Emerald (Jewel Trilogy, Book 2) (30 page)

She pulled away, struggling to regain her senses. "Now you look at me differently," she accused. "Ever since I put on these clothes."

"No." He captured her gaze with his. "Ever since I saw you dance with the Gypsies."

Since then? Her heart leapt. Dancing with the Gypsies, she'd been herself, Caithren Leslie, more than at any other time since she'd stepped foot in England.

He backed away, catching the bread from between them before it could fall to the ground.

Cait blinked and put her palms to her cheeks. She focused on the loaves in his hands. "They're squished," she said stupidly.

"Gothard is gone." He handed her a loaf. "I think we fooled him."

"I hope so," she said.

But maybe not. Maybe she'd like to try to fool him again. She wasn't completely convinced this was the only way to keep from being seen, but it could be the only way Jason would allow himself the pleasure of kissing her.

That
sort of bloody-mindedness she was determined to change.

The bread didn't feel as hot as it had between their bodies. Though she wasn't hungry, she unwrapped the loaf, tore off a hunk, and stuck it in her mouth. Before she could say something else stupid.

"Shall we go?" he asked her.

"Aye." Swallowing, she wrapped her bread back up. "Let's go." They untied their horses and headed out.

The road out of Biggleswade was narrow, with a few small houses scattered alongside. As scattered as Cait's thoughts. Jason was the most confusing man she'd ever met. Exasperating. Authoritative. Protective.

But he certainly knew how to kiss.

Although it was clouding up and cooling off, the brocade gown was heavy enough to keep her warm. The gown and the hot blood pumping through her veins…

What would she have done without Jason? It felt like a lifetime since he'd kept her off the coach. She'd still be on it, wouldn't she? Slowly making her way toward London, listening to Mrs. Dochart day in and day out.

She'd have her money and her clothes—clothes that didn't leave half her bosom exposed for the world to ogle. But she wouldn't have attended a country fair, tasted syllabub, or danced with the Gypsies.

Or learned what it felt like to really be kissed.

He'd swept her plans out from under her. The trouble was, she feared he'd swept her heart out from under her as well.

My dearest Malcolm and Alison,

I did not have to travel all the way South, as evidence proves the Gothards to be following the Great North Road toward London. They are not good at covering their tracks. So I hope to be home sooner than planned, which is a very happy thing, because I miss you both more than words can say.

All the day, as I ride the road, I think about my two bairns and what you might be doing. Every day that passes without you is a day I've missed forever, and I cannot wait to see your two bonnie faces and hold you in my arms again.

From what I have learned, these men are very, very bad people. I know I will be doing the world a good deed to see them gone. All the same, I would rather be with you, and I count the days until it will be so. I cannot wait to hug and kiss you, and my dearest prayer is that when I come home to you this time, it will be forever.

Your very loving Mama

During the ten long miles from Biggleswade to Baldock, the weather failed to cooperate. As the long blowing grasses gave way to Baldock's neat clipped gardens, the clouds grew darker and the wind picked up, whipping beneath Caithren's heavy skirts.

They rode past the Church of St. Mary, a pleasing amalgam of several centuries of architecture. Jason slowed before the Old White Horse. "You hungry?"

She held up her half-eaten loaf of bread. "I can wait if you can."

With a glance at the menacing clouds, he nodded. They continued on toward Stevenage, with Cait trying her best to keep the conversation flowing over the hours, so as not to think too much.

Because, truly, she didn't know
what
to think anymore.

When the temperature dropped, they donned their working-class hats even though they didn't match their upper-class disguises. Jason dug in the portmanteau and jostled his horse closer to settle his cloak over her shoulders.

"Thank you," she said, snuggling into the woolen warmth. She fastened the clasp beneath her chin. "Maid-of-the-Wave."

"Pardon?"

"I'm naming my horse Maid-of-the-Wave. Her coat is glittery like a mermaid, don't you think? And sort of reddish, like a salmon?"

He shrugged. "If you say so."

"What will you be naming yours?"

"Nothing." He shot a glance over his shoulder. "I'll be riding him only through tomorrow. He won't have time to learn a name."

She shook her head mournfully. "All creatures need a name. If you won't name him, then I shall have to. Hmm…" Chilled, she gathered the edges of the cloak more closely around her. "Hamish," she decided.

"Hamish?" Jason slanted her a puzzled glance. "After who?"

"The young farmer who married the Maid-of-the-Wave."

His lips quirked. "You never said his name was Hamish."

"Well, I don't actually know his name. But it seems to me that about one out of four men in Scotland is named Hamish, so I figure it's a bonnie good bet."

She was blethering again.

Since he appeared to be choking back laughter, she looked away and caught sight of a flutter in the sky. An excuse to change the subject. "Magpies," she said, watching one of the black-and-white birds land in a tree. "Do you see their dome-shaped nest? I hope there are at least two in it."

Frowning, he glanced over his shoulder again. "Why?"

"Less than two are supposed to be unlucky, aye? And doubly so if you see one alone before breakfast." He was still looking behind them. "Are you counting the magpies?

"Pardon? No. No, I'm not."

"I don't believe the superstition, but I do know a verse." She started quoting. "One for sorrow, two for luck, three for a wedding—"

"Bloody hell!"

She gasped when he reached across and grabbed her reins. Kicking his horse into a gallop, he drove them both off the side of the road. His hat flew off.

"What are you doing?" she yelled, holding on for dear life, one hand on her head to keep her own hat from flying away.

"Just hold on!" His jaw set, he pressed on, and Cait wondered wildly what they could be running from. Six strange little round hills sat off the road a wee distance. Drawing close, he reined in and dragged both horses to a halt.

He dismounted in a flash and reached both hands to help her down. He tugged her toward one of the mounds.

