McAlistair's Fortune (8 page)

“I…” She took a deep breath and tried for a gentle tone. “McAlistair, Norfolk is to the north, not the east. I mean, it is a
hair
to the east, certainly, but not a full day’s worth of riding. We must be near Suffolk by now.”

His eyes moved over the land as he spoke. “We’ll be in Suffolk tomorrow.”

“But the cottage is in Norfolk.”

“Change of plans.” He turned to study the subtle trail they had left through the tall grass.

“Change of plans?” She started a little. “What change of plans?”

“We’re going to Suffolk.”

A small bubble of laughter escaped her throat. “But
why?”

He was quiet a moment, but rather than take immediate offense, as she might have two days ago, Evie waited patiently—relatively speaking—for him to speak. Silence following a question, she was beginning to realize, didn’t necessarily indicate a refusal to answer. It didn’t necessarily indicate he
would
answer either, but it seemed only fair to give the man a chance.

“We decided Suffolk would be best,” he finally admitted.

Evie decided so little enlightenment had not been worth the wait. “We?”

“Whit, William, Mr. Hunter—”

“Before we left Haldon? You altered our destination
be
fore?”

“Yes. For the best.”

“And no one thought to tell me?” If he answered with any variation of “for the best,” she was going to kill him. Reach right over, grab his reins, and wrap them around his neck.

“We couldn’t risk it.”

She narrowed her eyes. That was dangerously close. “Risk what?

“You telling the staff where we were headed.”

She jolted a little in the saddle, stung by the insult. “I can keep a secret.”

His mouth hooked up at the corner. She wished she didn’t find that quite so attractive.

“Did you?” he asked.

No, she’d told Lizzy, but she’d be damned if she’d admit to it. “No one asked me to.”

He transferred his reins to one hand. “And if we had?”

“I am a Cole.” She straightened her shoulders. “I always keep my word.”

“I’ll remember that.”

She twisted her lips. “And I suppose I should remember you’ve no qualms about lying to me.”

“Probably,” he replied easily, which earned a small smile from her. “But in this case, I just didn’t tell you.”

“Lying by omission is still a lie.”

“It was more a failure to correct a misunderstanding.”

She laughed softly. “You’ve a clever tongue when you’re of a mind to use it.”

“It’s been a great while since…” He trailed off and cocked his head just a little. “You’re not angry.”

“Of course not. Mine is vastly cleverer.”

“For the uncorrected misunderstanding.”

“Not particularly, no,” she admitted. “At least, I’m not any angrier over this bit of misinformation than I am over the towering mountain of misinformation preceding it. I’d say my feelings on this fall somewhere between astonished and irritated.” She sent him a hard look. “In the future, however, I would very much appreciate being informed of any changes in our itinerary.”

He dipped his head in acknowledgment, which was as close to an apology as she expected to gain from the likes of McAlistair.

“Well then,” she said, “if we’re not headed to Mr. Hunter’s cottage—”

“We are, just a different one.”

She blinked at that. “How many does the man own?”

“A number.”

“You don’t say,” she drawled. “Shall I take that to mean you don’t know?”

“If you like.”

She laughed again and urged her horse forward. It mattered very little to her where, exactly, they were going, as long as they arrived in a timely fashion. She desperately wanted a hot bath.

They rode for the next hour in much the same manner as they had earlier, with McAlistair prowling about and Evie left to her thoughts.

When a thick wall of gray clouds appeared on the horizon, those thoughts turned to rain. When the wall had moved to cover half the sky and block out the sun a mere twenty minutes later, she wondered if they were in for a storm.

“Ominous clouds,” she murmured to herself before turning and repeating the same words to McAlistair as he rode up next to her.

He nodded. “We may need to stay in Randswith. Do you know anyone there?”

She smiled. “I am the niece of the dowager Lady Thurston. It’s probable I’ve met someone from every city, town, and village in the country.”

He dug through one of the bags attached to the saddle, pulled out a green woolen cape with hood, and handed it to her. “Here.”

