“I believe you are irked with me,” she said, her kirtle brushing against his knee as she climbed to the place beside him. “For my blunt speech.”
“With myself, more like,” he acknowledged and she cast him an unexpected smile.
“You always blame yourself for your circumstance, do you not? I wager you believe you could ensure any result if you only anticipated all of the variables in advance.”
Ramsay blinked that she had guessed as much. “I like to plan a strategy, with some allowances for predictable contingencies.”
“Predictable contingencies,” she repeated softly, then shook her head and smiled. “I guessed as much. You are not one to blame others for your misfortune, but conclude instead that you did not plan sufficiently well if matters go awry.” She nodded with conviction at her own conclusion. “I remember that from Inverfyre. You did not blame my father that you were in the Hole, though surely he had ordered you sent there. Nor did you blame Ahearn for placing you there at my father’s command. You blamed yourself for having a faulty understanding of what might happen when you entered Inverfyre’s gates.”
“I did not know about the Hole,” Ramsay admitted. “I anticipated the possibility of a sojourn in a dungeon, but not a quick death in one designed to flood.”
She nodded, continuing to stare into the distance for a long moment before she spoke. “Have you always been alone?” she asked finally, glancing up at him.
Ramsay nodded, finding his throat tight at her apparent compassion.
She sighed and shook her head. “I cannot imagine it. I have had moments when my siblings irk me so much that I might wish them gone, but truly, I doubt I should survive without knowing myself surrounded by those who love and protect me.”
“You sell yourself short, my lady,” Ramsay said and she turned to him, eyes wide. “You insist that you cannot endure discomfort, yet I know few who would have made the ride these past two days without complaint.”
“Perhaps they lack the incentive to tolerate it.”
He knew she was thinking of Rufus and deliberately kept his tone light. He had no desire to discuss that man or his hold over Evangeline. “And you were clever indeed to compose a tale that we might take shelter.”
They looked as one to the bump of cloth beneath her kirtle, which had come askew in her climb. She centered it again, the vigor of her gesture making Ramsay chuckle. She looked up at him, eyes dancing, and he was lost anew.
“I liked it well myself,’ she admitted, and he liked the sense that they conspired together.
“And the hidden coin,” Ramsay said with a shake of his head. “Truly, you are a lady of much resource and planning.”
“Anna and I sewed all into the hems of the kirtles when I realized Rufus knew I had seen. We were awake all the night.” She sobered and Ramsay recalled the light at that window, and his suspicion that something was afoot. To his surprise, Evangeline cast him another smile. “Now you must understand why I could not leave the kirtles behind.”
Ramsay grinned. “Indeed, I do.” He leaned toward her, resting his shoulder against her own. Even that slight touch made him simmer. “Dare I note that with your skills and cunning, you would make an admirable brigand, my lady?”
He had hoped to make her laugh aloud, but Evangeline turned away abruptly, her lips tightening in disapproval of that notion. Too late, Ramsay wished he had held his tongue. He saw the shadow of that bruise on the back of her neck, just peeking from beneath her hair, the one that Rufus had left upon her in that assault in the stream. The very sight of it reminded Ramsay of the peril to her, and he might have leapt to his feet to harness the horses in this very moment if she had not spoken.
“You told me once that you had been a knight, but obliged to sell your spurs,” she said softly and he sensed that she deliberately avoided his gaze.
Ramsay could not fathom why she would mention this, but he agreed. “Aye, but knightly vows are not banished with the sacrifice of one’s spurs.”
His response seemed to please her, for she turned to him, her eyes alight. “Aye, I have always thought as much.” She touched his hand fleetingly, her gaze dropping to it. She swallowed, as if she braced herself to face some indomitable foe, and Ramsay was more than prepared to leap to her defense.
She lifted her gaze to his when she spoke. “Ramsay, would you consider abandoning the life you lead?”
He stared at her, not knowing what to say.
Evangeline hastened on, as if fearing his rejection of the notion. “I know that it must be gratifying at times to live unfettered, and I would wager that there is adventure to be had in your choice of trade. I can understand the appeal of making one’s own rules and choices. I also imagine that if you have always been alone and so reliant upon yourself that it might be troubling to pledge yourself to the service of another, but…” She seemed to gather herself and her words flowed forth in a rush. “But I wondered whether, one day, you might consider resuming your pursuit of knightly duties.” She fell silent then, her expression one of concern, as if she feared to have offended him.
God in Heaven, did she mean to reform him?
Was the obstacle between them his supposed trade—which was not his trade at all? Suddenly, confessing the truth was the best and most promising option.
Ramsay sat straighter, more encouraged about his future prospects with her than he had been. “My lady, I would never surrender my knightly duties,” he said with heat. He dared even to capture her hand within his own, relieved when she did not pull it away, and spoke with conviction. “Once a man has so pledged, his obligations continue to his dying day.”
“Aye, but you must recognize that you should not have stolen the steed.”
Ramsay smiled. “I did not steal Foudre. He was a gift to me.”
“Ramsay! Do not insist upon these games with words, for this is of great import!”
