“I have no choice but to stay. There won’t be another stage back to Spindle Cove until morning.”
Thorne looked at his gelding. “I’ll hire you a horse, if you can ride.”
She shook her head. “I never had any lessons.”
Curse it. How was he going to remedy this situation? He easily had the money to hire another horse, but nowhere near enough coin in his pocket for a private carriage. He could put her up in an inn—but damned if he would let her stay alone.
A dangerous thought visited him, sinking talons into his mind.
He could stay with her.
Not in a tawdry way, he told himself. Just as her protector. He could find a damned place for her to sit down, as a start. He could see that she had food and drink and warm blankets. He could stand watch while she slept and make certain nothing disturbed her. He could be there when she woke.
After all these months of frustrated longing, maybe that would be enough.
Enough? Right.
“Good heavens.” She took a sudden step back.
“What is it?”
Her gaze dropped and she swallowed hard. “Some part of you is moving.”
“No, it’s not.” Thorne conducted a quick, silent assessment of his personal equipment. He found all to be under regulation. On another occasion—one with fewer tears involved—this degree of closeness would have undoubtedly roused his lust. But today she was affecting him rather higher in his torso. Tying his guts in knots and poking at whatever black, smoking cinder remained of his heart.
“Your satchel.” She indicated the leather pouch slung crossways over his chest. “It’s . . . wriggling.”
Oh. That. In all the commotion, he’d nearly forgotten the creature.
He reached beneath the leather flap and withdrew the source of the wriggling, holding it up for her to see.
“It’s just this.”
And suddenly everything was different. It was like the whole world took a knock and tilted at a fresh angle. In less time than it took a man’s heart to skip, Miss Taylor’s face transformed. The tears were gone. Her elegant, sweeping eyebrows arched in surprise. Her eyes candled to life—glowed, really, like two stars. Her lips fell apart in a delighted gasp.
“Oh.” She pressed one hand to her cheek. “Oh, it’s a puppy.”
She smiled. Lord, how she smiled. All because of this wriggling ball of snout and fur that was as likely to piss on her slippers as chew them to bits.
She reached forward. “May I?”
As if he could refuse. Thorne placed the pup in her arms.
She fawned and cooed over it like a baby. “Where did you come from, sweeting?”
“A farm nearby,” Thorne answered. “Thought I’d take him back to the castle. Been needing a hound.”
She cocked her head and peered at the pup. “Is he a hound?”
“Partly.”
Her fingers traced a rust-colored patch over the pup’s right eye. “I’d suppose he’s partly many things, isn’t he? Funny little dear.”
She lifted the pup in both hands and looked it nose-to-nose, puckering her lips to make a little chirping noise. The dog licked her face.
Lucky cur.
“Was that mean Corporal Thorne keeping you in a dark, nasty satchel?” She gave the pup a playful shake. “You like it so much better out here with me, don’t you? Of course you do.”
The dog yipped. She laughed and drew it close to her chest, bending over its furry neck.
“You are perfect,” he heard her whisper. “You are just exactly what I needed today.” She stroked the pup’s fur. “Thank you.”
Thorne felt a sharp twist in his chest. Like something rusted and bent, shaking loose. This girl had a way of doing that—making him feel. She always had, even years upon years in the past. That long-ago time seemed to fall beyond the reach of her earliest memories. A true mercy for her.
But Thorne remembered. He remembered it all.
He cleared his throat. “We’d best be on the road. It’ll be near dark by the time we reach Spindle Cove.”
She tore her attention from the dog and gave Thorne a curious glance. “But how?”
“You’ll ride with me. The both of you. I’ll take you up on my saddle. You’ll carry the dog.”
As if consulting all the concerned parties, she turned to the horse. Then to the dog. Lastly, she lifted her gaze to Thorne’s. “You’re certain we’ll fit?”
“Just.”
She bit her lip, looking unsure.
Her instinctive resistance to the idea was plain. And understandable. Thorne wasn’t overeager to put his plan into action, either. Three hours astride a horse with Miss Kate Taylor nestled between his thighs? Torture of the keenest sort. But he could see no better way to have her swiftly and safely home.
He could do this. If he’d lasted a year with her in the same tiny village, he could withstand a few hours’ closeness.
“I won’t leave you here,” he said. “It’ll have to be done.”
Her mouth quirked in a droll, self-conscious smile. It was reassuring to see, and at the same time devastating.
“When you put it that way, I find myself unable to refuse.”