Page 62 of A Bluestocking’s Secret Courtship

“Not too fast,” he said gently.

When she replaced the cork, he cleared his throat. “Your uncle has been on many expeditions, and he has always come back, am I right?”

She nodded.

“That tells me he knows how to protect himself. And he taught you and your sisters Wing Chun. He isn’t helpless.”

But Uncle Charles had never before encountered mercenaries or men who plotted against England. She forced a smile, not wanting to cause Jonathan to have second thoughts about searching for her uncle. She needed him, and Uncle Charles must be warned about the man in the market.

“We should keep going,” she said.

Afternoon shadows stretched across the dusty lane as they entered the village of Fyli. It was the last populated area they would encounter before setting up camp in the countryside.

Smoke curled from cooking fires, carrying the savory scent of onions, while the bleating of goats echoed off whitewashed stone walls. Five children darted past, their sandals kicking up dirt, as she and Jonathan made their way to the village stables.

A young man greeted them as they approached. His large eyes were rimmed with dark lashes, and unruly curls fell across his forehead. Jonathan handed him some coins to feed and care for the donkey while they visited the tavern for a meal.

“We should give him a name,” she said as they washed dirt from their faces and hands in the cistern outside the tavern.

“Who?”

“The donkey. I cannot call him darling or sweetheart the whole way.”

“Why not?” Jonathan grinned and handed her a handkerchief to dry herself. “He doesn’t seem to mind, especially when you’re feeding him slices of turnip.”

She returned his smile. “I suppose he doesn’t. We’ve become fast friends, he and I.”

“The supplies are meant for you, sweet girl. To keep up your strength.”

“He is working harder than me,” she said as Jonathan held out his arm to escort her to the tavern door. “I hope I haven’t slowed us down too much today.”

“Not at all,” he said, allowing her to enter ahead of him.

Like most places she had seen in Greece, outside of Lord Dominic’s villa, the furnishings were simple—rustic wood tables, unpadded benches, clay pottery, and baskets. A peaceful warmth wrapped around her, and the scent of herbs rising from the cauldron bubbling over the hearth carried the comfort of home.

They slid into seats across from each other.

“If anything,” he said, “you’ve made the time go by quickly. Not many people want to listen to me natter on about drums, let alone care to ask me questions.”

“I’ve experienced the same with my talk of ancient warfare.”

“But it’s fascinating.”

“Thank you. I couldn’t agree more.”

The cook snapped her fingers. A serving girl hopped from a stool and headed their way.

“Regina thinks my interests are too macabre,” Evangeline said, “and she isn’t wrong. Still, I find the tactical aspects captivating, not to mention the negotiations leading up to and after battle. Of course, the most successful negotiations circumvent a fight.”

The girl’s gleaming black curls were pulled back with a faded dark blue kerchief, and she was fresh-faced. Thirteen or fourteen at most. She and Jonathan conversed in Greek for several moments. Her eyes widened, and she sent a small smile toward Evangeline before leaving to retrieve their meal.

“What did you say to her?” she asked.

“I told her mutton was acceptable.”

“Is that all?”

He leaned an elbow on the table, propping up his chin on his hand. “Chauncey?”