He shook his head. “Why do ye need to know? What would ye do with the truth if ye had it?”
The question surprised her. “I...um...I don’t know. Plan. Prepare.”
“Run?” he asked quietly. “I’m not the only one hiding pieces of themselves. Or running from something.”
She crossed her arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I think ye know. Ye keep wanting to know my secrets, but ye havenae told me one thing about yerself. Who areyereally, Ruby Douglas? And where are ye really from?”
Her nostrils flared, and even in the gloom he saw two spots of color bloom on her cheeks. “I told ye. I’m from Cardiff but now I live in—”
“Edinburgh, I know,” he finished for her. “But I know a lie when I hear it. Or at least, an evasion of the truth. Ye dinna talk about yer life. Ye talkaroundit. Same as me. People who are content... they dinna do that.”
Her throat moved as she swallowed. She was quiet for a minute before she murmured, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
He exhaled slowly. “Then it seems we make a fine pair.”
She looked away, jaw tense, and he felt a sting of guilt. He opened his mouth to speak, but before the words could leave his mouth, the wind shifted, bringing a sound to him across the heather.
Hoofbeats.
“Down!” he hissed.
He grabbed Ruby’s hand, pulling her into the deeper shadow by the pile of stones. The hoofbeats grew louder.
Ruby pressed against him, breath shallow, her shoulder touching his chest. He felt the tremor of her breathing, the quickness of her pulse, the grip of her fingers curled unconsciously into his sleeve.
In the distance, two riders crested the ridge, their silhouettes sharp against the moonlight. MacInnes’ men. They scanned the moor, swinging lantern casting jagged slivers of golden light in all directions.
Evan lowered his head until his cheek brushed Ruby’s temple. “Keep still,” he murmured. “They canna see us.”
The riders lingered a moment. Then, as quickly as they’d come, they rode on, disappearing over the far rise. Evan waited until the last hoofbeat had faded, and only then did he relax.
Ruby didn’t move away. Neither did he. There was not even a hand’s width between them, and her face was so close he could feel her breath against his cheek. His eyes fell to the exquisite bow shape of her lips. For one agonizing heartbeat, he wanted to kiss her. The pull was so strong that he felt himself beginning to move before he was able to take hold of himself.
Pulling in a breath, he climbed to his feet, shaken by more than just the sight of MacInnes’ men. What was wrong with him? He held out a hand to help Ruby up.
He pulled her to her feet and she looked up at him, her eyes like silver pools under the moonlight. “Evan, I—”
“Let’s get going.”
He marched off and she followed, neither of them speaking. At least she no longer plagued him with questions. Perhaps she was scared of the answers.
By the time they reached the sheltered dale where he’d planned to camp, the moon had dipped low, not long from setting. There had been no more sign of MacInnes’ men, for which he was grateful. He led Ruby into the narrow valley, all but invisible from above, and to a shallow cave that he’d used many times when needing to disappear for a while. Once he’d checked it was empty, he busied himself with building a fire.
He felt Ruby’s eyes on him as he worked, but she said not a word. Soon he had a fire crackling in the hollow, chasing away the dark. Yet the fire had nothing to do with why heat curled through his blood.
And that wasn’t safe for either of them.
RUBY EDGED A LITTLEcloser to the fire, stretching her hands toward the wavering orange flames.
The cave felt damp and cold, the stone beneath her thin blanket unforgiving. Outside, the wind moved across the moors with a lonely whistle that slipped through the cave mouth and curled around her ankles. She shivered and hunched closer to the crackling flames.
What a day.
Since leaving Isla, Duncan, and the merchant caravan, they’d trudged mile after mile across rough ground, her boots soaked through from crossing streams and the muscles in her legs aching with every step. Why had she followed Evan? Why hadn’t she stayed with the wagons?
She closed her eyes and pictured the caravan. The laughter. The warm glow of lanterns inside the canvas tents. Isla’s cheerful chatter.
