It was lovely countryside, she decided. Though she’d been to Cambridgeshire before, she’d never traveled far outside the major towns, and she’d never gone so far off the road. It was a whole different world, and a new experience to watch the familiar soft hills and patches of forest slowly give way to the lowlying fenlands. If she’d been in a carriage, she likely would have occupied her time with reading or conversation, only bothering with the occasional glance out the window. She wouldn’t have appreciated the gradual changes, the soft shading of color, or the airy charm of a distant windmill.
She reached out and pulled a few leaves from a tall plant, noting the light sage fragrance, and tucked them into her pocket for Mirabelle. Perhaps she could find a wildflower to press for Kate. Sophie would like nothing better than a fine story or two, and Evie was certain she’d have plenty before the trip was out.
Preoccupied with her surroundings and thoughts of her friends, Evie barely noticed the morning passing until McAlistair rode up beside her, declared it time for lunch, and brought the horses to a stop. They settled on one of the blankets—at Evie’s insistence, for he would have been content to stand and eat—and quickly consumed the fish McAlistair had saved from breakfast. Generally, Evie preferred her fish warm and with seasoning, but having had so little to eat in the last twenty-four hours, the meal tasted like ambrosia—a sadly inadequate portion of ambrosia.
Evie gave a passing thought to offering a portion of her share to McAlistair. Then she ate her meal in four greedy bites. She wasn’t quite that noble.
To distract herself from the fact that the fish had done so little to assuage her hunger, she once more turned her attention to the scenery. It occurred to her that if someone had been out for her head, she’d be ill at ease riding, not to mention sitting, in such open land. “What convenient targets we make,” she commented absently.
McAlistair finished the last of his fish and looked to her. “Sorry?”
She waved her hand at the open landscape. “There’s no place for us to hide here. Not that we need it,” she was quick to add, “but if we did, we wouldn’t have it.”
“No place for anyone else to hide either.”
“You have a point.” Anyone who might like to take aim at them would need to make himself a target as well. “What would happen then, if a man on a horse came charging toward us all of a sudden? Would we simply begin firing at each other and hope we have the better aim, or would we run and hope our horses could outlast his, or—”
“I won’t let anything happen to you.”
His earnest tone had her turning to him. The intensity of his gaze had her turning away again, her breath caught in her lungs. A discomforting combination of heat and guilt settled in her chest.
That had been thoughtless of her.
McAlistair believed the ruse to be real. He shouldn’t, of course—she had told him the truth—but the fact remained that he believed her to be in danger. And that belief made his willingness to see her safely across several counties an act of genuine selflessness. She had no reservations about arguing with him about the necessity of his concern, but she should take more care not to poke fun at him for it.
“I know you won’t,” she said quietly.
“Because you don’t think yourself in danger,” McAlistair guessed.
“Well, yes,” she admitted, still unable to meet his eyes. “But only in part.”
“You think you’re capable of seeing to your own safety.”
“Well, yes,” she said again. “But if I were in danger and incapable of taking care of myself, I would certainly trust you to see to the job.”
“You’re too kind,” he said in a dry tone.
It sparked a laugh from Evie, and laughing helped the tense moment to pass. “It’s true, I am a bottomless well of generosity.” She blew out a long breath and rubbed her hands against her blue skirts. “And now that we’ve agreed upon it, I suppose we should be moving.”
“In a hurry to ride?”
She gave him a wry smile as she stood. “I am in a tremendous hurry to arrive.”
“It will be another day, yet,” he reminded her as he rose in the smooth, graceful manner that Evie knew she’d never grow accustomed to.
“I know. At least we’ve clear weather,” she replied with determined cheerfulness.
Perhaps, if she hadn’t been quite so determined, she might have noticed the way McAlistair glanced darkly at the horizon or the way his lips moved to frame the words, “For now.”
The sun of afternoon held none of the gentle warmth Evie had enjoyed that morning or the cheery light she’d barely noticed at noon. The afternoon sun was hot, harsh, and just as it had the day before, beat mercilessly down on her head and back.
She grimaced as a line of sweat trickled between her shoulder blades. She felt, and no doubt looked, positively gruesome. If only McAlistair would change direction for a few minutes so that she might roast a different part of—
She cut off her own line of thought.
Why the devil was the sun beating on her back? She twisted in the saddle to peer behind her, ignoring the shriek of protest from her sore muscles.
They were going east, she suddenly realized. They’d been going east nearly all day. Norfolk was not straight east. Stunned, she brought the horse to a stop.
“McAlistair?”
He’d been riding within speaking distance for a change and brought his own horse to a halt beside her. “Something the matter?”