She took the unfamiliar garment and stared at it. “Where on earth did you get this?”

“Lady Thurston. Last-minute addition at Haldon.”

“Where on earth did
she
get it? It isn’t even remotely fashionable. I can’t imagine why she would have it lying about.” Her head snapped up to his. “Unless, of course, she had it made in advance. Because she’d planned on my having to use it. She
knew
—”

“Just put it on, Evie.”

She almost reminded him of his agreement to listen to her concerns, before remembering she’d traded that right for a kiss. She sighed and pulled on the cloak. She couldn’t regret her decision to lose the wager, even if the cape
was
a size too small across the chest—apparently, it
hadn’t
been made for her—so that the material pulled uncomfortably across her shoulder blades as she closed the clasp under her chin. The kiss had been worth it.

She rolled her shoulders and grimaced at the way the rough wool scratched the back of her neck. She pulled the hood up and caught the strong odor of old trunk and…

She sniffed the inside of the hood and wrinkled her nose. What was that?

Pulling up a corner of the hem, she found a dark stain, and the odor got stronger. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t possibly…

She saw it then, caught in the inside seam, a small, dark pellet that could only be a mouse dropping. “Bloody hell.” She struggled out of the ill-fitting garment. “I take it back. It wasn’t worth it. I want a rematch.”

McAlistair watched her tear off the garment. “Keep it on. A rematch of what?”

Thinking it best to ignore that last question, she held the cape out at arm’s length and addressed the first. “I’ll not keep it on. It’s full of mouse droppings.”

“I don’t see any.”

“Well, they’re small, aren’t they?” And full may have been something of an exaggeration. Still, one mouse dropping qualified as quite full enough, in her estimation.

“Shake it out, then,” McAlistair advised.

She gave him a doleful look. “Above and beyond the fact that it doesn’t fit and scratches horribly, there’s a suspicious stain and an obvious smell. Somehow, I doubt shaking it out will alter the size and feel, nor disguise the signs that it has been, for goodness only knows how long, a home for rodents.” She gave the cape a disgusted look. “I can’t believe my aunt expected me to wear this. She could have at least had it washed out first.”

“As I said, it was a last-minute addition. Shake it out and put it on.”

She dropped her arm to her side with a sigh. “If I thought for a moment that our safety was dependent on my not being seen, I promise you I would—”

“There’s your reputation as well.”

Blast, he was right. She couldn’t be seen at an inn with McAlistair. She’d be ruined. “Why don’t we skip the inn and spend another night in the woods?” she suggested hopefully, even while her heart sank at the idea of forgoing a hot bath and decent meal. “We could find a quiet spot with a bit of cover and a stream. You can teach me to fish with my bare hands.”

She rather liked the idea, now that she thought on it. She could make do with a cold bath. And without the fear of waking up in pain, another night spent under the stars, surrounded by the moonlight and the sounds of the forest, seemed an enjoyable prospect. Particularly with McAlistair beside her.

“It’ll be lovely. The weather’s cooled some, and—” She broke off when a fat raindrop hit her thigh. She scowled at it, then at the one that landed on her knee, her other knee, her wrist. “Bit of rain, that’s all. Won’t kill us. Might be nice, really, falling asleep to the sounds of the odd raindrop hitting the leaves.”

The sky opened up, simply opened up and rained down a great wall of water. The noise was instantaneous, as was Evie’s soaking—right down to the skin, as if someone had dumped a very large, very full bucket of water over her head.

McAlistair jerked his chin at the green cape, thick and dripping with water, and lifted his voice over the roar of rain. “It’s washed. Put it on.”

W
hat little good had come from shaking out the cape was cancelled by the deluge of rain. Wet wool was never a pleasant thing to behold. Wet, ill-fitting, smelly wool moved right past unpleasant to utterly revolting.

Evie looked, felt, and no doubt smelled like a wet rodent. The inn’s stable hand seemed to think so. After being subjected to her presence, the young boy had taken the horses and scurried off with such haste that Evie wondered if he feared she’d give pursuit.

