number of wicked tricks. It helps that most men don’t expect a woman to fight, much less fight well.”
“You sound like a woman who has done a great deal of fighting.”
“I’ve been fighting my whole life,” she said, her voice flat.
Several minutes of riding later, he asked, “What will you do when peace comes?”
She shrugged. “I haven’t thought much about it since I never believed I’d survive that long. Perhaps I’ll find a quiet cottage by the sea and raise flowers and cats.”
“In England or in France?”
“England,” she said immediately, surprised by her certainty on a subject she’d never much considered. “France has too many dark memories.”
He nodded agreement. Once they were back in England, he’d never have to return to France unless he chose to.
Cassie had no choice, for without her private war with Napoleon, her life had no meaning. She’d return again and again until the war ended.
Or until she died.
By the time they reached the tiny hut near the summit of the highest hill, Grey had learned two things. The first was that he hadn’t forgotten how to ride despite ten years of never going near a horse. His body remembered how to sit, how to control his mount.
The second thing he’d learned was that riding required the use of muscles he’d forgotten he possessed. Despite the rest breaks, every muscle and joint in his body was complaining by late afternoon.
The track had narrowed so Cassie had led for the last couple of hours. The blasted woman seemed tireless. She had an elegant back, though, and she rode beautifully. He enjoyed watching her.
He’d stopped feeling guilty about inappropriate thoughts for a female twice his age. She was proof that a woman could be alluring no matter how many years she had. A good thing she was capable of tossing him into the nearest wall if he behaved badly.
Would he know what to do with a willing female when the time came? He supposed if he could still ride a horse, he’d be able to ride a woman. He’d find out once he was back in England. For now, he and his guide needed to concentrate on traveling quickly and not being noticed.
The hut was by a jagged outcropping of rock, just as Romain Boyer had described. Cassie halted in front. The hut was small, large enough for perhaps four people to sleep if they liked each other well. A lean-to had been added on one side for horses, and the other side boasted a pile of wood. “I’m glad to see firewood,” she said as she dismounted. “It’s going to be a very cold night.”
Grey tried not to groan when he swung from Achille’s broad back. “I don’t mind the cold, but my aching body is likely to stiffen like a board by morning.”
“I have some liniment that’s good for sore muscles.” She led her pony to the lean-to and started to bed Thistle down for the night.
“You are a remarkably useful woman to have around.” He tethered Achille under the lean-to and removed the saddle. He was becoming rather fond of the old boy.
“My fairy godmother bestowed practical gifts like efficiency and endurance rather than beauty, charm, or golden hair,” Cassie said dryly.
He wasn’t sure what to say, so he said nothing. He doubted she would be flattered if he told her she had a beautiful back. Even though it was true.
Cassie the Fox was the perfect travel partner, Grey decided as he rolled into his blanket that night. She was relaxing to be with and fulfilled his desire for companionship while asking very little of him. Which was good, because his camping skills were nonexistent. While she prepared supper and hot tea, all he’d had to do was forage for more firewood to replace what they used from the woodpile.
On the other side of the hut, Cassie wrapped her blanket around herself. She was all of about four feet away from him. “Sleep well,” she murmured. “Tomorrow’s ride should be easier.”
“Every day is a new adventure,” he replied. “Tomorrow’s will be discovering if
“You sound like a woman who has done a great deal of fighting.”
“I’ve been fighting my whole life,” she said, her voice flat.
Several minutes of riding later, he asked, “What will you do when peace comes?”
She shrugged. “I haven’t thought much about it since I never believed I’d survive that long. Perhaps I’ll find a quiet cottage by the sea and raise flowers and cats.”
“In England or in France?”
“England,” she said immediately, surprised by her certainty on a subject she’d never much considered. “France has too many dark memories.”
He nodded agreement. Once they were back in England, he’d never have to return to France unless he chose to.
Cassie had no choice, for without her private war with Napoleon, her life had no meaning. She’d return again and again until the war ended.
Or until she died.
By the time they reached the tiny hut near the summit of the highest hill, Grey had learned two things. The first was that he hadn’t forgotten how to ride despite ten years of never going near a horse. His body remembered how to sit, how to control his mount.
The second thing he’d learned was that riding required the use of muscles he’d forgotten he possessed. Despite the rest breaks, every muscle and joint in his body was complaining by late afternoon.
The track had narrowed so Cassie had led for the last couple of hours. The blasted woman seemed tireless. She had an elegant back, though, and she rode beautifully. He enjoyed watching her.
He’d stopped feeling guilty about inappropriate thoughts for a female twice his age. She was proof that a woman could be alluring no matter how many years she had. A good thing she was capable of tossing him into the nearest wall if he behaved badly.
Would he know what to do with a willing female when the time came? He supposed if he could still ride a horse, he’d be able to ride a woman. He’d find out once he was back in England. For now, he and his guide needed to concentrate on traveling quickly and not being noticed.
The hut was by a jagged outcropping of rock, just as Romain Boyer had described. Cassie halted in front. The hut was small, large enough for perhaps four people to sleep if they liked each other well. A lean-to had been added on one side for horses, and the other side boasted a pile of wood. “I’m glad to see firewood,” she said as she dismounted. “It’s going to be a very cold night.”
Grey tried not to groan when he swung from Achille’s broad back. “I don’t mind the cold, but my aching body is likely to stiffen like a board by morning.”
“I have some liniment that’s good for sore muscles.” She led her pony to the lean-to and started to bed Thistle down for the night.
“You are a remarkably useful woman to have around.” He tethered Achille under the lean-to and removed the saddle. He was becoming rather fond of the old boy.
“My fairy godmother bestowed practical gifts like efficiency and endurance rather than beauty, charm, or golden hair,” Cassie said dryly.
He wasn’t sure what to say, so he said nothing. He doubted she would be flattered if he told her she had a beautiful back. Even though it was true.
Cassie the Fox was the perfect travel partner, Grey decided as he rolled into his blanket that night. She was relaxing to be with and fulfilled his desire for companionship while asking very little of him. Which was good, because his camping skills were nonexistent. While she prepared supper and hot tea, all he’d had to do was forage for more firewood to replace what they used from the woodpile.
On the other side of the hut, Cassie wrapped her blanket around herself. She was all of about four feet away from him. “Sleep well,” she murmured. “Tomorrow’s ride should be easier.”
“Every day is a new adventure,” he replied. “Tomorrow’s will be discovering if
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