“Is that why you have been so cold toward me, because you thought this was some love match your father had set up? Did you not see my gran? She is gravely ill and in need of a tincture. That is our mission, and no plot has been concocted for us to be wed. My mother has been trying to marry me off since my father died, and believe me, I have not been the most willing of daughters to fulfill that obligation. I have absolutely no desire to be anyone’s wife, let alone yours,”I snapped back. This was no time for pretenses or misunderstandings; we needed to be on the same page, get the items for the spell, and be back to the castle within the next two days.
We rode on in silence as he digested my words. The sky darkened onceagain, and with the absence of the sudden bursts of sun, the world around us grew colder.
“I’m sorry for my rude behavior. I had thought you to be just another woman my father had sent for me to court. He has been desperately trying to find me a bride. The ball was more about that than celebrating the season. I thought this was just another way for him to force my hand: make me escort a beautiful woman for three days and hope I fall in love with her.”
My face grew hot at the mention of him thinking me beautiful, but I said nothing, thankful the cold weather had already turned my cheeks the hue of ripe apples.
“What he doesn’t understand is that I want to be free and travel, like he did before he met Mother. I still have a few good years before I gain the title of Duke and need to take a wife, and I want to spend those years exploring the world. I can marry later,”he continued.
“You and I seemingly have more in common than I thought, but I’m not of noble birth. Why would you think your father would try to set you up with me?”I asked.
“My father thinks very highly of your gran, so I just thought he approved of you despite your social standing.”
“That would be highly unlikely.”
An uncomfortable silence fell between us as we crested the ridgeline that overlooked the moors below. The snow had begun falling again, and my back and legs were sore and weary from the ride.
Unfamiliar with the area, I asked,“How much farther?”as he slowed his horse.
“There is much more to the journey; we won’t arrive until after nightfall,”he said, looking toward the sun’s position in the sky.“Once we descend the ridge, we can stop for a rest and something to eat.”
We rode in silence the rest of the ride down the steep ridge, paying close attention to our horses’hooves and steering them away from the edge as we descended. Once we made it to the bottom, James dismounted and tied his horse to asmall fir tree next to a cluster of rocks. The ground was only lightly covered with a scant dusting of snow.
“I think there is enough wood for a small fire,”James said as he gathered small sticks from the ground. I dismounted and began helping, happy to be on my own two feet again.
After a few minutes we had gathered enough wood, and he set to lighting the fire. James struck his flint and steel several times, but the wind was relentless and nothing caught. Watching his fruitless attempts, I silently pleaded for the wind to cease just long enough for the twigs to ignite. As if the wind heard my call, it died down, and the fire crackled to life.
James opened his pack and pulled out a loaf of bread and a cheese wrapped in cloth. My stomach moaned out in hunger as it had been hours since we left Malcolm’s, and with the cold and the riding, I had built up an appetite. He handed me a large chunk of bread and then went about cutting hunks out of the cheese with a small knife.
As we sat quietly eating, my mind wandered to Gran, and I ached inside to know if her condition had worsened or if she was even still alive. The thought turned my stomach, and I stopped eating. I stared mindlessly into the flickering flames as my thoughts wandered to places I wished they would not go.
“You say you are an avid reader. What is your favorite book?”James asked, breaking my trance.
Pulling myself back to the present, I looked at him and said,“Imuch enjoyed the playDoctor Faustusby Christopher Marlowe, but I believe my favorite book isTheUnfortunate Traveller by Thomas Nashe.”
“Aye, Nashe. Jack Wilton is one of the best rogue protagonists of all time.”
“You know it, my lord?”I asked, surprised.
“Of course. His humor is like no other! Nashe’s jests are timeless. His sharp mockery—it’s like he’s jesting at the very fabric of society.”
“’Tis the kind of storytelling that leaves an impression. A journey filled with misfortune and yet,strangely captivating. I love how he takes risks with his storytelling. I hope to be able to write as well as him someday,”I confessed. I did not know why I was opening up to him and telling him thoughts I had not told anyone.
“You wish to be a writer?”James asked, intrigue filling his words.
“I do, my lord, but women are not permitted to be authors. Plus, my mother would never allow it. My father, however, always encouraged me to write, so I continue to do so, even if only for myself.”
“I find that honorable. One should always follow their passion. Damn what society has to say. Why should a woman not be allowed to write? What about Margaret Cavendish, Duchess of Newcastle? She has been printed.”
“True, and her poetry is beautiful, but she is a duchess, and I am but a woman of modest means and not of noble birth.”
“What about writing under a male pseudonym and hiring a man to send it to a printer?”he suggested, a mischievous smile playing across his face that I had not seen until now.
“That’s an idea,”I laughed.
“A good one. And if that doesn’t work, maybe you should start your own printing house. Then you could print whomever you choose, men and women alike.”
I smiled. Now that he knew I was not vying for his hand in marriage, his demeanor had completely changed. He was kind and charming, and I could now see the reason the Turners loved him so much.