“This is humiliating,” she grumbled as they made their way under the eaves of the old building. With the rain and wind out of her eyes, she took stock of their shelter for the night.

Weathered wood, sagging roofline, and missing shutters all gave the distinct impression that whatever better days the inn might have seen were at least several decades past. At the sound of rhythmic squeaking above her, Evie stepped back and looked up to see the inn’s shingle, dangling precariously from one chain.

“The Sow and Boar,” she read aloud, squinting her eyes through the rain. That didn’t bode well, did it?

“Why this one?” she asked McAlistair over the howling wind. “We passed a much nicer inn not five minutes ago.”

“Nicer wants wedding bands. Keep your hands under the cape here,” he suggested. “Just in case.”

“Ah.” She pulled her hands inside. “Right.”

An inn catering to the well-heeled wasn’t likely to sully its reputation by allowing a man and woman who were not husband and wife to take a room. She and McAlistair might be tossed out on their respective ears if they tried it.

McAlistair tugged the hood farther over her face. “And keep quiet.”

The first bolt of lightning lanced through the sky as they pushed through the heavy front door, and the chasing roll of thunder sounded as McAlistair closed the door behind them.

She was relieved to find the interior at least marginally more maintained than the exterior. The furnishings were as old and scarred as the floor beneath their feet—which, she couldn’t help noticing, sloped heavily to the left—but someone seemed to have taken a broom and duster to them in the last year, and there was a not altogether unpleasant smell of candle wax and hot food in the air. Then again, a fresh pile of horse manure might seem an improvement at the moment.

She dearly wanted to get out of the wretched cape.

McAlistair procured a room with a minimum of fuss. Though the squat, balding man who introduced himself as the innkeeper made several poorly concealed attempts at sneaking a peak under her hood, he appeared more curious than concerned. And when that curiosity led him to lean just a bit closer, he received little more for the effort than a great waft of wet, stinking wool.

Nose wrinkled, he jerked back. “Top of the stairs, second door on the right. Fire going already to dry your things. Would…er…would the missus care for a hot bath?”

“Oh,
yes
—”

“A basin of water will do.”

She scowled at McAlistair, for all the good it did her. The innkeeper wasn’t the only one who couldn’t see through her hood. Still, it made her feel a touch better to make a face at McAlistair’s back as he led them upstairs.

The room was small and sparsely furnished, with only a table and two chairs, a changing screen, and a bed, but it was clean, dry, and came with a cheerful fire blazing in the hearth. She felt her spirits lifting.

She tore the cape off the moment the door closed and, fearing the odor might fill the whole room, decided to fold it into a corner rather than dry it in front of the fire.

“I should have liked that bath,” she grumbled, then waved her hand dismissively before McAlistair could respond. “I know, we can’t have staff coming and going.” She grudgingly relinquished her daydream of hot water and soap and moved to warm herself in front of the fire. “Why didn’t you ask for two rooms?”

McAlistair stripped off his overcoat. “Suspicious.”

She wondered about the cleanliness of the floor, then considered whether she had the energy to drag a chair over from the table.

She took a seat on the floor. “You could have told him we were siblings.”

“More suspicious.”

“I can’t see how.”

He actually sighed a little, a fact she found both gratifying—gaining any sort of reaction from McAlistair was gratifying—and irritating. She didn’t think it was too much to ask for him to explain his choice of actions.

“He knows we’re lying, but assumes we’re hiding a lovers’ tryst. He’s curious but otherwise unconcerned. Should we take separate rooms—”

“He’d have to assume we’re lying for other reasons,” she finished for him. “I suppose you’re right.”

He studied her a moment before pulling off his waistcoat and tossing it in front of the fire. He hadn’t bothered with a cravat that morning, and a smooth triangle of tanned skin was visible where his dry shirt opened at the chest. Evie found herself mesmerized by the sight. That skin was smooth and tan right down to the waist, she remembered. Feeling the beginnings of a blush, she tore her eyes and thoughts away from the memory of McAlistair’s muscled chest.

