If anything more happened to her, he would never forgive himself.
He paced around the tavern, stopping at tables, querying one patron after another. “My young wife was sitting there. Short, blond. Did she leave with anyone?”
No one had seen a thing.
When she came down the stairs, stepping gingerly on the heeled shoes, he spun around. His long legs ate up the distance between them.
“Where on earth were you?”
“Hold your tongue. Everyone is looking at us.” She walked to their table, set down the burlap bag, shrugged the portmanteau off her shoulder. “I took everything with me so nothing would go missing. I was gone but a minute.”
“You have an odd idea of a minute. Where did you go? How dare you disappear on me! I thought the Gothards had—”
“I had to…you know. Use the privy.” Frowning, she peered into his eyes, and then, unbelievably, her lips turned up in a hint of a smile. “I’ve never seen you really angry before. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“I’ve never thought you were missing before,” he snapped out.
She crossed her arms and leveled him with a stare. “How about when I tried to escape you? Or when I fell asleep in the kirk?”
“Things were different then. Then I didn’t—oh, hang it.”
“Then you didn’t care?” she supplied. “You cannot say it, can you? That you care.”
“I care,” he said. “I care about making things right. I care about replacing what you lost on my account. I care that you get to London in one piece, not carved up by a Gothard’s blade.”
The sound of raucous laughter came from another table. Pewter tankards clanked on wood. “I don’t want anything to happen to you, either,” Caithren said softly.
“Why?” he asked, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.
“Because I care.” Her gaze dropped to her crossed arms. “And I don’t mean about getting to London or the money you owe me.”
“Emerald—”
“And no matter what you call me, I care because of this—” She went up on her toes and pressed her mouth to his.
Confound it. Calling her Emerald wasn’t working. There seemed nothing for it. He closed his eyes and kissed her back. Though he’d said he wouldn’t kiss her without an excuse, he was kissing her with no excuse in sight—and quite suddenly he knew he’d keep kissing her every chance he got.
His arms went around her, and the sounds of the tavern receded as she squeezed herself so close he felt her ancient amulet between them. Her lips were warm velvet; her flowery scent assaulted his senses.
How could such an exasperating girl be so sweet?
At the sound of a whistle, he pulled away to much applause.
“We see you found your wife,” someone yelled.
Caithren’s cheeks went from the pink of passion to the red of embarrassment. But that didn’t stop her from saying, “I got you to kiss me,” in a self-satisfied tone.
“Shall we go?” he asked with a laugh. He drew the new cloak from her chair and settled it over her shoulders. “It’s seven miles to Welwyn and beginning to rain already.”
FIFTY-ONE
“WE’RE NOT going to make it, Jase!” Caithren yelled through the storm. She hadn’t known it was possible to feel so wet. Her new cloak was all but useless against the downpour. “If this gown soaks up any more water, poor Maid-of-the-Wave will be driven to her knees.”
A huge crash of thunder made both horses shy. The sky opened up and spewed twice as much water, a feat Cait hadn’t thought possible. Rain came down in blinding sheets. She couldn’t see as much as two feet ahead.
She felt Jason’s leg bump up against hers before his hand came through the downpour to grab her reins. “Shelter!” he hollered over the next crack of lightning. “Come with me!”
He led them off the road along a barely visible trail. Hidden in the trees sat an old thatched cottage. How he’d found the place she’d never know, but the mere sight of it lifted her heart.
She held both horses while Jason pounded on the door. No one came to answer. The shutters were all latched from the interior, and the door was locked. Water streaming into her eyes, Cait waited while he walked all the way around the one-room building.
“Closed up!” he called through the pounding rain.
She wanted to cry.
He stood stock-still for a spell, then disappeared behind the cottage and returned with a hefty log. Bracing it against his good shoulder, he stepped back and ran at the door.
It didn’t give, and she winced at his anguished yell. “You’re going to kill yourself,” she called. “You’re in no shape for this!”
But he tried it twice more, until the door crashed in. He nearly fell on his face after it, and, miserable as she was, Cait had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.
“Go inside,” he told her, and she did, gratefully. After tethering the horses beneath some trees, he took their things and followed her, propping the door into its space behind them.
They stood there, dripping, for a long minute. Rain pounded on the roof. The cottage looked clean enough and boasted a bed with a thick quilt, a small table, two wooden chairs, and a brick fireplace. No wood, no candles, no oil lamps. The warped shutters let in a little light and a lot of rain that puddled near the glassless windows. But it was shelter, and Caithren couldn’t remember being more appreciative in her life.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Jason gestured helplessly. “It will be cold come night. And dark. All the wood outside is soaking wet.” He looked at the table and chairs.
Her gaze followed his. “You’re not thinking of burning them?” When he shrugged, she shook her head. “They’re not yours to burn. Besides, where would we continue our backgammon tournament?”
“That’s right.” Grinning, he pulled off his hat. Water poured from the wide brim. “I’m ahead.”
“You are not.” She set
