For a moment, he could only look at her, the yarrow still clutched in her hand, her green gaze still fixed defiantly on him as if she waited for more of a scolding to come.
Bluidy hell, but she was...perfect.
The panic that had driven him to move eased at last, replaced by something far more dangerous, the knowledge that whatever lay between them had not been dulled by his restraint or her pretending she’d long ago outgrown her childhood fancy.
It had merely changed its shape.
Elena waved the stalks of yarrow at him. “Ye canna pretend ye’re fine when ye are nae.”
A fair strike. He inclined his head slightly, conceding the point.
“Next time,” he said, taking the plant from her, his hand brushing hers, “ye wake me.”
She nodded once and stepped past him toward the fallen pine that flanked the place where they had spent the night. Settling onto the log, she began combing her fingers through her hair, frowning as she worked at a stubborn snarl, her movements slow, mayhap preoccupied.
Jacob watched her while his mind turned, automatically, to the day ahead. They would need to eat. They would need to move. He could not say with certainty where they were—not precisely—but he guessed they were still a full day’s ridefrom Strathfinnan, perhaps more depending on how the terrain unfolded. He would know better once he found something in the landscape he recognized.
He scrubbed a hand down his face, his gaze drifting back to her without conscious thought, following the slow, methodical way she worked through the knots in her thick black hair. For a moment his vision blurred, and he realized just how exhausted he was. He had scarcely slept at all, and the realization surprised him not in the least.
Jesu.What a torture. From beginning to end—starting with the moment his body and mind had betrayed him so utterly that he had almost kissed her... and ending only when she had finally drifted into uneasy sleep, perhaps unaware that he was fully and agonizingly aware that she had cried herself to sleep.
A small price to pay, he reasoned now, to have suffered that business last night to have saved her from those raiders in the first place. He would not wish any of it undone—not the night, not the restraint, not even the ache it had left behind—if it meant she had been spared the plans of those Englishmen. He told himself he was glad of it, all of it laid bare at last: her childhood fancy finally spoken, his knowing no longer unknown to her.
Perhaps now, he could move on.
Except that he could not.
Not when he did not believe, not for one second, the last thing she had said the night before, that she was long past such feelings. He could not believe it after the way she had all but melted into his hold when she thought he was about to kiss her.
He was still watching her when she glanced back over her shoulder and found his eyes on her.
Her calm gaze dropped to the yarrow now in his hand.
“If ye chew it first,” she said, matter-of-factly, “it’ll draw better.”
He hesitated only a moment, then tore a length of the plant free and crushed it between his teeth. The bitterness bloomed sharp and numbing across his tongue, astringent enough to make his jaw tighten, but he worked it steadily, methodically, until the leaves broke down beneath his molars.
He spat the mash into his palm, pressed it firmly against the angry skin of his arm, and dug out another strip of linen from his saddlebag, winding it tight enough to hold without cutting off blood.
His heart and soul were still tortured, not yet brought to rest when they set off for the day a short time later.
THEY RODE ON IN SILENCE.
Not the companionable sort that had begun to feel familiar between them, but a careful, brittle quiet, shaped by what had nearly happened and then been deliberately left untouched. Jacob kept them moving at a steady pace, neither pressing the horses nor indulging in rest, choosing ground that allowed progress without haste.
Nevertheless, the steadiness did not bring ease, and the quiet between them did not soften as he had hoped.
They rode for a time without speaking, the morning light filtering through thinning branches as the forest slowly loosened its hold on the land. Jacob kept his attention on the ground ahead, choosing his path with care, but his awareness tugged backward again and again, measuring the way Elena sat so stiffly that it felt deliberate, as though any unnecessary movement, or clinging too closely as she normally did might betray her.
A low branch reached across the path, heavy with last night’s damp.
“Mind that,” he said, lifting a hand to indicate it.
She ducked smoothly, her reply no more than a quiet, “Mm.”
They rode on.
The ground dipped ahead, the soil dark and slick where water had gathered, and Jacob slowed the mare, testing the footing. “This’ll give way if we take it straight,” he said. “Better we keep higher.”