“How is your leg?” he asked.

“I…fine, thank you.”

His dark eyes searched her face. “Does it pain you?”

“I am a bit sore,” she admitted, accepting that another conversation about her infernal leg couldn’t be avoided. “But not unbearably so.”

A line formed across his brow. “You’re certain—”

“I’m quite fine, I assure you. A hot bath would have helped, but a decent night’s sleep will no doubt be sufficient.”

He nodded and reached for the leather tie holding his hair. “You’ll want dinner first.”

If it hadn’t been for the mention of food, Evie was certain she would have sighed at the sight of McAlistair’s thick hair falling forward to brush his shoulders, then sighed again when he swept it back and retied it. But even her peculiar fascination with McAlistair’s locks couldn’t compete with the promise of a real meal.

“Oh, yes,
please
,” she breathed. “I know it’s early, but—”

“I’ll see to it.”

Though she could have comfortably fallen asleep fully dressed right there on the floor, she gathered the energy to bend over and begin untying her boots. “Thank you.”

“When I knock, stand behind the screen.”

She straightened back up. “Behind the screen? Whatever for?”

“They have to bring in the tray.”

“This is absurd—”

“The screen or the cape. Your choice.”

She was too tired and too hungry to argue. “I’ll take the screen.”

Though she felt a fool, Evie moved to hide behind the wooden screen when the knock sounded at the door twenty minutes later. She debated for a moment as to whether a response was required, then shrugged and called for the group to enter.

A moderate commotion followed—furniture scraped, plates rattled. She heard something actually clang—which confused her—and someone muttered a mild oath. There had to be nearly half a dozen pairs of feet shuffling about, Evie realized, barely resisting the urge to peek. Why the devil would it take half a dozen people to haul up a dinner tray?

“Shall we put it behind the screen, sir?” someone asked in a strained voice.

“No. In front of the fire.”

“And the screen, sir?” someone else asked. “Shall I move it?”

As she couldn’t see properly, she could only assume McAlistair shook his head at the man. And why wouldn’t he? Who ate behind a screen in a private room? She heard the distinct jingling of coins, the retreating shuffle of feet, and then the creak of the door before it closed.

“You can come out.”

“It was hardly necessary for me to hide to begin with. What in the world was that—” She broke off as she stepped around the screen and saw a very small tub set before the fire. It was already filled almost half full of water hot enough to let off steam. A small stack of drying cloths and a fresh bar of soap sat beside it.

“A hot bath,” she breathed, and turned to find McAlistair sitting at the small table now piled high with platters of food. “And a hot dinner.”

He stood and moved to fold the screen and place it in front of the tub. “Better if it were one at a time, but this limited intrusions. Which do you want first?”

“First?” She looked from the tub to the table to the tub again. She felt almost lightheaded with anticipation. “I don’t know.”

“The bath, then,” he suggested. “Before it grows cold.”

“Yes…of course…um…” She eyed the food, unable to recall a time she’d felt so torn. “Perhaps…” A wonderful idea occurred to her. She lifted a lid off one of the platters to discover thick slices of lamb. Stabbing one piece onto the end of a fork, she lifted it to her mouth for a bite. “Both.”

“Both? You want to eat in the tub?”

“Disgusting, isn’t it?” Despite the fact that it was, she took her slice of lamb with her behind the screen. It took some doing, undressing with only one hand, but she succeeded after a time and soon slid into the warm water. The tub was small, and the lamb something less than skillfully prepared, but the combination after two days of hard riding was nothing short of wonderful. She groaned in pleasure.

She ought to feel uncomfortable, she mused, sitting naked in a tub not four feet from McAlistair with only a thin screen between them, but she just couldn’t rouse the energy for it.

“This was a marvelous idea, McAlistair.” She spoke around a mouthful of food. “And most thoughtful of you. Thank you very much.”

There was a long pause before he answered. “You’re welcome.”

