“Good what?”
“Clothes. Dressing well can open doors for you the same as a key, aye? We’ve dressed the part, and they believed it, just like that.” She snapped her fingers and stood up, evidently not an easy task in the silver shoes. Her legs looked wobbly. “What are these wee hills? They look too regular to be natural.”
“They’re Roman barrows.” Jason rose as well, brushing off his velvet breeches. “Burial mounds.”
“Oh,” she said, making a face. “Faugh.”
“Faugh? That’s it?” He leaned to pick up her hat. “No quote of your mother’s for this one?”
“I’ll tell you, Jase. I don’t think Mam ever kissed anyone while lying on top of dead Romans.”
He threw back his head and laughed.
“I wouldn’t mind trying it again, though,” she added.
That sobered him. “What?”
“The kissing.” She shook out her skirts and pulled up on the hated stomacher. “You seem to enjoy the kissing enough, but you need to have an excuse.” She squared her shoulders and faced him daringly. “You’re attracted to me, aye?”
He was startled speechless. It hit him that he’d vastly misjudged her. What he’d mistaken for pride was something else entirely—a fierce independence. She knew her own mind and didn’t shy from expressing it.
“I suppose I am,” he said carefully. He’d be lying to deny it. “But heaven knows why. I mean,” he added quickly, realizing that could be taken as an insult, “not that you aren’t pretty! Although—not that I think you’re—” he broke off before he could dig himself in deeper. Had any other girl ever rattled him so?
“Me, too,” she said, obviously stifling a laugh. She moved closer. “Why not kiss me again, then? I won’t tell a soul. And”—she frowned—“if you fear I’ll try to trap you into marriage, you needn’t worry. I mean to return to Scotland, and I won’t be expecting you to come with me. While we’re together, though…”
Both her proximity and her earnestness made him tense. Turning her hat in his hands, he started walking back to the horses. “Yes?”
She kept pace with him. “Well, if we both like kissing each other, why not enjoy ourselves? As lovers do?” She turned a becoming shade of pink. “That is, not lover lovers! I only meant…as sweethearts. As two people who can admit they like each other and kiss without having to pretend it’s a mistake.”
He halted mid-step. Caithren wanted to be his sweetheart? The notion made him feel an odd melting sensation in his belly.
Unable to look at her, he studied the hat. “But it is a mistake,” he whispered.
“Why?” she demanded. “Because serious, responsible Jason Chase would never kiss a girl just for the fun of it? Oh, I forgot, you know not the meaning of the word fun. You see, fun is where you—”
“It’s not that,” he interrupted, but then didn’t know how to continue. She was partially right—it would be terribly irresponsible to go on kissing her ‘for the fun of it.’ But more than that, it would be foolhardy. He already felt panicky at the thought of her leaving, the thought of never seeing her again. If he let them grow even closer, how would he bear the separation?
Her hand went to her amulet. “For once, could you listen to the Gypsy? Could you forget about responsibilities and just let yourself feel?” Her eyes were a gorgeous, hazy blue. Her lower lip trembled. “I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone before, you know. Before I met you.”
Egad…
For the longest moment, he stared at that plump, soft-looking lip. He could almost believe she was speaking sense, so badly did he want to believe it.
But try as he might, he’d never been able to ignore his own better judgement.
“I’m sorry, Emerald,” he said as politely as he could manage. “But I cannot do as you ask.”
He stuck the hat on her head and resumed his stride toward the horses.
Teetering in his wake, she called after him. “But you do want to. You as good as admitted it, and you cannot take it back!”
When she caught up and planted herself in front him, he sighed. “Look, we’ve been tied at the hip for days now. All you really want from me is to get to London. And I’ll get you there, I promise. A Chase promise is not given lightly.”
She wrapped her arms around herself, her eyes turning a disappointed, indistinct color. “You have no idea what I want from you, Jason. And I don’t believe you ever will.” She was shivering.
“You’re cold,” he said. “And the weather looks to be getting colder. Come along. We’re almost to Stevenage, where I can buy you a cloak.
FIFTY
THE CLOUDS HAD grown dark and menacing, and Jason found the interior of The Grange even darker. Brushing off the drizzle that had beaded on his cloak, he stepped into the taproom and blinked in the dimness.
Caithren wasn’t at the table where he’d left her.
Fear sprinted along his nerves before he got himself under control. He tossed the new wool cloak he’d bought over her chair and walked around the tavern, checking every corner of the oddly shaped room. Then back to the table, his heart beginning to beat unevenly. He’d left her with his portmanteau and the burlap bag with the backgammon set.
All was gone.
Geoffrey’s and Walter’s faces flashed in his mind. But no one in the taproom looked at all concerned, and it was inconceivable that Caithren would go with the brothers without a fight. While it was true she couldn’t shoot, she’d kneed that ruffian on the road, and she’d punched Wat Gothard. And there was no sign of a confrontation.
Still, his pulse raced, his head felt woozy. What if they’d managed to lure her away? How would he find them? What would he do? He couldn’t think clearly when he kept seeing her standing in that courtyard with blood running down
