He led his hand slide up to her neck to gently knead knotted muscles. “You were fighting.”
She sighed quietly at the comforting pressure of his fingers. “I wasn’t winning.”
“You might have, if you’d gotten that bite in.”
She turned to look at him for the first time, resting her cheek on her knee. “You saw that?”
“You missed him by an inch—and only because I’d pulled him away.”
She smiled, just a little, and only for a second, but he’d seen it. It made him feel positively heroic.
“Still…” she said softly, and looked back to the stream, “I want him to suffer. I want him to pay.”
“You’d rather I had cut out his tongue,” he guessed.
“No.” She unwrapped her arms to pick up a smooth pebble. “I’d rather I had done it.”
“A compromise then,” he offered, letting his hand fall away. “I’ll hold him down. You cut out his tongue.”
The smile returned, a hair wider this time. “He could still die from infection.”
“He’s a blacksmith’s apprentice. Ample opportunity to cauterize his own wound.”
The smile was joined by a small laugh. “What an image.”
“Satisfying, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” She toyed with the stone in her hand, staring at it thoughtfully. “Would you do that?”
“Hold him down for you?”
She nodded.
“With pleasure.” He couldn’t help himself; he reached over to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. He left his fingers there, toying with the softness of her tresses. “If it would make you feel better.”
He didn’t think it would, but if it was what she needed…
She blew out a short breath and tossed the rock into the water. “It would make me sick, likely as not.”
The first time always does, he thought, and, disgusted with himself, dropped his hand.
Evie didn’t seem to notice his discomfort. “I suppose an act of revenge loses something if one tosses one’s crumpets in the midst of it.”
He smiled because he knew she needed it. “Depends on where the crumpets are tossed. Aim for his shoes and you have insult added to injury.”
She laughed in earnest this time. “There’s an idea.”
“Now are you feeling better?”
“A little.” She blew out a short breath. “Better than when I kicked the tree.” She brushed her hands on her skirts. “I suppose we need to go.”
“We’ll stay as long as you like.”
She shook her head and stood. “I’d just as soon get as far away from this as possible.”
In truth, Evie felt more than marginally better. It couldn’t be said that she felt entirely well, but the red haze of anger had passed—most of it after she’d thrown the rocks and kicked the tree—and the fear and frustration had been blunted by the simple act of talking and laughing. She had McAlistair to thank for that.
She glanced at him as they made their way back through the trees to where the horses were tied. Comfort in the form of laughter wasn’t something she would have expected from him. To be honest, comfort in any form wasn’t something she would have expected of him.
Apparently, he wasn’t quite the man she’d thought him to be—which reminded her…
“Why were you different?” she asked him as they skirted a large tree. “When we first arrived at the blacksmith’s, I mean. You changed your voice and your behavior.” She laughed a little at the memory. “You sounded like a London dandy.”
He actually winced, which she very much enjoyed witnessing. “I wanted him to recall a London dandy, should anyone ask after us.”
“You were yourself at the inn,” she pointed out. “What if someone should ask after us there?”
“Our meeting with the innkeeper was short, and he is accustomed to dealing with strangers. We wouldn’t have stood out to him.”
She nodded, following his line of reasoning. “But the arrival of visitors must be an unusual event for Mr. Thomas. He’ll remember us.”
And not, she thought, in the way McAlistair had intended. As there was nothing to be done about it now, she pushed the matter aside, mounted her horse, and followed McAlistair east.
With each mile that passed, she felt a little more like herself. She wouldn’t have cared to admit it aloud, but it helped that McAlistair chose to ride at her side. She already felt a trifle foolish for her outburst—digging out her gun, honestly—and if McAlistair had chosen to gallop about in his usual manner, she would again be left to question whether he was avoiding her, and to wonder why.