“It’s like this,” he sighed. “Christopher Marlowe was a flash of fire, blazing in brilliance for a fleeting moment, for a startled intake of breath, and then he was gone. Some days, I feel the same. As if the glory of my youth will pass abruptly when this cursed feud consumes me, just as the feud consumed my parents and their parents before them.”
He stared ahead, afraid of what she might think of his rantings. His worst suspicions seemed confirmed when she said nothing for second upon second. Tentatively, he cut his eyes toward her. She was watching him, her expression difficult to read. Worlds and wonders rolled behind those sharp blue eyes, reminiscent of a summer sky. He shattered beneath her scrutiny.
“Idiotic, I know. Say it, Jane.”
The straight line of her mouth curved upward slightly. “I most certainly will not. That may have been the most enlightened thing I have heard you say.”
“In truth?”
“In truth. I know exactly what you mean. I feel as if my best days are already behind me and I am no better for the passage of time. When I look in the mirror, I still see the friendless little girl constructed of elbows and knees.”
Adam shook his head. “No. You look nothing like that now. You have grown into a rather beautiful woman whom I could easily…”
He caught his words, aghast at his outpouring. His plan for withholding his newfound regard for her appearance seemed dashed. She confirmed it by blinking at him several times with wide eyes before glancing away furtively. An awkward and stifling silence settled between them. Had he offended her? Frightened her? He wished for neither, but her ongoing silence held hope at bay. In the absence of conversation, he was left to stew over his growing feelings for Jane and to despair over the fact that he could never risk his land and legacy to pursue those feelings. In mounting misery, he dragged the horse down the road, shuffling as a man chained.
Chapter Twenty
Jane’s head spun with such ferocity that she feared she might veer into the ditch. Adam’s expression of admiration for her appearance nearly flattened her. While pondering the reason for her dizziness, she came to a startling conclusion. She returned that admiration, ounce for ounce, pound for pound, measure for measure. When had that happened? Particularly given her concerted efforts to continue disliking him. Somehow, he had managed to burrow beneath her wall of disregard to steal her affection. She risked a brief glance at him. There remained no doubt about his fine looks, despite the current grit of his jaw and stricken demeanor. However, his unexpected easy nature drew her to him. He seemed changed these past days. The prospect of disaster appeared to have tempered his considerable pride.
“Hep, ho!”
The shout from behind yanked Jane from her musings. She spun to find a heavy wagon drawn by a pair of draft horses lumbering up the road. The driver, a plump homespun woman wearing a stovepipe hat, eyed them with curiosity. She raised a hand to Mr. Barlow and Aunt Hester, who trailed discreetly behind Jane and Adam.
“Greetings. Where ye headed, pilgrims?”
“Keswick, we believe.”
The driver frowned. “Ye believe? Know ye not where ye go?”
Barlow shook his head. “Oddly, no. We seek a particular place, but do not know its specific location. Perhaps you might help.”
The woman tipped back her hat. “Perhaps. What is it ye seek?”
Barlow shrugged. “It is a bit of a riddle. We seek a rise. A circumference. An army of stone.”
The driver frowned as her brow constricted. “Let’s see, now. We’ve no shortage of rises. An army of stone would be rather useless, don’t ya’ think? And just what is a cir…circum…”
“Circumference,” said Aunt Hester. “A circle.”
“What kind o’ circle?”
“We don’t know.”
Her frown deepened. “It seems ye know less than little. Might I offer ye transport toward Keswick while I consider yer riddle?”
Jane and Adam exchanged a glance. He spoke first. “What do you say, Miss Hancock?”
She ventured a minimal smile. “My feet would welcome the offer of transport.”
“Very well.” He waved to the driver. “We accept, ma’am, with gratitude.”
“Well chosen. I am Mrs. Morgan. Tie yer horse to the tailgate and climb aboard.”
…
The wagon trundled along the road while rising hills began to bathe it in shadows. The wagon bed proved far smaller than the one they had occupied on the ride to Carlisle. However, the distinct lack of piglets allowed Jane room to stretch without pressing too near Adam. His earlier suggestion that he found her pretty, and perhaps more, continued to circle her thoughts. He seemed to sense her turmoil, for he spent his time conversing with Barlow and Aunt Hester while she stewed. And pondered. And dozed off only to awake and stew further. Finally, she sighed. Three hours of stewing threatened to render her a puddle of mental mush. She shifted toward the driver to converse.
“Mrs. Morgan.” The woman had remained mostly silent during the journey. She glanced over her shoulder at Jane with a mild start.
