She continued, “The name suits him even if it is a mouthful.”
After a few moments, he heard himself explain, “Bucephalus was—”
“The horse of Alexander the Great. Yes. I know.”
He had to resist sneaking another look behind him. The peasant girl he had bought from that little backwater knew Ancient Greek history? He never would have thought such a thing. It made him wonder what other surprises she hid.
He saw a flash of her on that block again, her wide topaz eyes set deeply beneath darkly arched brows, snow falling lightly around her. Initially he’d been taken aback by the spectacle, marveling at the surreal quality of it all. The absolute absurdity of it.
But now it struck him. She’d been the unearthly one. Some untouchable wisp of a fairy. A dove with pale clean wings pinned to her sides, unable to fly away as humanity raged and frothed around her in all its stark ugliness.
He knew something about the ugliness of man. Even as untouchable as she had seemed up on that block . . . ugliness would have seized her if he hadn’t done something. He’d known that.
So he’d done something.
He urged his mount a fraction faster as if needing more space between them.
He just had to get her to Kilmarkie House and then he could secure her as his housekeeper and have all the space he needed.
Chapter 7
The dove paced the confines of her new cage, learning its parameters . . .
learning all she could about her new prison.
Alyse reached down and rubbed her calf where Little Bit had nipped her. She knew there would be a bruise later. Thankfully the beast had ceased trying to eat her for a snack. She didn’t know if it was because of her Non Husband’s instructions or if the animal simply decided to increase its pace to something beyond a crawl.
Little Bit still didn’t move fast enough. It was a nuisance. The man ahead of her was forced to slow his pace and she knew it annoyed him from the hard-eyed glances he cast over his shoulder. She resisted pointing out that he was the one who had purchased a mule for her to ride. Except he was her employer now, so she held her tongue.
She stared at his broad back moving ahead of her—at the filthy fabric of his dark coat. He appeared to have spent some time rolling on the ground. It baffled her. Clearly he was a gentleman. He spoke with cultured accents. He possessed property and funds enough to buy her and a mule. And yet he looked a mess.
Deciding it would behoove her to better know the man she was stuck with, she cleared her throat. “Where are you from?”
A beat of silence passed before he answered, “I live in England.”
She rolled her eyes and stopped herself from retorting, “Obviously.” She did not want to provoke him. As much as she was loath to admit, her life was in his hands now. He could still abandon her. Toss her in these very woods where her body would be picked apart by wolves. She shivered before she could help herself.
It would well serve her not to be too difficult of a traveling companion. Just as it would serve her not to lower her guard with this man. She knew firsthand that a person could say one thing and then behave in a contrary manner. Just because he promised her future employment did not mean he would keep his word. Wisdom bade she be on her guard no matter what words he spoke.
His shoulders lifted on a sigh. His voice rumbled back at her, his reluctance to speak evident, and yet he did. “I spend most of my time in London.”
Another five minutes passed as they plodded along.
Nothing else from him.
She moistened her lips and glanced around at the surrounding snow-draped trees. “I’ve never been this far north of Collie-Ben before.” In truth, she’d never been anywhere outside of her village before.
Hooves clopped on the path, one after the other. A steady, hypnotic cadence. She sank deeper in her saddle, telling herself to embrace the silence as it appeared it would be the background to their journey. That would be fine. A refreshing change from the boisterous Beard household.
Except the humming silence fed her doubts as they rode along. Her gaze fixed on his back. She was placing a great deal of trust in this man. What if he was lying? He could be lying about any number of things. His intentions. His destination. His promise of employment. She knew nothing of this man.
She took a deep breath and tried to suppress her unease. She needed a calm and level head. She was alone now. Truly alone. No husband willing to claim her. No friends. No children to look after. It was just Alyse. She had only herself to rely on and she required her composure and wits.
She exhaled, wondering if she should simply slip away. Escape into the woods on her dawdling mule. The image was almost laughable.
“I don’t believe you ever told me your name,” she said, compelled to fill the silence and squash her wild thoughts.
He stopped and wheeled his horse around. “Did I not?”
“No, you did not.”
“How remiss of me.”
“Well, it was quite an eventful day,” she allowed.
“Indeed. My name is Marcus.” He hesitated and then added, “Weatherton.”
She nodded a single time, testing the sound of that name in her head. Marcus. Weatherton. Marcus Weatherton. She rolled that over inside her mind, and then she was bold enough to take it a step further. Alyse Weatherton. Mrs. Alyse Weatherton.
No. She gave her head a hard shake. That was not her name. He had made that much clear. It would never be her name. She stared at his hard-eyed visage and shivered. A relief to be certain. She had no wish to be trapped in marriage to him.
She swallowed against her dry mouth. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Weatherton.” It was the polite and proper thing to do. Even if a couple hours late.
He made a grunting sound, and she was quite sure he was not pleased to meet her. Still, she would make an effort at manners. Her father had always taught her the importance of grace and civility.
Still, it would better serve her if she grew to know Marcus Weatherton and learn for herself what manner of man he was, so she asked, “If you have never before visited Kilmarkie House, what inspired this visit now?” In the midst of winter, no less.
He considered her a moment longer before turning his horse back around and continuing forward. She urged her mule to follow. He protested with a braying neigh, but reluctantly obliged. She could relate.
“This is not the most hospitable time of year in the Highlands,” she added, hoping it would invoke more response from him.
Her suspicious mind worked busily. What if there was no Kilmarkie House? What if he lied? Her pulse throbbed at her neck and her gaze darted to the trees again.
Moments slipped past, but he still did not respond.
The trees felt thicker, pressing in, blotting out the light. Hard to imagine her best chance of refuge might be in those dark depths.
With a shaky breath, she continued, “Although I hear the Highlands are lovely any time of the year. I imagine covered in snow they are quite majestic.”
At last, he asked in a wearied voice, “Do you plan to talk the entire journey?”
“Have you an aversion to conversation, sir? We will be in each other’s company for a long time and I thought it might help.”
“Help? With what? I don’t require pointless banter.”
Pointless banter? She huffed out a foggy breath. The man did not win points for charm. She reminded herself that he was not a friend, not a companion . . . not even anyone she could trust. She wanted only to know him so that she might better arm herself. Not because she cared to personally know him.
She supposed she needed to expect less from him. He was simply her employer.
“I confess there is one matter that has been weighing on my mind,” he said.
“And what is that?”