It was not the ruffian’s fault the coach had crashed. Or hers. She didn’t need to be so suspicious. All would be fine. She’d be back on the road to Ireland on the morrow. This night would soon become the past. She just had to be brave and see her way through it.
The dog stood and wagged his tail in welcome as she entered the hut. Mr. Ruffian glanced up. Was it her imagination that he seemed peeved with her?
Should she care?
“Elise,” she heard herself say. “My name is Elise.” That was all he needed to know. Nothing more. She removed the coat, shook it off, and offered it to him.
He took it from her. “And here I had you pegged for a Molly.”
Elise frowned. “Molly?”
“A good name for a maid.”
The Lanscarrs had a maid named Molly. It was on the tip of Elise’s tongue to let him know she was no maid, and then she realized that it did not matter. Let him think her a maid. Then he wouldn’texpect to find her in a London drawing room or a County Wicklow cotillion. She returned to her place on the other side of the narrow hut.
“Why are you wearing everything you own?” he asked.
“Convenience,” Elise said and sat on the dry dirt floor. She gathered Tweedie’s damp wool cloak around her, checking the pocket. Her money was there. The inside of the cloak was still a bit dry. That was the value of good thick wool.
Mr. Ruffian grunted a response and then asked, “Would you like my name?”
“I’m fine with thinking of you as Mr. Ruffian.”
“What?” His shock echoed in the hut, and then he started laughing.
Elise burrowed down into the cloak, scooting herself comfortably into a corner.
“Did I hear you correctly?” he demanded. “Did you call me a ruffian?”
She had, but she didn’t need to tell him that. Instead, she curled herself into a ball, and surprised herself by falling asleep. She was so weary. So very weary.
***
Kit watched Elise shut him out and fall into what appeared to be a deep sleep. She had a powerful will.
Mr. Ruffian.
Now that was one he would not forget.
Her hair was still wet from her trip out into the rain. Dark blond hairs curled around her face. He eyed the dog, who watched him with intent golden-brown eyes. “She is a lovely lass. I hadn’t noticed till now. Young, too.”
The dog didn’t answer.
Kit scratched the dog’s neck. The animal had saved them this evening. With his other hand, he reached for some more of the pieces of dry twigs and leaves and threw them on the fire. It wouldn’t last until morning. However, he had needed the bit of light and warmth, and he suspected Elise had as well.
There was a story to the girl. Over his last year of travels, he’d met more than his share of fellow wanderers with their own tales. He wondered about hers. He wouldn’t have thought twice about a maid sent out alone, but not one wearing everything she owned.
What could her story be? A broken heart? A disappointment in love? Perhaps she was running from a cruel master. Mayhap the master’s son had tried to take terrible advantage of her. Yes, that was the story. A servant on the run. Or a cousin of some family that didn’t want her any longer because, after all, Elise was not a servant’s name.
She was heading home, he decided. Her direction was Ireland.
And what did it matter to him? He had his own demons.
Since she didn’t want his coat, he huddled under it himself, and sleep quickly found him.
***
Elise slowly woke, her head on her arm. The shepherd’s dog curled next to her. Her dresses would be ruined by sleeping on the ground. There was nothing she could do about it.
