Gradually she became aware she had her arms around a man in an intimate embrace. A horse pawed the ground and another neighed, and harnesses jingled. There were five horses nearby and three other men. Witnesses to her shockingly improper behavior.
And she didn’t care.
Nick angled back, just a little, and reluctantly she separated her body from his. He cupped her face with his big, strong hands, worry creasing his brow beneath his makeshift bandage. “He didn’t hurt you when he tied you up?”
She watched his mouth as he spoke, those full, expressive lips, and she lifted up on her toes because she had to touch them.
Nick groaned and pulled her in for a kiss, one hand cupping her cheek, the other arm wrapping around her waist, holding her close. His thumb caressed her cheek. She poured everything into the kiss—the joy at waking up with him that morning, the fear that froze her blood when she thought he’d died, the relief he was fine other than a headache and dizziness. He was still Nick.
In the tenderness of his touch she felt his answering relief that she was unharmed. The first time he’d kissed her had been after the battle at sea, shaken when he saw her blood and minor injury. As if he actually cared about her well-being. That she mattered to him.
“Damned molly boy,” Ruford muttered. “We’re ashore, not at sea, Sheffield,” he called impatiently. “Get yourself a wench!”
Zach chuckled and walked closer to Harriet, leading her horse as well as his own.
They did need to get going after the treasure. Harriet reluctantly broke the kiss, this intimate connection with Nick. There was another emotion evident in Nick’s expression as she pulled away, an unfamiliar look in his eyes she’d never seen before. Took her a moment to recognize it.
Hunger.
For her.
Her breath hitched.
Nick leaned back in to steal a quick kiss before he relinquished his hold on her and stepped beside the stirrup of the huge grey gelding, his intent clear.
“Not this time, lad,” Zach said. “Harry got you off the ground once. We’re not going to pick you up again.” He gently pushed Nick aside and cupped his hands. “Up you go, m’dear.”
With a lingering glance at Nick, she let Zach boost her into the saddle.
Hornsby approached Nick, carrying a broken tree branch that was a little longer than Harriet’s arm and twice as thick. Blood glistened on the side near one end. “Want your souvenir?”
Nick leaned away, his face a grimace of distaste. “Thank you, no.”
Hornsby tossed the stick and the men mounted. By the time Nick had collected his proffered hat from Zach, settled in the saddle and opened his eyes again, Hornsby was galloping up the road, Ruford close behind.
Zach moved out at a much slower pace, as Nick seemed dizzy again now that he was in motion. Harriet rode beside him, not sure what she could actually do to help him but needing to be near.
Zach soon let Nick take the lead again to set the pace.
“Now we know why the innkeeper was surprised at having so many English guests last night,” Nick said after a while. “There were seven of us.” He was steady again, squinting only when the sun was directly in their eyes.
“Marlow must have left at first light to get ahead and waylay Hornsby and Ruford,” Harriet said. “And then he waited for us.” She shuddered.
“When Marlow set upon them, he took Hornsby’s copy of the map,” Zach said. “It hasn’t been of help since Corunna, but he thinks having both maps will convince the priest to give the treasure to him.”
Nick heaved a sigh. “You think Father Miguel would hand it over to someone other than Adam and Giles, or their heirs?”
Zach shrugged. “He’s been responsible for it for over five years. That’s a long time to wait for someone to come back for something they asked you to hold.”
Now that Harriet wasn’t worried Nick was going to fall out of the saddle, anxiety of a different sort set in, preventing her from enjoying the view of the grapevine-covered hillside, the valley spread below, and the Rio Ferreira sparkling in the distance as it meandered down to flow into the Sousa River before joining the Douro River and going out to sea. Marlow would surely reach Father Miguel first. And that was assuming their guess was correct and the priest had indeed gone to Casa de Perseguição, House of Chase, and they weren’t on another wild goose hunt.
What would she do if Marlow got the treasure? Or if there was no treasure at all?
The road made another sharp bend as it climbed the hillside. She nudged her horse to go faster.
* * *
The sun was high in the sky when they finally entered the courtyard of Casa de Perseguição. A half-dozen buildings were set in a semicircle, from ivy-covered housing and offices to fragrant grape-processing areas, to barns and stables that emitted an entirely different earthy scent. In summertime the courtyard would be a colorful oasis, but in late autumn the vines climbing the red brick walls were naked branches.
