“I’m ready,” Emma stated brusquely, pushing past him. “Let’s get this over with, eh?”
“Such a gracious lassie,” he commented with a grin.
“We’re going in the carriage, then?” Emma asked a little unnecessarily.
Thomas didn’t laugh at her. “Aye, we are,” he replied, barely glancing over his shoulder.
He led the way across the courtyard to where the carriage stood, the MacPherson tartan and crest engraved on the side. It was made of smooth, polished wood, varnished and sealed, with a door on one side and a shuttered window that could be opened and closed from the inside only.
The carriage was a great, square thing, taller than any cart Emma had ever been on, and was drawn by four horses. It seemed to be quite an unwieldy thing, and she wondered how they would get along the narrower, uneven country roads.
“Ye cannae always use the carriage,” Thomas said as if reading her thoughts. “It’s only really useful on the main roads. Notgood for the boggy ground, although a wonderful shelter in bad weather.”
“I see,” Emma said, staring up at the contraption with trepidation. “Doesn’t it bounce ye around badly?”
He tilted his head to one side. “Nay. It’s built with a type of suspension, which cushions the occupants.”
“Suspension?”
He grinned. “Why don’t we get going, and I’ll tell ye more, eh?”
A soldier opened the door for them to climb in, and Emma’s eyes widened.
She’d imagined that the interior of the carriage would be much like the seat of a cart: hard, plain wood, serviceable, and sturdy but not at all comfortable.
She was very wrong.
There were two long, wide seats on either side of the carriage, covered in furs, cushions, and pillows. The floor was carpeted with rabbit pelts, soft and smooth, and there were more pelts nailed to the sides so that the occupants didn’t have to lean against bare wooden boards. There was another huge fur and a couple of woollen blankets so that a person could make themselves a perfect little nest. Sprigs of bound and dried herbs hung from each corner of the inside, filling the air withthe sweet-savory scents of lavender, rosemary, lemongrass, and sage.
“Go on, then,” Thomas said, laughing. “We’ve got a distance to travel. Make yourself comfortable.”
Emma needed no further encouragement. She bounced into the carriage—which didn’t rock and wobble like a cart which she found strange—and settled into a seat.
Thomas climbed after her, taking the opposite seat, and the door was closed and latched behind them. Then, the carriage lurched forward, and they were off.
She barely noticed. Smoothing her hand over the furs, she bit her lip at the luxurious opulence.
“I’ve never been inside a carriage like this,” she admitted. “Or in any carriage, actually. I’ve ridden in carts before, usually in the back with the goods and straw. I suppose that’s not the same.”
“Nay,” Thomas said, watching her with a strange expression. “I suppose it’s not. Well, I rarely use this thing. It was my father’s before me, and I prefer to ride. I was actually thinking of gifting it to ye and Delphine to use.”
She looked up sharply. “Me and Delphine?”
“Aye, for yer patients.” Thomas glanced away, suppressing a smile. “I know that Delphine thinks she’s being so sly, but I cantell how badly she struggles. I’m nae about to throw her out for being old. I’d have a riot on my hands if I did. But I ken that she needs help.”
Emma swallowed hard, glancing away. “It would certainly make things easier for her.”
Thomas gave a short nod. “Well, I think that could work, then.”
Silence descended, and time passed. How much time, Emma could not have said, but long enough for the carriage’s comfortable opulence to start feeling less comfortable than it had at the start.
They were now going downhill, she could tell from the angle and the fact she kept slipping forward from her seat, dangerously close to launching forward onto Thomas.
That would be a truly terrible idea. She unhooked the window shutter, opening it to peer out at the passing landscape. Privately, Emma hoped that a blast of cool air would do something about the growing heat in her belly. She wanted something, something intense and primal, and it had everything to do with the man sitting opposite her.
Thomas looked entirely unruffled. He was sitting directly across from her, his limbs loosely arranged and graceful, his knees spread comfortably wide apart.
Emma immediately wished that she had not looked at his legs. The breeches he wore were snug, fitting the muscular curve of his thighs a little too closely. She had a sudden and vivid vision of herself putting a hand on his knee, feeling the warmth of his skin underneath, and sliding her hand up the inside of his thigh. Maybe even far enough to slide under the plaid, which was bunched voluminously over his lap.
