Page 34 of The Iron Earl

She had no right to look at him like that. She was to work in his kitchens. Or as a maid. Whatever it took. She had to remember that.

Heat flushing her cheeks and threatening to tie her tongue, she blurted out the first thing she could think of. “This turned out nicely for you.”

“How?” His left eyebrow lifted.

“You managed to get me into this blasted dress.”

He chuckled, clearing his throat and taking a step back. A rush of air separated them. “That I did. And it only took an icy dunk in the river to do so.” He pointed to her feet. “You’ll also need to take off your boots and let them dry by the fire or your feet will blister raw tomorrow.”

He reached down to grab the simple plaid woolen blanket from the ground. “Take this, wrap yourself in it and sleep next to the fire. The men will make room.” He bundled the blanket in his arms, then held it out to her.

She nodded, silent, and took the blanket from him. Turning, she lifted the flap of the tent and shuffled to the fire.

The spot she had sat in remained vacant and the rumble of the voices of the men didn’t stop this time when she approached.

She sat, loosening the laces of her boots, then kicked them off and set them close to the edge of the fire. Peeling off the torn silk stockings that still managed to hold to her calves, she draped them over the top of the boots. Not that they would be worth even putting back on in the morning—the silk so shredded, they had done nothing to stop the painful blisters that had started to swell on the back of her heels and on her toes.

Ignoring the pain of the throbbing blisters hitting air, she wrapped herself in the blanket, and the scent of Lachlan enveloped her. She curled into a ball on her side and tucked her bare toes deep into the folds of the blanket.

Warmth. Finally.

Her head hit the ground and she was asleep before she could even focus on the fire.

~~~

Lachlan twisted on his horse, looking back to the wagon that trailed the band of men.

Stubborn chit.

Evalyn had trudged along the entire day, the bundle of her dress—twice as heavy as normal for it was still wet—locked in her arms.

Stubborn.

No one had asked her to carry it. They could have wedged it into the wagon.

But upon waking, that was the first thing she’d done as the men were breaking camp. Go to her dress and fold it up with the utmost care.

Lachlan hadn’t seen her farther than a foot away from it the whole day. Even with his word, she didn’t trust him—trust the men—not to destroy it.

Not that she should. They’d done a fine job these last seven days in making sure she knew that every step she took—everything she did in the camp—was wrong.

All because he’d had the asinine idea she was a shallow chit running from her life of plenty because she had a bothersome hangnail. But even more grievous, that revenge upon her odious stepfather would be best served by ruining Evalyn.

He hadn’t imagined she’d had anything to escape. But if the story she’d told at the campsite was any indication, she had everything to escape.

He hadn’t given her that margin of possibility.

His horse cleared the crest of the hill they traveled upward on and Lachlan scanned the landscape. They’d journeyed from lands of green rolling hills to steeper, craggy outcroppings interspersed with moors and forests that harbored haunting shadows of ancient civilizations. They’d moved into countryside he knew. The land that was born in his bones.

He glanced back at Evalyn. She trudged up the hillside, her lips gritting into a tight line as her boots slipped on the loose rocks on the road.

The boots he’d procured for her were painful, that much was obvious. She hadn’t complained once, but now he wished he’d taken better care in sizing them correctly. He’d just grabbed the first pair Baron Rogerton’s housemaid had offered, not noting the size.

Domnall nudged his horse next to Lachlan’s and coughed.

Lachlan looked at his old friend.

“We’re more than halfway home, Lach.” Domnall pointed straight ahead at the dark rolling clouds stretched long across the sky before them. “And while that rain ahead may not bother ye, these old bones would like a bed under them for a night.”