Chapter Seventeen
Jacob had spent the better part of the morning telling himself he needed to find the right moment.
He’d talked to Liam, but now needed to talk to Elena.
The road was wrong for it, was too exposed and too full of ears. His brothers and hers made no attempt at subtlety, the glances they kept sending between Jacob and Elena sharp with expectation, as though they half believed passion might seize them again, here and now, and they would simply throw themselves at one another.Eejits.
What he wanted to say to Elena did not belong on the road.
He had hoped that he might have a better moment once they reached Blackwood. Yet even that was uncertain. Liam would likely choose not to linger, being as Wolvesly lay only a few hours north; they would in all probability press on, tired or no, and if he meant to speak before then, it might have to be here whether he liked it or not.
Since speaking with Liam the day before, having said plainly what he wanted and finding it met without rebuke, things had settled in his mind. He had not gone to Elena’s father out of duty or guilt, though plenty might assume as much. He had gone because he wished it so. Saying it aloud had been... lighter than he’d expected. Less like submitting to necessity and more like stepping onto a path that had been in front of him the whole time.
He had not intended the kiss, had gone out of his way not to rouse that kind of trouble. Still, he did not regret it. Not the honesty of it, nor the way it had clarified what he already knew.
At that moment, Elena urged her horse forward, easing away from her mother’s side and angling toward where her father rode near the front of the small party. She drew up beside Liam, said something briefly to her father, and then put her knees to her mare and surged ahead.
She did not merely move on. She bolted.
In a breath, she had cleared the line of riders and was cantering hard, the space between her and the rest of them widening with every stride.
Jacob shifted his reins and was already turning to follow when Liam’s voice cut across the road.
“Jacob—leave her be. The scouts are ahead. She kens well enough nae to ride past them.”
Aye, mayhap. If she meant only to ride hard for the joy of it, she would pull up soon enough, but if she didn’t, the bend in the road would hide her longer than he liked. He broke into a gallop, the wind tearing at his cloak as he crested the rise, eyes fixed on the stretch of track ahead where she had vanished. The path dipped ahead, curving between a low rise and a stand of scrub, and within moments the rest of the party was lost behind the fold of the land, their voices swallowed by distance and wind. The ground rose again beyond the bend, long and uneven, the track narrowing as it climbed. Jacob leaned forward, urging his mount on, the thunder of hooves loud in his ears. He caught sight of Elena as they crested the rise—a hundred paces ahead now, her mare stretched out beneath her, her cloak snapping sharply at her back.
She rode as if the devil were at her back.
“Elena!” he called, his voice torn by the wind.
She did not so much as glance back.
Jacob pressed harder, the gallop eating up the distance until he drew alongside her at last, matching her speed, his horse blowing hard beneath him.
Only then did she turn her head.
The look she gave him was cool, enough to suggest she wished to hold him at arm’s length.
“Elena,” he snarled, “will ye stop a moment?”
She hesitated, possibly debating whether or not to ignore him, but at last she reined her mare to a halt. Jacob did the same, pulling his horse slightly to the side so they faced each other at a modest angle.
“What?” She snapped impatiently, in a tone previously reserved only for her brothers when they annoyed her.
Jacob studied her face, noting straight away that she didn’t meet his gaze. “What the hell, Elena? Why are ye riding as if someone’s on yer heels? As if ye might outrun them?”
She frowned and shrugged. “I want to gallop. I was sick of the plodding pace.”
He didn’t believe that for a moment. “Nae. Something’s amiss. I can see it in yer face.”
Her fingers tightened on the reins. “Ye see naught. Ye imagine things.”
“Ye lie poorly,” he informed her. “Tell me what has ye agitated.”
