He nodded. “We may need to stay in Randswith. Do you know anyone there?”
She smiled. “I am the niece of the dowager Lady Thurston. It’s probable I’ve met someone from every city, town, and village in the country.”
He dug through one of the bags attached to the saddle, pulled out a green woolen cape with hood, and handed it to her. “Here.”
She took the unfamiliar garment and stared at it. “Where on earth did you get this?”
“Lady Thurston. Last-minute addition at Haldon.”
“Where on earth did she get it? It isn’t even remotely fashionable. I can’t imagine why she would have it lying about.” Her head snapped up to his. “Unless, of course, she had it made in advance. Because she’d planned on my having to use it. She knew—”
“Just put it on, Evie.”
She almost reminded him of his agreement to listen to her concerns, before remembering she’d traded that right for a kiss. She sighed and pulled on the cloak. She couldn’t regret her decision to lose the wager, even if the cape was a size too small across the chest—apparently, it hadn’t been made for her—so that the material pulled uncomfortably across her shoulder blades as she closed the clasp under her chin. The kiss had been worth it.
She rolled her shoulders and grimaced at the way the rough wool scratched the back of her neck. She pulled the hood up and caught the strong odor of old trunk and…
She sniffed the inside of the hood and wrinkled her nose. What was that?
Pulling up a corner of the hem, she found a dark stain, and the odor got stronger. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t possibly…
She saw it then, caught in the inside seam, a small, dark pellet that could only be a mouse dropping. “Bloody hell.” She struggled out of the ill-fitting garment. “I take it back. It wasn’t worth it. I want a rematch.”
McAlistair watched her tear off the garment. “Keep it on. A rematch of what?”
Thinking it best to ignore that last question, she held the cape out at arm’s length and addressed the first. “I’ll not keep it on. It’s full of mouse droppings.”
“I don’t see any.”
“Well, they’re small, aren’t they?” And full may have been something of an exaggeration. Still, one mouse dropping qualified as quite full enough, in her estimation.
“Shake it out, then,” McAlistair advised.
She gave him a doleful look. “Above and beyond the fact that it doesn’t fit and scratches horribly, there’s a suspicious stain and an obvious smell. Somehow, I doubt shaking it out will alter the size and feel, nor disguise the signs that it has been, for goodness only knows how long, a home for rodents.” She gave the cape a disgusted look. “I can’t believe my aunt expected me to wear this. She could have at least had it washed out first.”
“As I said, it was a last-minute addition. Shake it out and put it on.”
She dropped her arm to her side with a sigh. “If I thought for a moment that our safety was dependent on my not being seen, I promise you I would—”
“There’s your reputation as well.”
Blast, he was right. She couldn’t be seen at an inn with McAlistair. She’d be ruined. “Why don’t we skip the inn and spend another night in the woods?” she suggested hopefully, even while her heart sank at the idea of forgoing a hot bath and decent meal. “We could find a quiet spot with a bit of cover and a stream. You can teach me to fish with my bare hands.”
She rather liked the idea, now that she thought on it. She could make do with a cold bath. And without the fear of waking up in pain, another night spent under the stars, surrounded by the moonlight and the sounds of the forest, seemed an enjoyable prospect. Particularly with McAlistair beside her.
“It’ll be lovely. The weather’s cooled some, and—” She broke off when a fat raindrop hit her thigh. She scowled at it, then at the one that landed on her knee, her other knee, her wrist. “Bit of rain, that’s all. Won’t kill us. Might be nice, really, falling asleep to the sounds of the odd raindrop hitting the leaves.”
The sky opened up, simply opened up and rained down a great wall of water. The noise was instantaneous, as was Evie’s soaking—right down to the skin, as if someone had dumped a very large, very full bucket of water over her head.
McAlistair jerked his chin at the green cape, thick and dripping with water, and lifted his voice over the roar of rain. “It’s washed. Put it on.”
Ten
What little good had come from shaking out the cape was cancelled by the deluge of rain. Wet wool was never a pleasant thing to behold. Wet, ill-fitting, smelly wool moved right past unpleasant to utterly revolting.