McAlistair led them off the road into one such field just as the sun broke over the horizon. With a wistful sigh, Evie twisted in her saddle for one last look at the road. It would be the last she saw of civilization for a while.
By midmorning, the weather had gone from cool to muggy. Heated by the sun and humid from the previous night’s downpour, the air felt heavy and close, with the promise of becoming more uncomfortable as the day progressed.
Evie finished the apple McAlistair had tossed to her earlier—she was happy to say she’d only bobbled it once—and looked to the stream they’d been following since leaving town.
It wound through the land like a wide ribbon, twisting and curving, flowing in and out of view. She threw the apple core for the birds and watched as the stream disappeared into a narrow stand of trees that lined the water on either side. It would reappear, she knew, somewhere in the next mile or two.
And she’d be longing for a dip in it before the day was over.
She wondered if McAlistair would be agreeable to the idea. It was impossible to know, as he’d made it impossible to carry on any sort of conversation. He’d spent no more than five minutes of the last five hours within speaking distance, and those only in ten-second increments. And during those brief interludes, his dark eyes seemed to be constantly scanning the horizon, peering at every rock or shrub large enough to cast a shadow, looking intently at every feature of the landscape, every mark in the dirt. Everything, it seemed to Evie, except her. Even when they’d stopped so she could rest her leg, McAlistair had left her to go prowling about. He rarely went out of sight and was almost never more than fifty yards away, but unless she cared to shout, conversation was once again out of the question.
She was giving serious thought to following him on his little excursions—just to see what he would do, really—when her horse stumbled suddenly, jostling Evie in the saddle. It took only a few steps for the mare to right herself again, but when she moved forward it was with an uneven gait.
“Well, look at us,” Evie murmured, pulling the limping horse to a halt. “We’re a matched set.”
Chuckling a little at her silly joke, she swung her leg over and climbed down.
She’d barely righted her skirts before McAlistair had galloped to her side and dismounted. “Evie?”
“Thrown a shoe, I think,” she informed him and bent down to gently coax the mare into lifting her front leg. The hoof was a little ragged where the nails had pulled loose, but it was nothing a good trimming couldn’t remedy.
“No injury,” McAlistair murmured, taking a quick peek over her shoulder.
“Mmm. Just a bit tender, aren’t you?” she crooned to the mare, setting the hoof down. “I would be too, if I had to walk without one of my shoes. Not to worry, sweet…” Her voice trailed off. “I don’t know her name.”
“Sorry?”
She turned to look at McAlistair. “The horse’s name. I’ve been riding her for days and haven’t bothered to learn her name.”
“That troubles you?”
“Yes, it seems…” She almost said it seemed rude, but feared he would laugh. “It seems as if I should know.”
He nodded in quiet understanding and took the reins. “It’s Rose.”
“Rose?” She felt herself smile. “That’s my middle name. Well, one of them.”
His eyes shifted to something over her shoulder. “Is it?”
“Yes. The other is Elizabeth.” She ran a hand down Rose’s withers and nodded toward McAlistair’s mount. “And what is his name?”
“I don’t know. He’s Hunter’s.”
“Oh.” She shrugged, a little disappointed, and turned back to murmur to Rose. “What are we to do with you, then?”
“Replace the shoe,” McAlistair suggested.
“Yes, thank you,” she drawled with a half smile. “Where?”
“There’s a village of sorts, not far.” He tied the mare’s reins to the gelding. “You’ll need to hide your face.
“I am not, absolutely not, putting on that awful cloak—” She broke off when he pulled something dark and flowing from his saddlebag and handed it to her. “Oh.”
It was a wool hooded cape as well, but it was a world apart from the ill-fitting green monstrosity. This one was rich brown, lightweight, soft, and clean.
She fingered the material. “Where did you get this?”
“Randswith. With the supplies.”
“Oh, you should have said something.” She reached into one of her own bags for her coin purse. “I owe you—”
“Keep your money.”
She stopped her search to look at him. “But it’s very fine. It must have cost—”
“Keep it.”
She felt her brows go up at his stern tone. “It isn’t proper for a lady to accept articles of clothing from a gentleman.”