Common sense came to mind. She very much hoped it didn’t come to his. His opinion of her was apt to be depressingly low as it was. She wasn’t so swamped in her own discomfort that she couldn’t see how that very discomfort was making her unpleasant.
She made herself smile a little. “Perhaps you’re right. And it won’t hurt me—” Then again, it might. “That is, I am willing to try.” Particularly since it meant she wouldn’t have to crawl back onto a horse for the remainder of the day. “Thank you for the suggestion.”
Evie chose the soft, grassy spot where McAlistair had set her down earlier, and when she had finished tossing aside a few hidden pebbles, she made her way to the edge of the woods to find branches for her makeshift mattress.
She was so tired, she thought she could probably sleep standing up, but she made several trips before standing back, hands on hips, to survey her work. It looked, in her estimation, like a very small, very leafy nest. “This can’t possibly work.”
“It will work.”
She glanced over at McAlistair, and noticed for the first time that he was stacking wood on a small space of cleared ground.
“You’re building a fire?” she asked. “Aren’t you worried it will give away our position? Not that anyone is looking for said position, but if someone were, a fire would be rather like sending him a map, wouldn’t it?”
“We passed dozens of houses, all—”
“We did?” She couldn’t recall seeing a single one.
“Skirted the properties,” he amended. “Lots of chimneys.”
“And a great number of fires for our mythical foe to investigate,” she finished for him with a nod.
He broke a branch in half and laid the pieces crossing each other. “It’ll be dark soon, besides.”
She watched him haul a large log over to the pile.
“You’re stronger than you look.” As he looked rather strong to start, she felt that was saying something.
His only reaction was a raised brow.
“It looks heavy,” she explained, gesturing at the log. “And you’ve picked me up.” Which wasn’t something she needed to feel embarrassment over, she told herself sternly. “More than once now.”
He tossed the log down. “You’re small.”
Her eyes narrowed. Was he making sport of her? She wasn’t small, or even petite, as her family and friends generously referred to her. What she was, was short and decidedly curvy. But she couldn’t detect any sign of humor in McAlistair’s voice or face.
Then again, it was McAlistair; detecting a sign of anything bordered on the miraculous.
“Well…” How was she to respond to that? Because she had absolutely no idea, she said, “Is there something I could do to help?”
“Fetch the food.”
Certain—or relatively so—that he didn’t intend offense at the short command, she shrugged and walked to the saddles to unpack the remainder of the lunch she and Mrs. Summers had shared. There was a very sad-looking ham sandwich, a bit of bread and cheese that looked the worse for wear, and what appeared to still be a fair amount of watered beer.
They weren’t to die of thirst, but there wasn’t enough food to satisfy even one of them.
She glanced at McAlistair, who was busy hauling logs for the fire. He was bigger, he was working harder, and she had amends to make for her peevish behavior.
“I’m afraid our rations are rather slim.” She waited until he set down the last log to hand him the sandwich and the lion’s share of the bread and cheese. “But I’m not particularly hungry, anyway.”
He broke the sandwich in half and handed her a section. “Eat.”
She stepped back without taking the food. “I will eat. I’ve enough of the bread and cheese to—”
“Take it, Evie.”
Realizing they were perilously close to another argument, she stepped forward and took the half he offered. “Bit silly, really, for me to choke it down when you haven’t enough. Are you certain—?”
“I’ve plenty.” He jerked his chin at his pile of bread and cheese. “Take more of that, as well.”
“Perhaps,” she evaded. “If I’m still hungry after the sandwich.”
Rather than press the issue, he knelt to light the fire and with a skill clearly born of extensive practice, created a cheerful little blaze in a matter of minutes. Evie settled across from him, polished off the last of her food, and made a point not to glance wistfully at McAlistair’s bread and cheese.
For a long while, the pair of them sat in comfortable silence—the sort that comes less from familiarity and more from both parties being weary to their very bones. Evie stared into the flames, letting her mind wander as darkness fell around them.
“Why would they do it?” McAlistair asked suddenly.
Her gaze shot up. “I beg your pardon?”
“Why would the others conspire to find you a husband?”
“Oh.” She blinked away her stupor and smiled at him. “You believe me, then?”