It struck him that in some ways they were all too similar. Not particularly good ways, either.
She paused by a tall plant with a spiky bush of pale flowers, but left the blossoms alone, instead plucking off their ash-colored leaves. “Snakewood,” she told him, the word trailing off into a yawn.
That reminded him she’d had no sleep in two days, other than the one short nap. He could see the weariness etched in her face, the dark circles under her eyes. Responsibility weighed heavy on his conscience, mingling with that tender feeling he found so confusing and disturbing.
His stomach rumbled, and he remembered they were almost to Tuxford. “Your ten minutes are up. Are you hungry?”
When she shook her head, his gaze raked her slim frame.
“You don’t eat enough.”
“The gown is too big.”
Her pert nose went into the air, a gesture so amusing it dispelled his strange mood.
“It’s no fault of mine if you’re no judge of a lass’s size.” She hugged herself around her loose waistline and started back toward Chiron. “You shall have to find me some decent clothes, Jase.”
“Don’t call me that,” he said, following her. “Jase Chase. It rhymes. It’s disgusting. What were my parents thinking when they named me?”
The question was rhetorical, but she responded anyway. “Evidently they weren’t thinking at all.” She turned and walked backward, watching him avidly, her grin too fetching for his comfort. “Or maybe they had a ripe sense of humor, Jase.”
He growled deep in his throat. “Nobody calls me Jase.”
At that, she turned back around. “I do,” she called over her shoulder, sounding altogether more cheerful than she had since they’d met. “So long as you call me Emerald.”
TWENTY-FIVE
“WHAT ARE THEY gawking at?” Caithren said irritably a few hours later.
Waiting at the end of the bridge into Newark-on-Trent, she yanked up on both the stomacher and her shift, giving the evil eye to the two shabby men who were crossing. “I’m not wearing this doxy’s dress again.”
She smiled to herself when Jason guided Chiron down the exact center of the bridge.
“Careful, you’re going towards the right—I mean, left. You wouldn’t want to risk something bad happening should you veer from the middle.”
“Very funny.” His tone was dry, but she thought she could feel him laughing behind her. “It’s clouding up again, so I think we’ll stop here and try to make up the time tomorrow.”
“Are you sure?” she asked. “It isn’t dark yet. Though the thought of a bed is appealing.” And in the last twelve miles she’d learned the folly of turning down dinner in Tuxford. It felt as though a hole sat in the place where her stomach was supposed to be.
The sky did look menacing. After the soft, rain-soaked road, Chiron’s hooves sounded loud on the town’s cobblestones as he carried them down Beast Market Hill and onto Castlegate. “If we’re going to stop, then I see just where to stay,” Cait teased. On their right, the street’s namesake loomed over the riverbank. “Since you seem wont to choose the most impressive place.”
Now he laughed aloud. “It’s Newark Castle, and after the war, Cromwell ordered it demolished. Fortunately, the people refused to complete the job, so the face of the castle remains. But behind it, nothing. I expect you wouldn’t be comfortable.”
“It’s a beautiful facade.” She mourned the loss. “We’ve many large castles in Scotland.”
They jostled their way through Chain Lane, a narrow alley of a street lined with tiny shops of all sorts, and on into the marketplace. Jason rode through an archway beside a large inn called the Saracen’s Head.
When Caithren slid to the cobblestones, her knees threatened to buckle. She sternly forced them to comply. Jason wouldn’t see any weakness on her part—not if she had any say in the matter.
The Saracen’s Head boasted fine stables. A liveried ostler came forward to take Chiron in hand, and Cait and Jason hurried toward the inn just as the first raindrops were falling.
Spotting bright yellow by the windows, she paused to snap off a couple of marigolds. Jason frowned. “I don’t expect the proprietor will appreciate that.”
“Earth’s bounty is for all to share,” she argued. “This is just what I need for my ankle. I’ll ask for some vinegar to mix with the juice, and by morning I’ll be right as rain.”
“We’ll both be soaked with rain if we don’t get inside.” When she would have reached for another flower, he took her by the hand and dragged her through the door and to the innkeeper’s desk.
Jason set his portmanteau and their bundle of damp clothing on the floor. “One room,” he told the seated man, a large fellow with a huge smile and a pockmarked face. “If you please, Mr. . . ?”
“Twentyman,” the man said.
“Two rooms,” Caithren corrected.
“One,” Jason repeated.
With a huff of disgust, she decided he could handle this alone and wandered off to the taproom. Something smelled wonderful, and her poor belly was just begging to be filled.
“Good eve,” a jolly, rotund woman greeted her. She had round red cheeks and a round brown bun that shone in the well-lit room. “We’ve a lovely mushroom pie this evening.”
Caithren glanced toward the lobby. The way she saw it, Jason owed her whatever she wanted to eat. And then some. “I’ll try it, then,” she said happily. “And a sallet. And…”
“Spice cake?” the woman suggested.
“Aye. And a tankard of ale. I thank you.”
“I thank you, milady,” the woman said. “Seat yourself, if you please.”
Milady. Though Caithren wasn’t a lady, it was nice to be mistaken for one. Especially after the treatment she’d received thus far in this country. Smiling at the woman, she seated herself at a fine, polished table. When Jason came in and asked what she wanted, she was pleased to tell him