"Will they stay?" she asked. "Maid-of-the-Wave and Hamish?"

He shrugged, hurrying her along. "The horses are the least of our worries."

"Don't tell me you think those brothers are after us again."

He shot a glance around the hill, back toward the road. "All right, I won't tell you."

She followed his gaze. Her heart seized when she spotted Walter and Geoffrey Gothard astride two horses.

"Damnation! Get down!" With two hands on her shoulders, Jason pushed her to her knees.

She shrieked, her hand going to her hurt arm.

"Sorry," he hissed. Her hat tumbled off as they scrambled behind the mound and out of sight. But there was no way to hide the beasts they'd been riding on. And Jason's instincts had been right. The brothers were following them. She'd seen them with her own eyes.

Quite suddenly she recalled a vivid memory of standing outside Scarborough's house and overhearing their wicked plans. As then, she shivered. But her heart was pounding a good deal harder than that day, knowing the Gothards were now bent on killing not just Scarborough, but her and Jason, too.

"Cooperate this time, will you?" Jason's eyes burned with an intense green fire. "There's nothing for it. I hope they'll stay on the road, but if they ride round this hill and get a good look at our faces—"

He broke off, and his mouth covered hers.

The caress was more than a simple kiss this time—his body covered hers, warm and heavy, pinning her to the cushiony grass. Her blood raced in both passion and fear. She felt boneless and aflame all at once, the conflicting emotions all-consuming.

Was it grass-muted hoofbeats she heard drawing near, or her own heartbeat in her ears? Whichever, stark panic overcame the softer feelings, and her heart pumped even faster as she imagined Gothard stabbing Jason in the back as she lay under him, or shooting him, or—

"Pardon my impudence," he murmured, "but I've got to make this look good." The next thing she knew, his hand was venturing under her skirt—

And the hoofbeats came yet closer—

"Damn me, Caroline," a man's voice drawled. "Someone's found our favorite spot."

Jason opened one eye to get a look at the intruders, then sat up, muttering a curse. Caithren lay limp in the grass, a hand pressed to her heart while he adjusted the tangled cloak and tugged down on her skirts.

He glanced up at the young man and woman, both on horseback. Country folk, likely stealing away to court on the sly.

Horror widened the girl's round gray eyes. "Let's go! Can't you see they're quality? Let's go!" Her cheeks stained bright red, she dug in her heels and took off.

The young man wheeled and rode after her, shouting, "Caroline!"

Releasing a slow breath, Jason crawled around the mound to have a look, then returned to Caithren. "The Gothards…I guess they rode past." He raked a rather shaky hand through his hair, only to realize it was the periwig, which he nearly dislodged. "We scared off those lovers but good," he said with a smile, offering a hand to help Caithren sit.

She smiled back. "We did, didn't we?" She burst into giggles, hugging her sides. The giddiness of relief, he guessed. "My mam always said, 'guid claes and keys let you in.'"

"Good what?"

"Clothes. Dressing well can open doors for you the same as a key, aye? We've dressed the part, and they believed it, just like that." She snapped her fingers and stood up, evidently not an easy task in the silver shoes. Her legs looked wobbly. "What are these wee hills? They look too regular to be natural."

"They're Roman barrows." Jason rose as well, brushing off his velvet breeches. "Burial mounds."

"Oh," she said, making a face. "Faugh."

"Faugh? That's it?" He leaned to pick up her hat. "No quote of your mother's for this one?"

"I'll tell you, Jase. I don't think Mam ever kissed anyone while lying on top of dead Romans."

He threw back his head and laughed.

"I wouldn't mind trying it again, though," she added.

That sobered him. "What?"

"The kissing." She shook out her skirts and pulled up on the hated stomacher. "You seem to enjoy the kissing enough, but you need to have an excuse." She squared her shoulders and faced him daringly. "You're attracted to me, aye?"

"I am." He'd be lying to deny it. "But God knows why." Maybe because she made him laugh. He'd been far too serious the past weeks—the past years, truth be told. Ever since his parents had died and left him with all the responsibilities. "And God also knows I've no business acting on that attraction."

"Why not, I ask you?" She moved closer. "I wouldn't tell a soul, and I wouldn't try to trap you, either. I have every intention of going home to Scotland, and I won't be expecting you to come with me. Before I leave, though, I'd just like to know…"

Both her proximity and her earnestness made him uncomfortable. Turning her hat in his hands, he started walking back to the horses. "Know what?"

"What it would feel like, is all." She hurried to keep up with him, stumbling in the new shoes. "What it would feel like to—"

When she broke off, he risked looking over at her. Her breath came unevenly. Her cheeks had turned a becoming shade of pink.

"You know," she said, as though he knew what she was talking about.

Which, of course, he did.

He halted mid-step. A Scottish woman propositioning him. He needed a moment to digest that.

No matter how much his hands burned to run riot all over her body, the mere idea was absurd. And it was wrong as well. Even more so now that he knew she was a provincial baronet's daughter, not some bold, widowed reward-hunter.

He'd already compromised her by traveling alone with her. There was nothing he could do about that now, but he sure as hell wasn't going to take things any further.

He turned to her and stuck the hat on her head.

"With you," she added in a whisper. "I've never wanted to before. Before I met you, I mean." Her hand went to her amulet, and her lower lip trembled. "But you won't do anything about it, will you?"

"No, I won't be doing anything about it." Her eyes were a gorgeous hazy blue. Christ. "You should be grateful for that. It's wrong to take a woman and—just leave her," he said, striding over to the horses.

Teetering in his wake, she called after him. "If you believe that, have you never, then? With a woman, since you've said you're not wanting to marry. I mean…" She rushed in front of him and stood blocking his way, looking up at him. "Are you a virgin, Jason Chase?"