McAlistair stared at the screen. He couldn’t pull his eyes away. He couldn’t stop his imagination from dwelling on what was behind that thin barrier of wood—

Evie. Naked, and wet.

Through a tremendous act of will, he’d managed not to think of her undressing, concentrating instead on washing with the soap and basin of hot water he’d procured for himself. And he’d succeeded in ignoring that first soft splash of water when she’d slipped into the tub, studiously turning his attention to his meal.

But then she’d groaned—that low, soft sound of pleasure—and his mind had been wiped clean of everything but Evie.

Naked and wet.

It would be such an easy thing to stand up and walk around that screen.

She’d been so open, so willing, so responsive the night before. He’d have little trouble convincing her to let him join her now.

Because the idea was too tempting by half, he rose from the table quickly enough to scrape the chair legs against the floor. “You need something dry to wear.”

The tub water swished, and he nearly groaned himself. He could just see how it would lap against her pale skin, and brush the edges of all that soft brown hair. She’d be smiling, gleaming—

“Beg your pardon?” she called out.

He actually had to clear his throat. He couldn’t remember a time since he’d been a green boy that he’d actually had to clear his throat to speak around desire. “I’ll be back soon.”

But not, he decided, too soon.

Evie had scrubbed herself clean, dried herself off, and was trying to decide whether McAlistair’s extended absence meant he hadn’t been able to secure clean clothes and she should therefore reclaim her dirty ones, when he finally let himself back into the room.

She peeked around the screen, a large drying cloth wrapped tightly about her. “Where did you go?”

Keeping his eyes trained somewhere over her shoulder, he handed her a simple night rail and wrap. “To find you these. From the innkeeper’s wife.”

“Oh, thank heavens.” She took the offered clothing. “You were gone a very long time.”

“I waited in the hall.” His tone was flat, but there was a hint of color to his cheeks.

Evie assumed it was from the heat of the room. “The hall? Whatever for?”

“To give you some privacy.”

“Oh. That was very kind, I’m sure, but unnecessary. The screen was sufficient.” She glanced at the table. “And now you’ve a cold meal and bath.”

“The basin will do.”

“But—”

“I ate some before I left.”

“Oh, well, but still—”

“Get dressed, Evie.”

She wondered at the gruff demand, before attributing it to exhaustion. Slipping behind the screen once more, she pulled on the night rail and wrap. They were a far cry from being a perfect fit—the sleeves ended well past her fingertips, the hems of both dragged on the floor, and the wrap was wide enough to cover her twice over—but they were clean and soft, and she was grateful for them. She could cinch the wrap tight with the tie, and she could roll up the sleeves. The extra length, however, required her to bunch up the material and carry it over her arm.

McAlistair was sitting at the table when she emerged. He lifted an eyebrow at the spectacle she made. “You look as if you’ve been swallowed whole.”

“Feel a bit like it, as well. It’s lovely.” She took a seat across from him at the table, rubbing her sore leg a little without realizing it.

His eyes caught the movement. “Better?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, much.”

He nodded, and though she’d have been happy to do it for herself, he filled a plate for her. “Your injury’s from a carriage accident?”

He asked the question casually, but it jarred her nonetheless. She wasn’t used to probing questions about her leg or scar, casual or otherwise. “I…yes, it is.”

“You needn’t speak of it, if it bothers you.”

It didn’t bother her, exactly. Snide remarks or being treated like an invalid,
that
bothered her, but she would feel perfectly comfortable relating the story of the accident that caused those injuries…reasonably comfortable…probably. How was she to know? It had been ages since anyone had asked it of her.

“There’s very little to tell, really,” she began, taking the plate he offered. “We were returning from a birthday celebration at our neighbor’s. It was dark, and the carriage veered off the road and slid into a tree.”

“Veered off,” he repeated. “Was it the weather?”

“No.” She thought of her father’s slurred voice, booming over her head as he whipped the horses to go faster, faster, and felt a hint of color rise to her cheeks. Perhaps there was a piece of the tale she was less than comfortable sharing. She reached for the teapot on the table. “Would you care for some?”