dragon. Have you a sword that I can borrow?”
“Not at present.” Almost, he smiled.
Her stomach did pirouettes. “I don’t need a protector.”
He halted two yards away. “All evidence to the contrary.”
“You are only here because Arabella would not agree to fund this journey unless I allowed you to come. Did she tell you that? She forced me to accept this arrangement. But I don’t need you here, and she won’t know if you leave now. Mr. Treadwell has a pistol. Once we come to the coast tomorrow I am familiar with the country and can manage without your help.”
“I am not your protector. I am your guide only. Your sister asked this favor of me and for the gratitude I bear your family I agreed to it.”
“You agreed to it because you knew I didn’t want it.”
“What do you want, Eleanor?” he asked, an edge of darkness in his deep rumble. “To take to the road on this quest like a peddler without assistance and hope for the best? I’ve been there, and I can assure you it’s no holiday. Not even for a few weeks.”
“I’m not naïve. I know the challenges I face.” Tiny, icy pebbles from the sky layered the earth, covering the darkness with sound. Bits of frozen rain clung to her lashes. “You don’t think I can do this, do you? Find my parents.”
“I think you could do anything you put your mind to.”
He always had .
“Is that—” Her words stumbled upon feeling. “Is that a challenge?”
“A challenge?”
Shame like nit bites prickled her skin. What a fool she was to imagine that their shared past meant anything to him. “You don’t remember.”
“Remember what, exactly?” he said warily.
“When we were young, all you wanted was to prove that you were better than me, superior, smarter, more daring and adventuresome, that you could best me at any challenge,” she said. “When we—”
“When we were young, all I wanted was you.”
Her limbs were butter. But it wasn’t true . He had not wanted her. He had wanted to win.
“Fortunately, youth passes,” he added. He lifted a hand and rubbed the back of his neck. The gesture was so familiar, she must have seen him make it hundreds of times—the last time on that last day, when she had been buttoning her gown and he’d stood in the middle of the pond up to his hips in water and watched her.
“I heard that after you left St. Petroc you went to jail,” she blurted out.
“Ah. But which occasion?”
“It’s true? What did you—what did you do to merit it?”
“Vagabondage. Roguery. Nothing worth the telling.” He stepped forward. “Is that it? Is this journey about proving your daring? Your foolhardy courage?”
“Of course not.”
“No. I see now.” He spoke slowly, watching her face so closely that she felt touched. “It’s about proving your strength, isn’t it? But to whom, I wonder.”
A thousand unspoken words clogged her throat. Black satin locks falling over his collar and the lamplight glinting off the silver loops in his ears made him look like a pirate—or how she always imagined a pirate, save for the peg leg, of course. Taliesin’s horseman’s legs were long and sharply muscled beneath fine, clinging wool. She felt hot and unsteady. Wild inside. Like she’d never seen a man’s legs in breeches before.
She dragged her attention up. Looking into the eyes of the single person who had never once doubted her strength, she lied, “No one.” Her whisper threaded through drops of falling ice. “I don’t wish to prove anything to anyone.”
The year after her illness, when she was still weak, she had been bursting to leave the house, to capture on her skin not only the sunshine in the garden but the wind on the cliffs. Her papa cosseted and fretted over her, and she reveled in the attention. But the moment he left the vicarage, she’d stolen out and gone to the Gypsy camp, where Taliesin had taught her how to ride. She met him every day and neither of them told anyone.
“I simply
“Not at present.” Almost, he smiled.
Her stomach did pirouettes. “I don’t need a protector.”
He halted two yards away. “All evidence to the contrary.”
“You are only here because Arabella would not agree to fund this journey unless I allowed you to come. Did she tell you that? She forced me to accept this arrangement. But I don’t need you here, and she won’t know if you leave now. Mr. Treadwell has a pistol. Once we come to the coast tomorrow I am familiar with the country and can manage without your help.”
“I am not your protector. I am your guide only. Your sister asked this favor of me and for the gratitude I bear your family I agreed to it.”
“You agreed to it because you knew I didn’t want it.”
“What do you want, Eleanor?” he asked, an edge of darkness in his deep rumble. “To take to the road on this quest like a peddler without assistance and hope for the best? I’ve been there, and I can assure you it’s no holiday. Not even for a few weeks.”
“I’m not naïve. I know the challenges I face.” Tiny, icy pebbles from the sky layered the earth, covering the darkness with sound. Bits of frozen rain clung to her lashes. “You don’t think I can do this, do you? Find my parents.”
“I think you could do anything you put your mind to.”
He always had .
“Is that—” Her words stumbled upon feeling. “Is that a challenge?”
“A challenge?”
Shame like nit bites prickled her skin. What a fool she was to imagine that their shared past meant anything to him. “You don’t remember.”
“Remember what, exactly?” he said warily.
“When we were young, all you wanted was to prove that you were better than me, superior, smarter, more daring and adventuresome, that you could best me at any challenge,” she said. “When we—”
“When we were young, all I wanted was you.”
Her limbs were butter. But it wasn’t true . He had not wanted her. He had wanted to win.
“Fortunately, youth passes,” he added. He lifted a hand and rubbed the back of his neck. The gesture was so familiar, she must have seen him make it hundreds of times—the last time on that last day, when she had been buttoning her gown and he’d stood in the middle of the pond up to his hips in water and watched her.
“I heard that after you left St. Petroc you went to jail,” she blurted out.
“Ah. But which occasion?”
“It’s true? What did you—what did you do to merit it?”
“Vagabondage. Roguery. Nothing worth the telling.” He stepped forward. “Is that it? Is this journey about proving your daring? Your foolhardy courage?”
“Of course not.”
“No. I see now.” He spoke slowly, watching her face so closely that she felt touched. “It’s about proving your strength, isn’t it? But to whom, I wonder.”
A thousand unspoken words clogged her throat. Black satin locks falling over his collar and the lamplight glinting off the silver loops in his ears made him look like a pirate—or how she always imagined a pirate, save for the peg leg, of course. Taliesin’s horseman’s legs were long and sharply muscled beneath fine, clinging wool. She felt hot and unsteady. Wild inside. Like she’d never seen a man’s legs in breeches before.
She dragged her attention up. Looking into the eyes of the single person who had never once doubted her strength, she lied, “No one.” Her whisper threaded through drops of falling ice. “I don’t wish to prove anything to anyone.”
The year after her illness, when she was still weak, she had been bursting to leave the house, to capture on her skin not only the sunshine in the garden but the wind on the cliffs. Her papa cosseted and fretted over her, and she reveled in the attention. But the moment he left the vicarage, she’d stolen out and gone to the Gypsy camp, where Taliesin had taught her how to ride. She met him every day and neither of them told anyone.
“I simply
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