She raised her brows. “You would insist on my word in one breath and impugn its worth in the next?”
He inclined his head. “Point taken.”
She sniffed rather regally. It was a bit much, but after losing the argument, she was inclined to make the most of what small victory she could claim.
McAlistair appeared singularly unimpressed. “Hop down.”
She blinked at him. “Hop down?”
“You can’t ride into town this way.”
She glanced down at herself and knew he was right. Her skirt was up past her knees again. “I’d stopped noticing sometime yesterday,” she said absently before looking to him. “Shall I walk?”
He shook his head and helped her off the horse. “Sidesaddle.”
She peered up at him. “How am I to manage that?”
He scooted back a little and patted the saddle in front of him.
Evie felt her eyes grow round. His lap? He wanted her to ride in his lap?
“Um…”
“If you prefer, I can walk.”
“No.” She swallowed and reached out her hand. It wouldn’t be fair to make the man walk the next two miles because she was feeling priggish all of a sudden. Hadn’t she just been wishing for an excuse to be closer to him? “No, this is fine.”
Rather than take her hand, he leaned down, turned her around, wrapped an arm around her, and lifted her into the saddle as if she weighed nothing at all.
Good heavens.
Evie had only a moment to marvel at his remarkable strength and balance before she found herself settled on the horse, half on the saddle and half on his legs. Then she simply marveled at how remarkably uncomfortable that position was.
She shifted in an attempt to escape the edge of the saddle digging into her leg. Shifted again to keep her feet from kicking the horse’s shoulder. “This isn’t at all how Kate’s novels describe it.”
“Beg your pardon?”
She squirmed a little to straighten out her skirts where they were bunched under her seat. “Kate. She has a penchant for torrid novels. They always describe sharing a saddle as a romantic and adventurous endeavor.” She squirmed again. “Adventurous, I’ll give them.”
McAlistair wrapped his hands over her hips, lifted her up, shifted himself, and set her back down. This time she was settled against his chest and almost entirely on his lap.
“Better?”
She had to swallow past a dry throat. “Yes.”
It was better. It was also suddenly every bit as romantic as Kate’s novels had led her to believe.
Or perhaps romantic wasn’t the right word. Perhaps wicked was.
She was, in a very real sense, on top of the man. The heat of him came through her gown to warm her skin. The smell of him, both familiar and exotic to her now, teased her nose, and she had the oddest urge to turn her face into his shirt and breathe him in. The taut muscles of his thighs shifted beneath her with the movement of the horse, making her heart race. He seemed to wrap himself around her as he shortened the reins, his broad shoulders looming over her. The hard expanse of his chest pressed into her side. And his arms, lean and strong, brushed against her breasts, sending a shiver of pleasure along her spine.
She felt embraced, surrounded, protected. And decidedly overheated.
“Not far, is it?” she asked in an attempt to break the spell. Her voice came out squeaky, but that couldn’t be helped. She found it amazing she was able to speak at all.
“Not far,” he replied gruffly.
Though she’d known the answer already, she nodded, stared resolutely ahead, and made a mental note to be more careful with what she wished for in the future.
The village consisted of no more than a half dozen huts very loosely grouped together around what she assumed was meant to be the town center, but was really little more than a large grassy field.
Evie tugged at the hood of her cape. “How did you know of this place?”
“Map. Keep your face hidden.”
“It is hidden. This is on a map?”
“Mr. Hunter’s map. No more talking.”
As they had just reached the first hut, and because she had no intention of breaking her promise, Evie gave her hood another tug and fell silent.
The blacksmith’s was easily located. The single-story, thatched-roof cottage sat at the end of a large dirt drive, a thick plume of smoke issuing from a workshop in back.
McAlistair brought the horses to a stop and dismounted before reaching up to grasp Evie around the waist and lifting her to the ground.
He leaned down to whisper, “How is your leg?”
Knowing full well he couldn’t see her expression while her head was down, she raised her brows at the question. Did he expect her to break her promise so soon?
She shook her head at him.
Whether he took that to mean it wasn’t bothering her or she wasn’t going to answer, she couldn’t say. He simply took her gently by the arm and led her to a small bench under the single tree in the yard.
“Stay here,” he ordered as she took a seat. “I’ll—”