Oliver had been thinking about that. “They’ll rest when we do. We’ll do some hunting in the afternoon. Megan can rest for the day, then we leave the next morning. One day’s grace. Let them graze, recover their strength. We ride out at dawn the following day.”
“That gives Penharrow’s men time to catch up.”
“They think we’re heading for the eastward border. They’ll waste days searching the wrong area.” Oliver hoped he was right. “And we need Megan rested. She’s at her limit.”
Webb studied him for a long moment. “You care about her.”
It wasn’t a question. Oliver didn’t bother denying it. “She’s been through hell. Someone should care.”
“That’s not what I meant, my lord.”
Oliver met his former batman’s eyes. Webb had known him for ten years, had served with him through the worst of the Peninsular War. There was no point in lying.
“I don’t know what I feel,” Oliver admitted quietly. “Responsibility, certainly. Rage at Penharrow. Admiration for her strength.” He paused. “I feel sorry for her. When she was merely an unknown, it was easier not to think about her life.”
“But now?” Webb’s expression was kind but concerned. “My lord, I’ve served with you long enough to know when you’re being stupid about a woman.”
“This isn’t the time?—”
“It’s exactly the time, because whatever you feel for her, it’s affecting your judgment. At Salamanca, you would have sent her ahead with a fast rider while we delayed pursuit. You would have made the cold, military decision that saved the most lives.”
“Megan isn’t a soldier. She doesn’t deserve to be sacrificed for strategy.”
“Neither did half the men who died under our command in Spain, but you made those calls anyway because you had to.” Webb leaned forward. “I’m not saying you’re wrong to protect her. I’m saying you need to be honest about why you’re doing it. Because if this is about guilt over James, or rage at Penharrow, or even just basic decency, fine, but if you’re risking both our necks because you’ve developed feelings for a woman you’ve known for a day...”
“What would you have me do? Leave her? Send her off alone?”
“No, but maybe don’t lie to yourself about your motivations. Because when we reach Shrewsbury, when we’re safe, what then? She’ll be Penharrow’s victim in the eyes of society regardless of what we know to be the truth, and I doubt she’s looking to replace one jailer for another.”
Oliver wanted to argue, to tell Webb he was wrong, but the former sergeant had an irritating habit of being right about concerns like this.
“I’ll deal with that when we get there,” Oliver said finally. “For now, the only thing that matters is keeping her alive long enough to have choices, and to testify against Penharrow.”
Webb nodded slowly. “Fair enough. Then let’s plan this properly. Five days, you said. What’s the route?”
Oliver pulled out his mental map of the region, built from studying Welsh geography before the mission. “North from here through the mountains toward Knighton. We’ll follow the high country, harder travel but better cover. There’s an old drove road that runs along the ridgeline. Shepherds use it in summer, but it should be passable now.”
“Water sources?”
“Streams coming off the peaks. Running high with winter rain, good for drinking, but we’ll need to be careful of flooding.”
“Shelter?”
“Shepherds’ huts like this one, scattered through the hills. With luck, we’ll find one each night.” Oliver shrugged. “We’ve slept rough before.”
“She hasn’t.”
“Then we’ll teach her.” Oliver found himself almost smiling. “She’s a fast learner and has the most to lose if we fail. Did you see how she cleaned your wound? Steady hands, good instincts. Five days in the mountains might be the best training she could get.”
“Or it might break her.”
“It won’t.” Oliver’s voice was certain. “She’s survived fourteen years of Penharrow. She can survive five days with us.”
They fell into a silence that stretched comfortably, the way silence does between men who have kept long watches together. The fire crackled. Outside, the wind had picked up, howling through the hills.
“You really have gone stupid over her,” Webb said.
Oliver looked at his hands. “Probably.”
