He was true to his word, and prepared with a striker and flint. She sat shivering by a tree while he gathered up tinder and logs and arranged them to his satisfaction. He struck hard with his flint upon the striker and drew sparks, and in seconds his tinder had caught, and soft flames began to rise, higher and higher. His face was caught in those flames, and then the glow fell over them both and lit up the darkness of the forest.
He had changed to come for her, she noted. He looked like a woodsman. Gone was the elegance of his customary attire, and even the more casual garb he sometimes wore upon his ship. Tonight he was clad in simple buckskin and cotton with a homespun cotton shirt beneath his jacket. His hair was still queued, but he had eschewed his wig. Despite his clean-shaven cheeks, she had never seen him look more like the Silver Hawk than he did that night, alone with her in the forest.
She started to shiver all over again, but then it had little or nothing to do with fear. She hugged her knees to her chin and watched him, her eyes wide with the night.
He came over to her and drew her gently close. She protested his touch, then gave in to it, leaning against him.
“Why did you come after me?” she asked him. “I would have been all right—”
“All right? Like hell, madame! I found you because Storm came tearing out of the woods. You’re not even heading in the right general direction!”
“That’s because I got lost. I would have found—”
“You were in sheer terror before you ever came thrashing into my horse. And now we’re both stuck out here because that stupid mare will run like the blazes home and Storm will break his tether to follow her back. Leave it to a fool stallion to go racing after a female.”
“Just as you run after me?”
He gazed at her sharply. She was too weary, and still trembling too fiercely, to seek a fight. He smiled slowly. “Just as I race after you, milady.” He paused, finding a tousled tendril of her hair to smooth back. “Why did you run?”
“I had to,” she murmured simply.
He left her standing, finding another log to set upon the fire. For the longest time he was still, tall before her. She had tried to escape him, but now he was her barrier against the night, and she was glad of him there. She spoke softly. “I—I needed to find my father.”
He cocked his head for a moment, listening to something. Then he came back beside her. “I am worried about your father myself. I would have taken you first thing tomorrow morning to Williamsburg by carriage.”
“Tomorrow morning,” she murmured uneasily.
He reached out, touching her cheek. “You were in such horror of me that you were willing to brave the darkness rather than my touch?”
A flush came to her features. She drew her face from his finger, lowered her eyes. “No…I…no.”
“Then?”
“I—I—”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not. I don’t know what to say to make you understand. I—I don’t hate you.”
“Well, we’ve nothing here,” he murmured, drawing to his feet once again. “I brought food in my saddlebags, but that is gone now. We can snare something if you like. And there is water nearby. I can hear the brook.”
“You can?” She tilted her head, listening. She could hear nothing.
He nodded. “Trust me, madame. I was not bred to the city. I can hear the water plainly.”
“How close?”
“Very close.”
He reached down to her. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
She rose as he helped her. Despite herself, she looked longingly to the fire. “Don’t worry,” he told her. “We will not let the flames get too far behind us. You will see the light.”
She cocked her head with disbelief, a rueful smile tugging at her lips. “Couldn’t we…walk toward Williamsburg?” she asked him.
He shook his head. “It would take us hours and hours afoot, and with these clouds, it is a dark night indeed.”
“You intend that we should stay here—in the forest?”
