“I’m fine,” he said. “Just need a minute.” His voice was rather trembly, and Beth thought with some alarm that he might be falling ill.
“Perhaps you ought to sit down,” she said.
“No, no. It’s only a muscle spasm.”
“Oh. In that case, you should massage it.”
He laughed.
While she awaited his recovery, Beth gnawed her gloved thumbnail, squinting northward and trying to estimate how long the journey to Canterbury would take and what birds they might see along the way. But her thoughts were interrupted by a shout; looking up, she noticed the French fishermen beside the dock, talking excitedly as they pointed to her.
“Oh! Hello!” she called out, waving.
Cursing, Devon instantly hoisted himself up behind her in the saddle and reached for the reins. “We need to leave,” he said. “Now.”
“But it’s our friends! And this is a perfect opportunity to clarify that you’re not an angry husband.” She went to wave again, and Devon caught her arm.
“There’s no time.”
Just then, the fishermen began to sprint toward them, roaring and brandishing a thin, pointed object.
“I beg your pardon,” Beth said, “but there is always time for good manners. Besides, I left my umbrella behind, and they clearly want to return it.”
“That’s not your umbrella,” Devon said. “That’s a bloody fishing spear. Hold tight.” He flicked the reins, urging the horse to gallop. “Gee-up!”
Nothing happened.
He flicked the reins again.“Gee-up!”
The horse lifted its head, perused the neighborhood for a moment, then began to stroll forward.
“Arrête, agresseur de femme!”the fishermen roared, drawing closer.
Beth twisted, trying to look over Devon’s shoulder at them. “They’re saying ‘Wait, kind lady!’ ”
“Yeah, somehow I doubt that,” Devon muttered. Knocking his legs against the horse’s sides, he thus inspired it to shift up from a stroll into an amble.
“Nous allons te tuer!”shouted the fishermen.
“They’re inviting us to tea,” Beth translated.
“Ha! Run, you beast!” Devon squeezed harder and the horse at last began to trot.
“Aider!”Beth called to the fishermen.“Aider!”
“Don’t you meanadieu?” Devon asked tartly.
“Of course, yes.Adieu!”
But it was too late. The horse had rediscovered its spirit and was gaining speed. “They will think us so rude,” Beth complained.
“I can live with that,” Devon said. “Focus on imagining yourself finding the caladrius.”
Beth attempted to do so, but her imagination seemed more inspired by the circumstance of Devon’s arm wrapped about her waist, his body supporting hers, the two of them bouncing together in the saddle as the horse galloped toward town. Indeed, she became so inspired, she would have stepped down for the sake of her dignity, had that not been a sure way to ruin her dignity forever, considering the speed at which they traveled.
“Oh dear,” she said.
“Are you all right?” Devon asked at once.
