“You speak aright, my lady, but that would divide the party into quicker and slower. Given our numbers, I would prefer that we remain together.”
“I would like to ride.”
Ahearn leaned closer, his gaze intent and his voice soft. “I would like you to arrive hale,” he said but Evangeline shook her head.
“I will not be delivered in a cart like a complacent beast to the slaughter,” she said with heat.
Ahearn fought a smile. “It will never be said that you are so tame as that, my lady,” the older warrior said softly, then winked at her to coax her smile.
It worked, but she did not abandon her argument. “You know that I will better manage an escape on horseback, if such a situation becomes necessary.”
He shook his head. “My lady, it would be abandoning my responsibility…”
“How can lands so near the king’s court be as unsafe as that?”
Ahearn considered her for a long moment, then shook his head. “I cede because I would make haste, and you, my lady, would argue the matter through Christmas.” He retreated, offering his hand as she wrapped her cloak more securely around herself and rose. “Were you my own daughter,,,” he growled as so often he did.
“I should not have survived to be wed,” she countered lightly. “Not with this wretched willfulness of mine.” She tapped him on the chest when she stood before him. “Fortunately for you, your daughter is demure.”
Ahearn shook his head with amusement. “I will believe that when she is safely wed.” He gestured to a palfrey.
“Nay,” Evangeline said. “I will ride Basilisk.” She saw Ahearn’s eyes widen and did not wait for him to protest. She headed directly for the large black destrier, intended as a gift for her betrothed, and patted the creature’s silky nose. The stallion’s nostrils flared and his eyes gleamed, then he nuzzled her hair as if they were of one mind. He was a tempestuous creature and there had been much debate of his merit as a gift, but Evangeline was the one person he adored— and heeded—and it was considered best that he remain close to her.
Ahearn swore under his breath but Evangeline turned to him and smiled. “It might well be my last chance to ride him,” she said, knowing that many believed a destrier to be a poor mount for a lady. “Please, Ahearn.”
He exhaled in surrender, then saddled the horse himself. “Were you not so skilled a rider, I would deny you this,” he said gruffly, then held the stirrup for her.
Evangeline could not help but smile as she settled in the saddle. A horse of such size gave her an excellent view and she knew that Basilisk was fast beyond all others. He tossed his mane and pawed the ground, prepared to run.
Ahearn nodded approval and she knew he had noted her firm grip upon the reins. “No man could deny you such a pleasure, my lady, as a ride upon Basilisk. I wager your betrothed will grant your every wish, as all at Inverfyre have learned to do.”
Evangeline smiled, waving to an uncertain Anna as the cart driver lifted the reins. For her part, she was glad to be riding, a powerful and restless steed beneath her, and the wind in her hair.
God in Heaven, if her new husband expected her to linger inside and embroider all the day long, she would not be able to endure it.
Ahearn whistled and took the lead, the entire party charging forward, and Evangeline felt a surge of familiar joy. In that moment, she remembered a rebel and a rascal, a dashing scoundrel who had stolen a kiss—and wondered what had ever happened to Ramsay MacLaren.
Was it possible that she had never found a suitable courtier in that long line of candidates because Ramsay had never returned to Inverfyre?
Nay, he had been utterly unsuitable, impoverished and of a lineage her father despised. They could never have made a match, and perhaps his very unsuitability was part of his dangerous allure.
Either way, that kiss had heated Evangeline’s dreams for five years since she had aided Ramsay’s escape from Inverfyre’s dungeons.
She sighed. He was probably dead and unlamented. Perhaps it was kind for her to mourn his loss, just a little bit. Perhaps she should forget him now that she was to wed another. She could only hope that Rufus—and his kisses—would similarly fill her dreams.
* * *
And there she was.
Ramsay could not suppress his satisfaction as the company came into view on the road below him. Four men, three boys, a cart loaded with baggage with a driver, all festooned in Inverfyre’s colors. His heart skipped at the prospect of speaking to Evangeline again soon. He considered the woman in the cart, then shook his head. That was not Evangeline.
Surely, she had to be among this party?
He looked again and noticed that one of the riders was a woman. Evangeline! It could be no other seated upon that great black destrier. She rode like a queen, with an assurance he had to admire, her hood falling back as he watched, her dark hair coming loose from her braid. Only a woman raised in that family could ride a large stallion with such surety.
Did she remember him?
Did she think kindly of him?
