cream of her skin. "We've discussed this before," she said. "These roads are abominable. You are far too ill to be jounced over ruts for thirty miles."
"You mistake me, madam. I am not asking your permission. I am giving you a direct order."
Green eyes peered back at him, so unimpressed by his most chilling glare it was downright embarrassing. "Those men who visited the camp could be anywhere. Don't you think they would become a tad suspicious if I were suddenly to drag my smallpox-stricken brother on a little jaunt across the countryside? Be reasonable, Captain Redmayne." No other admonishment could have insulted him more completely. His temper stopped nudging him. It shoved. Hard.
"You dare to preach reason to me? A lone woman who picked up a half-dead stranger after he'd been shot down on the road? And then, as if that wasn't crazed enough, strode out to meet that man's would-be assassins when she was armed with nothing but a pathetic excuse for a lie?"
He was appalled by the tension underlying his voice, the obvious knotting of his muscles. Signs that all but screamed the woman was fraying his nerves. Stunned at such an unheard-of display, he forced ice crystals into his voice. "I am not accustomed to being defied. You will do as I command."
"Or else you will do what? Flog me? Break my rank? Have me drummed out of the army?" She reached out and patted his arm. "Don't worry, Captain, there will be plenty of time for that once you are well again."
It took every bit of his will not to grind his teeth— a most annoying habit that he wished he could indulge in. "Madam, do you have any idea who you are dealing with?"
"Quite a clear one, actually." She tossed back a wisp of cinnamon hair, thrusting it into the mass of curls tumbling about her face in disarray. "You remind me of someone I spent a great deal of time with last spring. That was a battle of wills to rival anything you can muster, I assure you."
"You underestimate me."
"You underestimate him! His name was Icarus—you know, from the Greek myth about the boy who made wings from feathers and wax, then flew too close to the sun. The wax melted, and he plunged to his death.
But I always thought it must have been wonderful soaring while it lasted."
Redmayne clenched his jaw. "Do I look as if I have the slightest interest in mythology at the moment?" he asked very carefully. "It's a pity this Icarus didn't throttle you and save me the aggravation."
"It would have been rather difficult for his talons to reach about my neck. Icarus was a falcon I tended. A boy had broken his wing with a rock, and the bird was a most reluctant patient. He decided it was time for him to go free long before he was properly mended. When I objected, he spent the rest of his convalescence sulking in his cage."
"You dare to compare that bird to..." Redmayne began, incredulous, then stopped, glaring. "I do not sulk." Devil if his cheeks weren't burning with an angry flush for the first time in twenty-odd years! Perhaps murder was his only option! Damn the woman! Her eyes were actually laughing.
"Captain Redmayne, the similarities between you and Icarus are quite unmistakable. I regret to inform you that you are ridiculously used to getting your own way—by fair means or foul, I would wager. But this time you have met your match. You'll find me unmoved by threats or tantrums or fits of the sulks. I know this is difficult for you, but my decision is for the best, I assure you. You might as well resign yourself to it." The empathy in her face was ruined by the slightest hint of amusement and, worse still, understanding. How dare she presume to understand him! He'd spent a lifetime twisting himself into an enigma.
Most aggravating of all, the woman was right! It would look suspicious if Sir Thorne and his comrades saw the caravan traveling so soon after their visit. Suspicious enough to bring them all charging down on his head! But that was a risk he was willing to take, not because he
"You mistake me, madam. I am not asking your permission. I am giving you a direct order."
Green eyes peered back at him, so unimpressed by his most chilling glare it was downright embarrassing. "Those men who visited the camp could be anywhere. Don't you think they would become a tad suspicious if I were suddenly to drag my smallpox-stricken brother on a little jaunt across the countryside? Be reasonable, Captain Redmayne." No other admonishment could have insulted him more completely. His temper stopped nudging him. It shoved. Hard.
"You dare to preach reason to me? A lone woman who picked up a half-dead stranger after he'd been shot down on the road? And then, as if that wasn't crazed enough, strode out to meet that man's would-be assassins when she was armed with nothing but a pathetic excuse for a lie?"
He was appalled by the tension underlying his voice, the obvious knotting of his muscles. Signs that all but screamed the woman was fraying his nerves. Stunned at such an unheard-of display, he forced ice crystals into his voice. "I am not accustomed to being defied. You will do as I command."
"Or else you will do what? Flog me? Break my rank? Have me drummed out of the army?" She reached out and patted his arm. "Don't worry, Captain, there will be plenty of time for that once you are well again."
It took every bit of his will not to grind his teeth— a most annoying habit that he wished he could indulge in. "Madam, do you have any idea who you are dealing with?"
"Quite a clear one, actually." She tossed back a wisp of cinnamon hair, thrusting it into the mass of curls tumbling about her face in disarray. "You remind me of someone I spent a great deal of time with last spring. That was a battle of wills to rival anything you can muster, I assure you."
"You underestimate me."
"You underestimate him! His name was Icarus—you know, from the Greek myth about the boy who made wings from feathers and wax, then flew too close to the sun. The wax melted, and he plunged to his death.
But I always thought it must have been wonderful soaring while it lasted."
Redmayne clenched his jaw. "Do I look as if I have the slightest interest in mythology at the moment?" he asked very carefully. "It's a pity this Icarus didn't throttle you and save me the aggravation."
"It would have been rather difficult for his talons to reach about my neck. Icarus was a falcon I tended. A boy had broken his wing with a rock, and the bird was a most reluctant patient. He decided it was time for him to go free long before he was properly mended. When I objected, he spent the rest of his convalescence sulking in his cage."
"You dare to compare that bird to..." Redmayne began, incredulous, then stopped, glaring. "I do not sulk." Devil if his cheeks weren't burning with an angry flush for the first time in twenty-odd years! Perhaps murder was his only option! Damn the woman! Her eyes were actually laughing.
"Captain Redmayne, the similarities between you and Icarus are quite unmistakable. I regret to inform you that you are ridiculously used to getting your own way—by fair means or foul, I would wager. But this time you have met your match. You'll find me unmoved by threats or tantrums or fits of the sulks. I know this is difficult for you, but my decision is for the best, I assure you. You might as well resign yourself to it." The empathy in her face was ruined by the slightest hint of amusement and, worse still, understanding. How dare she presume to understand him! He'd spent a lifetime twisting himself into an enigma.
Most aggravating of all, the woman was right! It would look suspicious if Sir Thorne and his comrades saw the caravan traveling so soon after their visit. Suspicious enough to bring them all charging down on his head! But that was a risk he was willing to take, not because he
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