Malcolm crawled over his sister and down to the floor to hug his mother around the knees. “Are you going to be Emerald again?”
“Aye. I’m going to be Emerald one more time.”
“But it’s the middle of the night.”
“Nay, dawn approaches. And others are doubtless on the Gothards’ trail already.” She knelt to give her bonnie lad a fierce hug, breathing in his scent to
