Defiant by Kris Kennedy Page A

this most rutted course for miles. The dirt we see kicked up along the side, the depth of the hoofprints, the way the clouds cover the sky—I am sure all these details reveal important things to you. And I am, with great sadness, forced to agree. You are unmistaken. They did not go to this town.”
    He’d crossed his arms over his chest during her soliloquy, head tipped to the side. “I did not say that, Eva. But I admit, your dislike of the town makes me warm to it immeasurably.”
    “Ah, see? We are of no good liking. You should let me go; we do not get along like good children should.”
    “And what if my oh-so-good tracking skills counseled,‘What ho, bear west’?” he asked, his voice softly mimicking her tone. “What then?”
    She slowly arched an eyebrow. “Then they would not be oh-so-good.”
    Ry nudged his horse forward. They formed a small darted triangle in the middle of the rutted road. He spoke into the chilly silence created by the dipping sun and Jamie’s hard stare.
    “I confess, Jamie, unfathomable as a northern route is, your tracking has ne’er led us astray before. I counsel we continue north.”
    Ah, see, the lines of friendships-that-could-have-been were clear. Ry was much more levelheaded and trustworthy than Jamie. He agreed with her.
    But the small uprush of hope in her belly was dashed before it reached her heart as he went on, “But the horses can go no farther. We need to camp the night.”
    Jamie nodded in agreement. “If we branch off here,” he said, pointing into the dark wood, “we can set up camp inside the treeline.”
    Eva followed the sweep of his muscular arm, her heart crashing entirely.
    Out of all the hilltops in England, why must Jamie point to hers?

Fifteen
     
    T he wood began perhaps ten paces off the main track, heavily treed and ferned and brambled. “Atop that rise,” Jamie said, “no doubt there is a view for miles down the track.”
    Ry was already dismounting. “Let us go, before darkness falls.”
    Eva made a sharp little move, wiping her hand nervously down the top of her leg. Jamie followed it with his gaze. She glanced into the trees, wiped again, then blurted out, “We cannot camp here.”
    Ah. He almost smiled. More secrets of Eva. Talking to her was like locating the trace line of silver in a mine.
    “You’re particular,” he drawled. “Neither east nor west, and for certes not the wood.”
    Her gaze rushed over to him. “Yes, I am just that sort. Difficult to please, happy with no thing. I am the woman always wanting the new shoes, the pretty lace. I require much maintenance. I will tire you thoroughly.”
    Ry snorted. Jamie’s gaze never left hers. She was frightened, but oddly distracted. All his senses went on high alert.
    “The horses can go no farther, Eva,” Jamie said, watching close.
    “But—”
    “No horses, no Father Peter. And I cannot track in the dark.”
    She stared at him, clearly caught between sense and some other, almost desperate need to move on. Ry sensed it too. He stepped forward and murmured, “Do you know something that would help us, mistress?”
    Her forehead furrowed with earnestness. “I know we cannot camp in these woods.”
    “Why not?”
    “’Tis not safe.”
    Jamie and Ry exchanged a glance.
    “What I mean to say is, this is just the sort of wood we have in France, which is filled with surprising pockets of quicksand and thickets. That is bad. And are there not wolves?” she concluded on a faint note of triumph.
    “No.”
    Just then, a long, low howl went up.
    She smiled and spread out a hand. “We see the wolves.”
    Jamie gave the ghost of a smile.
    “So you see, with clarity, we cannot camp here.”
    “I see with clarity you know a great deal about these woods.”
    He examined her in the pale glow, then slowly reached for the rope that connected their horses. He looped it around the pommel of his saddle over and over, drawing her closer, until her horse stood belly to belly with his and