“No.” Choked voice. She ripped strands of hair free from the twigs and wobbled to her feet. “But Felton, the men—”
“I know. Come on.”
“But they’ll see—”
“Come!” Hands entwined, they broke into a run and made it back into the stables without sight nor sound of anyone. He swung Eliza onto her unsaddled horse. “Hold the mane.”
“But, Felton, we’ll never make it—”
“Hush. Go.” He hastened the horse to the open doorway of the stables, slapped the rear, and waited with his flintlock until she reached the street.
Then he swung atop his own horse. Halfway past the house, a shot rang from the porch. His horse faltered. His body left the saddle.
God, help.He hit the ground so hard his vision dipped again. He was back in the tunnel, long and dark and noiseless, but he never reached the end. He scampered back to his feet, taste of dirt in his mouth, as another shot whizzed past his head.
Pumping his legs hard and fast, he made it to the cobblestone street, where the building shadows hid him, where the shots no longer rang in his ears. He rasped in air and kept running.
Then Eliza. She appeared from nowhere when she should have already been away. Why had she waited for him? The fool. The senseless little fool—
“Felton, here!”
He pulled himself onto the horse and grabbed the mane around her shaking form. Kicking his heels into the animal’s side, another wave of blackness came and went as they galloped faster. Behind them, more shots sliced the air.
But the danger never touched them, and the pound of hooves on cobblestones soon morphed into the quieter thud of hooves on dirt. The night swallowed them into blackness. The road led them into quietness.
Felton leaned his pounding head onto the top of her hair and exhaled air.Thank You, God.Because no horses ever followed, nor gunfire blasted, nor shouts pierced the air.
They were safe. Eliza was safe.
At least for tonight.
How long they rode she couldn’t remember. Sometime through the night, she must have fallen asleep, with her head near his heartbeat and his arms closing her in.
She didn’t want to awaken. She never wanted to awaken. If only she could stay where the horse rocked and lulled her and her dreams carried her into oblivion. Back to the ocean, vast and quiet, where they had played and laughed in blue, sparkling water.
She was the mermaid and he the sailor in the boat. As he rowed the oars up and over the waves, he’d dip his hand into the clear water. She would catch his fingers, glide with him laughing, and break the surface long enough to meet his lips.
She shouldn’t think such things. Even in sleep, she knew that. If his kisses belonged to anyone, they belonged to Miss Haverfield. The girl with the secret. The new courtship she was finally allowed to share with the world.
How soon the mermaid would grope in vain for a hand that was no longer there at a boat that now sailed lifeless. Terribly, horribly lifeless.
“Eliza, wake up.” Another command. He always told her what to do. As long as he’d known her, he’d been barking orders as fast as she could follow them.
But she needed them, his orders. She loved them almost. Wasn’t that a silly thing?
The horse halted in a glen of trees along the road, and she shook her head against the cobwebs of sleep. Morning light filtered in around them, faint and golden, as he dismounted and pulled her to the ground.
She stayed against him. She searched his eyes because they searched hers, and she read all the things he never said with his lips. Not that she understood them. She didn’t understand any of the messages in his eyes.
Only that they were warm, for this moment. They were still and soft and as vulnerable as she was—and she loved him for his eyes. She loved him for everything. For climbing the tree, weeks ago, and listening to her nightmare. For teaching her to dance in the library. For bringing Merrylad when she was hurt and taking her to the ocean when she was sad.
For coming after her when she ran.
For being the one she needed when she’d fathomed there was no one else.
With comforting gentleness, he led her to a patch of grass, kicked away a few twigs, and ordered her to rest.
She curled onto the soft, dewy grass. She imagined Merrylad would scurry next to her, but the dog seemed more content to follow Felton.
