“Take the back way,” Mrs. Fenwick said gruffly, “and mind you don’t linger. The air’s turned cold.”
“Yes, Mrs. Fenwick.” Anna left by the kitchen door. Outside, smoke curled from chimneys and a dog barked somewhere beyond the lane. Anna pulled her shawl close and started toward Mrs. Albright’s lane.
Just as she told herself she wasn’t afraid, a rider appeared at the far end of the lane. Anna stopped, her heart in her throat, until she realized who it was.
Nathaniel reined in his horse beneath the branches of the nearby trees, his horse’s breath clouding in the cold air. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then his gaze dropped to her sleeve, to the cuff where the paper was hidden.
How could he know such things? Her heart sank as he rode toward her, his voice low and urgent. “Miss Turner, go back inside.”
She stood straighter, even though fear crawled up her spine. “I have an errand to run for Mrs. Pembroke.”
“No,” he said. “You have a death wish.”
She gasped. “That is a bold assumption.”
“It is an educated one.” His gaze flicked past her toward the road. “You cannot go this way.”
“Why? Because Major Ellis has men watching, or because you do?”
The words struck him. She saw his flinch. Good.
She needed anger right now. It was easier to manage than the dangerous relief that rushed through her at the sight of him.
Nathaniel leaned down from the saddle. “Anna…” It was the first time he’d used her Christian name. The sound of it in his voice nearly ruined her.
She drew back. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
His jaw tightened. “Then don’t make me say what you already know.”
“What?”
He lowered his voice. “That you are about to walk into soldiers who have been told to stop anyone they suspect is carrying a message.”
Her breath caught. “How do you know that?”
He looked past her again. Anna turned. At the bend in the lane, two British soldiers appeared between the trees.
Nathaniel dismounted and caught her by the arm. She should have pulled away but didn’t. His hand was warm through her sleeve, firm but not painful. The warmth shot through her so fast, that for one terrible instant, she forgot the soldiers, the message, and every sensible reason she had for disliking him.
He turned her toward the kitchen path. “Back to the house. Now.”
“And the message?” she whispered.
His gaze returned to her sleeve. Anna went cold. He knew exactly where it was. Nathaniel’s expression hardened into something she’d not seen before. Something dangerous. “Give it to me,” he said.
Anna gaped at him. Behind them, the soldiers drew closer. And in that moment, with his hand still around her arm and warning in his eyes, Anna couldn’t tell whether Nathaniel meant to save the message, save her, or hand both over to the British.
Eleven
Anna stared at him as if he’d struck her. For one wretched heartbeat, Nathaniel let himself see it: the fear in her eyes, the disbelief, the sharp, bruised hurt that cut through him far more cleanly than suspicion could have.
The soldiers rounded the bend in the lane, and Nathaniel had no more room for regret. He spoke again, low enough that only she could hear. “Give it to me.”
“No.” Her back stiffened. She was infuriatingly brave. Of course she’d said no. She stood in the fading light with danger closing in, and nothing but pure pride held her upright when good sense ought to have sent her running back to the kitchen.
He’d known she might not obey, but he hadn’t expected the sight of it to twist something inside him so hard. For a moment he forgot every practiced rule that kept him alive. The soldiers were close enough now that he could hear the creak of leather and the clink of metal.
Nathaniel stepped nearer to Anna and lowered his voice. “If they search you, you hang.”
