“Do you care?”
“Not particularly, not under the circumstances.” And if it bothered him to take her money, she wasn’t going to press the issue. Besides, it probably wasn’t his money, was it? He was a hermit, or had been, and hermits weren’t exactly known for their financial independence. Likely as not, Whit had given him funds before they’d left Haldon. She flung the cape over her shoulders. “I’ll just say thank you, then. It was very thoughtful. And it feels like heaven, even without comparison to the last.”
He gave a short nod, which she interpreted as “you’re welcome,” then swung up on his horse and held out his hand.
She stared at it. “Er…”
“Don’t you need help?”
“Help?” She looked from his hand to his face. “With what?”
“Getting on the horse. Or were you planning on walking?”
She was, actually—or had been. It was simply what one did when one’s horse came up lame. “You said it wasn’t far.”
“It’s not, on horseback. Four miles.”
“Oh.” She let him pull her up behind him.
Thirteen
Evie found sharing a saddle with McAlistair a strange and wonderful experience. True, she felt a trifle insecure without the reins in her hands. And it bothered her a little that she wasn’t able to see where they were going unless she leaned around him for a peek. But the sheer proximity to McAlistair’s body lent an intimacy she found positively thrilling. Her knees bumped his legs, and her hands gripped the material of his coat at his hips. She’d considered wrapping her arms around his waist, but hadn’t been able to work up the nerve. That would have put her snugly up against him, her front pressed firmly to his back, perhaps with her cheek against his shoulder. It was an appealing thought, really, and it was only a difference of inches from where she was now. But as they were traveling at a leisurely walk—eliminating safety as an excuse for her conduct—those inches marked the line between agreeably exciting and dangerously bold.
Bold wasn’t such a terrible thing, but dangerously bold very well could be.
McAlistair turned his head to speak over his shoulder. “Nearly there.”
She leaned around him and caught the faint outline of chimney smoke rising from beyond a distant roll in the land.
“Pull your hood up before we arrive,” McAlistair ordered. “Keep your face hidden, and don’t speak.”
She sat back with a roll of her eyes. “Yes. Yes.”
“I’ll have your word on this, Evie.”
“I won’t give it,” she replied in an easy tone.
He stopped the horse abruptly and shifted in the saddle to stare at her. As it was a look of surprise rather than his usual cool countenance, Evie decided not to take offense.
She shrugged. “Promises made without forethought are too easily broken.”
“Very well.”
To her own surprise, he turned back around without another word. And then, to her complete bafflement, he simply sat there, staring ahead, saying nothing, and moving not an inch.
“What are we doing?” she inquired after a moment.
“Waiting for you to think.”
She ran her tongue across her teeth, fighting a smile. “And if, after serious consideration, I should still refuse to promise?”
“We’ll wait for you to think again.”
“That’s what I thought.” She laughed. She couldn’t help it. “McAlistair, this is absurd.”
He turned around again. “I’ll have your word.”
“I don’t want to give it. There are too many variables, too many reasons I might need to break it.”
“Such as?”
A reasonable question. Blast. “What if…what if I should see a crazed bull charging?”
“Is this a magical bull only you can see?”
“I…” What sort of question was that? “Well, it needn’t be magical—”
“How else would I fail to notice a hundred-stone animal running straight for us?”
“A poor example,” she conceded. “What if I should see a suspicious character lurking about in town, and—”
“Nudge me and point.”
A reasonable solution. Damn. “Very well, what if…what if…”
McAlistair waited with an air of great patience while she wracked her brain for possibilities. To her frustration, she couldn’t come up with a single situation that couldn’t be resolved with a nudge and a point.
“Done thinking?” McAlistair asked after a time.
She scowled at him.
“Promise, Evie.”
She couldn’t see a way around it. Not unless she was content to spend the remainder of her life sitting on a horse with McAlistair in the middle of nowhere.
Not that she found sharing a horse with McAlistair unpleasant; it was the rest of her life in the middle of nowhere that—
“Evie.”
“Fine.” She heaved a sigh. “I promise.”
“Not a word. Not a peep.”
Although it amused her to hear McAlistair make use of the word “peep,” amusement was overshadowed by the implied insult.