Feeling odd, she let him slip the ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand. It fit perfectly, feeling cool and smooth against her skin. The little emeralds winked at her.
She looked up to see him plucking another ring from the pouch, this one wider and heavier, with some sort of crest stamped on the face. Before she could get a close look, he jammed it onto his finger and rotated the crest underneath, so it appeared to be a plain gold band.
She finished folding his clothes and tucked them into the portmanteau, then went to fetch the night rail, wavering on the unfamiliar heels. “I cannot walk in these.”
“You’ll learn,” he said, tossing her comb into one of the leather bags. As he took the folded night rail from her hands, his eyes swept her again from head to toe. Feeling the same irksome niggle, she whirled to face the mirror and put her hands back under her hair, fanning it forward to cover her exposed skin.
Tentatively, she raised her gaze to meet his in the mirror once more. His jaw tightened.
Was he angry? At her? Why?
He backed away, the inscrutable expression sliding back into place. “I’ve arranged for two horses,” he said. “We’d best go, Emerald.”
FORTY-SEVEN
RIDING BESIDE Jason in brooding silence, Caithren sneaked glances in his direction. Encased in the dark velvet suit, his lean body moved with the big black horse as though they were one. Wind whipped the long red hair around the planes of his clean-shaven face.
She had to admit she might have thought he was a nobleman if she didn’t know him. Her stomach felt fluttery just looking at him. It might have been fun to playact lord and lady under other circumstances.
But there weren’t any other circumstances.
Jason would always toy with her, and Cait, the inexperienced maiden, would always fall into his trap. She couldn’t think why he did it; she knew he wasn’t cruel. Perhaps this was just a diverting game to him, something to pass the time on the road. He couldn’t know how it felt for her.
At least she knew it was only a game, she consoled herself. Better than clinging to the hope of more. She needed to find her brother. He needed to find the Gothards. A personal attachment would only slow them down. And ultimately lead nowhere, since she lived in Scotland and he lived here in England.
But her stomach didn’t feel fluttery anymore, just sick.
With a sigh, she tried to turn her mind to more pleasant thoughts. “I miss Chiron,” she said conversationally as Jason waited to cross another bridge.
“I miss him, too.” He seemed distracted. “And I hope he’ll be well taken care of.”
“You paid enough that he should be,” Cait said. He could have bought a third horse for the coin he’d coughed up for board.
“Chiron has never been mistreated.” He nodded as a man passed from the other direction, then guided his mount down the center of the bridge. “I’m hoping to keep it that way.”
As they rode into the small town of Biggleswade, Caithren reached to pat her horse’s red-chestnut neck. “This mare is a bonnie lass. What is she called by?”
“I didn’t think to ask.”
“Nay? Then I will have to name her myself.”
“You do that.” He twisted in the saddle, scanning the street. “Mind if we stop? There’s a baker next to the Coach & Horses. We’ll just run in and get some bread.”
“I’ll wait here.”
“No.” His gaze shifted to her injured arm. “I want you to come with me.”
She’d lost this argument before, so she slid off her horse—whatever the creature’s name might be—and tethered her beside Jason’s.
Though the sun wasn’t high in the sky yet, it seemed a long time since breakfast. Delicious smells of fresh bread came through the bakeshop’s door. Jason tugged it open and hurried to pull her inside.
Unused to the heels, she nearly stumbled. “Jase—”
“Hush.” Baskets tacked on the wall were brimming with crusty loaves. With a rigid hand on her elbow, he guided her over and turned to her expectantly. “Grain or manchet?”
“Um…manchet.”
He shot a glance out the window, then grasped her round the waist and swung her to face the baker. “What did you say, sweet?”
“M-manchet,” she stammered out. She leaned closer to whisper. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Two loaves of manchet,” he told the baker loudly.
“Two pence, my lord.” The flush-faced baker fetched two small loaves and began wrapping them in paper.
Jason pulled out his pouch. “Geoffrey Gothard,” he muttered under his breath.
Cait’s spine stiffened.
His attention on the window, Jason took his time paying the man. At last she saw the tension ease from his shoulders. He tucked the two loaves beneath one arm and curled the other around her waist. Casually, he drew her through the door and outside.
His fingers tightened just before he whirled her around and urged her back against the building. “Pretend you’re flirting with me,” he said, the words coming stilted through a wide, devastating smile.
He pressed close, closer, until the warm bread was pinned between their two bodies. It was broad daylight. All morning he’d been acting like he wanted nothing to do with her.
Her breath caught when he touched his forehead to hers, hot and close. “Now,” he demanded in a harsh whisper. “Geoffrey Gothard is walking this way—he won’t look twice at a couple in a passionate embrace.”
She tried to lean and see for herself, but his free hand came up to hold her face. “Put your arms around me.”
She shakily complied.
“That’s better,” he murmured in her ear. His breath warmed her earlobe, making her feel shakier still.
When she’d donned the turquoise gown this morning, he’d looked at her differently. What if this was just an excuse to kiss her? Another one of his games? She tried again to see Gothard, but Jason’s fingers tightened
