She listened to the innkeeper’s heavy footfalls retreating as Jason sat on the bed and dipped a towel in the bowl of water.
He dabbed at the bloody wound. “It’s clean, but deep.” Warm fingers encircled her elbow, holding the arm still as he leaned in for a better look.
Just as her racing heart had begun to calm, it sped back up. She shifted on her feet. “I’ll make a poultice for it when we stop tonight.”
Frowning, he dabbed some more. “Would it be better to do it now?”
“My herbs are outside, in the portmanteau.” She swallowed hard. “I’ll be fine.”
He wound a clean cloth around her upper arm. She’d been unconscious while he tended her last cut; used to blood she was, but not necessarily her own. She felt dizzy, from that or from Jason’s nearness—she wasn’t sure which.
He looked very businesslike as he tied the bandage. Apparently he was immune to her proximity.
“Why didn’t you go after the Gothards?” she asked.
“Geoffrey Gothard will get his due.” His eyes glittered. “But I won’t see you hurt in the interim. Never that. Never again.”
His voice was quiet, but she detected a tremor beneath the control. His hand went to the neckline of her shift, and she released her hold on it, watching his long fingers draw it up to cover her shoulder.
She began to relace her bodice, yelping at the sting of fresh pain.
“Hush.” Jason stood and moved her hands away. She stared at the dimple in his chin as he slowly threaded the laces and tied a crooked bow. Then, even more slowly, almost reluctantly, his fingers trailed up her neck, leaving shivers in their wake, until his hands came to rest on her cheeks.
He cradled her face, tilted it up, drew her closer. He was going to kiss her again, she realized with a heady rush of anticipation. For real, this time, with no excuse of having a nightmare or being followed. Caithren stopped breathing. She could tell he had stopped breathing, too.
Her heart pounded so loudly she was certain he could hear it in the still, dim room.
He lowered his mouth to hers.
His lips were gentle, his hands callused but tender. Her heart fluttered in her chest, her blood sluiced through her veins, and she pressed closer. Her arms went around him, wanting more. Wanting…
Astounding herself with her daring, she parted her lips. He responded eagerly, urgently, one hand hooking around the back of her neck to deepen the kiss. When they sank onto the bed, she felt no pain. She felt nothing but the press of his weight, his warmth, his strength—and a new and marvelous exhilaration.
Another knock came at the door, and he bolted upright.
“Is the lady all right?” the innkeeper called. “Will you be needing aught else?”
As Cait sat up more slowly, Jason ran a ragged hand through his hair. He rose and went to open the door. “She’s fine,” he said. “We were just leaving.”
When the man’s footsteps faded once more, Jason turned to her. “We have to leave,” he said, not meeting her eyes, his voice husky and…apologetic? She couldn’t be sure. “Are you all right to ride?”
The door was still open. She stood and took a steadying breath. “I’ll survive.”
Her arm throbbed, but she wouldn’t have admitted to the pain were it likely to fall off.
There would be time to tend to the injury later. When she wasn’t reeling from that kiss. And its abrupt ending.
“Let me know if you start hurting, all right?” He looked shaken. “Emerald—” He broke off.
She shook her head. She wouldn’t answer to that name. Not after what had just happened between them.
“I’m sorry,” he said, looking like he meant it. “For…for letting things get out of hand.” Somehow she was sure he’d intended to say something else, but he barreled on. “It was wrong of me to—”
“I’ve forgotten it. Like you forgot last night. We’re even now.” Straightening her gown, she pinned him with a look. “And my name is Caithren.”
She pushed past him out the door.
FORTY-FIVE
HER NAME truly was Caithren. She’d been honest all along.
And Jason was a fool.
A colossal fool. A gargantuan fool. The greatest fool that ever lived.
How had he not seen it sooner? Had he simply been too stubborn to admit such a grave mistake, even to himself? Even when the evidence was overwhelming?
She was shorter than Emerald MacCallum was rumored to be, not to mention too young for motherhood and completely unsuited for Emerald’s profession. She didn’t know north from south or right from left. She cried far too easily, and she had no business carrying a pistol. For heaven’s sake, the girl couldn’t shoot an outlaw from arm’s length!
None of that had convinced him.
Neither had her earnest protests.
But the events of this afternoon had exploded his entire view of Emerald.
His view of Caithren, that was.
Caithren.
Somehow, she didn’t seem like a Caithren.
But she most certainly wasn’t an Emerald. An Emerald would not have idled in that courtyard while the Gothard brothers fled. An Emerald would not have sent others after her quarry. Wounded or not, an Emerald would have been hot on the trail before Jason could even catch his breath.
He hated that at times like this his father came to mind. A father who had been forever dutiful and honorable. He’d certainly never made a mistake on the order of this one.
Jason swore at himself for two solid miles.
If he hadn’t already been certain he was ill-suited for this quest of justice, he had the proof riding in front of him. First he’d taken the life of an innocent man, then he’d endangered that of an innocent maiden by mistakenly dragging her into this mess.
If only he could turn back time and leave Caithren on that public coach. He would—honestly, he would—even though that would mean they’d never have kissed as
