And then, without warning, she turned her head to the side, she gasped in and out, and she allowed her hands to fall from his coat.
Gabriel pulled back, studying her, memorizing her. Her tears had stopped. She was neither laughing nor frowning. She was simply looking through the trees in the direction of the clearing.
Releasing her felt like hollowing out a piece of his chest with a knife. He reminded himself that she was only doing what he’d asked. It was what he wanted and what he didn’t, in the same terrible moment.
“Do you have the letter?” she asked, still breathing hard.
“What?”
“The letter, Gabriel. For your sister Princess Elise.”
With a final squeeze of her hips, he let her go. He took a step back. His hat had fallen and he stooped to get it. He wiped his mouth. “Yes. I have it. And the money. Pay for the horse stolen by Meade. Hire a carriage to take you to Mayapple. Do you remember the way to the high street? Shall I tell you again?”
She shook her head and rolled off the tree. She staggered a little, smoothing her cloak over her shoulders.
“Can you manage?”
“Yes. I can manage.”
“Here,” he said, handing her the packet of money and the letter.
She nodded and extended a trembling hand.
“Goodbye, Gabriel,” she said, taking two steps back.
Wait, he thought.Notyet.Notthissecond. Not—
But she took another step. And another step. And then was walking away, winding through the trees. She slid a hand along the neck of the mare when she passed. She did not look back.
Chapter Fifteen
In flashes, Ryan became aware of Gabriel following her. It took no effort to see him through the trees, keeping pace as she walked to Pewsey. She looked three times—one long, hard, disbelieving look, and then two more quick assurances—and then forced herself to face forward. Well. If this constituted “keeping hidden,” he was failing at it. She hoped he knew. She also hoped he would walk into a tree. Or fall into a bog. Or leave the cover of the trees and return to her.
Good lord, she was wretched. Tears dropped down her cheeks; her throat was tied into a tight knot, and she struggled to breathe without hitching her breath. She swiped at the tears in frustration. What a sight she was for village gossips; a stranger, trudging up the high street with no hat and a filthy dress, silently weeping.
And why? It wasn’t because he wouldn’t help her—oh no. Ryan barely thought of her family crisis in the least. (And wasn’t that selfish and shortsighted?) She cried because the jagged edges of her fractured heart hurt so much.
She’d wanted him. Of all the things she’d not expected when she’d ventured into the forest to seek himout, who could’ve guessed that she might actually enjoy his company? Or be fascinated by him, and his horses, and his camp, and all he’d overcome? Who could have guessed she’d be attracted to him?
She sniffed and swiped away more tears and glanced to the trees. There he was, thirty yards away, riding the stallion and pulling the mare on a lead,watchingher. She hadn’t lied to him; she understood why he could not help her. He was correct not to leave the forest if it wasn’t safe.
So why then is he following me?
The great irony was, he hadn’t seemed torejecther. If the kiss against the tree was a rejection, then she knew far less about men than she’d thought. In fact, he’d seemed towanther. Against the tree. And at the hitching post. And in his bed last night.
And wasn’t this a small personal triumph—a man wanting her? Naturally when a man finally wanted her, he would be a prince. And also naturally, he would refuse to show his face in public or claim his title—or claim her.
So, there you have it, she thought bitterly. What more could she do but indulge in a watery cry on her long walk back to the inn? While he stalked her but would nothaveher?
Ten minutes later, eyes puffy, throat still tight, she was forced to placate her maid Agnes. Ryan’s long absence had traumatized the girl, and it took two minutes of imploring to convince her to open the door to their room at the inn.
“My lady!” the maid exclaimed, horrified at the sight of her.
“It’s me, Agnes.” Ryan sighed, repeating what she’dsaid fifty times in the hallway. “Will you let me inside, please?”
“Oh, Lady Ryan, I was sick with worry,” Agnes exclaimed. She’d opened the door only enough to grab Ryan by the wrist. Agnes pulled her through and slammed it behind her, bolting it and spinning round.
“My lady, what’s happened?” said the maid on a tearful breath. “You didn’t return, and then it was midnight, and then it was morning—and I didn’t know what to do. I was certain you’d been devoured by wolves. But were you attacked and ravaged and left for dead?”
