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“Exactly. Well, not on the Pennsylvania.” David nodded. “We’re going to cut through the woods and get ourselves on another line.”
“Wait, we’re going to walk?” In other circumstances, the note of panic in Amalia’s voice at the prospect of walking would’ve been humorous—fine it was still humorous, even if a small voice in the back of his head warned him that the woman might try to make him carry her like a packhorse. Though to have her arms around his neck, her soft skin next to his... No, stop. He needed to focus, execute his plan.
David tugged at his collar, loosening his tie, and undoing the top button. “It won’t be that far. Probably only a few hours, a day at most.”
“A day? A day, walking, in this?” Amalia shook her dress.
“It’s the safest way.” It really was. A smart, solid plan. No one would suspect them on foot. They’d lose whomever was after them. Easy. “You still have some money on you?”
Amalia nodded and held up her black valise.
“Good. I’m sure we’ll get to a town soon, find a hotel and a train station, different line, throw them off our trail.” David glanced at Amalia who’d paled. “Don’t tell me you’re not up to it?”
“I’m up to it.” She balled her hands into fists and laid them on her hips, drawing his eye to her rather fetching, well, everything. “I just liked this dress, that’s all.”
“Oh, you were never going to wear it again anyway.” Amalia’s mouth fell open in a surprised “O.” David shrugged. “I’ve read your column, remember? I know you can’t wash gowns that complicated. Once it gets wet, all the construction goes so you either have to remake it, or sell the fabric to someone in my former profession.” He reached out and straightened her still starched lace collar.
Amalia blushed a little, but leaned closer to him. How did she still smell of magnolias after they’d crawled through smoke and grass and god-only-knew what else?
“We should head out.” Will coughed, before giving David a firm pat on the shoulder. “Be safe.” His partner tipped his hat to Amalia, while Meg gave her a pat on the shoulder. She nodded back at both of them, before they slipped through the trees and back into the fray.
Once his friends were out of sight Amalia turned to him, hands on her hips. “What are we standing here for?”
“Um...” He blinked at her.
“You know as well as I do, whomever is after you could be lurking around. We can’t let these people be hurt because of me.” She waved a hand at the crowd and his heart swelled a little.
The woman was uncanny. Tough wasn’t half of it. After all she’d been through, the injuries, the ex-husbands, she still managed to be concerned about the safety of strangers. Even at a time like this. There was just no way she was behind the threats herself. Meg was wrong.
He slipped her good hand into his. The fit was so nice. No, he couldn’t think of that. Task at hand. Mission. Execute. David lowered his voice. “That’s why we’re leaving now. To stay safe while I sort this all out.” He inclined his head. “This way, and duck down a little.”
Amalia obeyed and he braced himself before he whispered in her ear. “And run.”
* * *
Four hours later, the running had become walking, or more trudging. David’s back, legs, and shoulders screamed and ached under the afternoon blaze.
“Hot. It’s very hot.” Amalia mopped her brow with the already soaked glove she’d made him remove an hour ago. Good thing he did. She’d burst three stitches freeing him on the train. No infection...yet.
“And humid.” He forged a path with his boot in the long grass of the meadow they’d been traversing for what had to be at least four miles. “But it’s better without gear.”
Guilt gnawed at him. She shouldn’t have helped him. Shouldn’t have had to. She was his responsibility, damn it. He was the team leader.
“You have my bag.” Amalia was at his side again, stroking the leather. It’d been such a headache to take from her—she might rival him in stubbornness, if that was possible—but she’d been struggling to toggle it plus lift her long skirts so she finally had to acquiesce.
“Not the same.” He shifted the case on his shoulder. Mercy, it was heavy. What exactly did she have in it? Hopefully something to eat. And maybe matches.
“I suppose not.” Amalia matched his steps as they slogged farther towards a grove of trees at the horizon. “Both my brothers did this with packs and wool?”
David’s innards twisted at the memory of those early days, before they’d all seen what they saw. When they were all innocent. “Yes. They marched for days. In sun and snow, and we slept on fields—”
“Why did you fight?” Amalia laid a hand on his shoulder. “I mean, you’d just come to this country when you joined up and I know you found slavery abhorrent, because it was, but fight? After you escaped the Russian army?”
He didn’t answer.
“I’m sorry. That was impolite.” He didn’t need to glance at her. He could picture her flushed cheeks and the hint of guilt on her face that made him want to apologize even though he’d done nothing wrong.
“Your father asked me the same thing.” He rubbed his shoulder with his free hand before sticking it in his pocket.
