They would not be pleased. "I'll leave a message for them. They should be here soon." He might have wondered why they hadn't arrived yet, since he and Annalia had made such poor time, but he knew a standoff like that could take days, even weeks, to end, especially since both sides were in such defensible locations. It could take even longer if both doggedly refused to give ground. That was one thing he hated about the job—the bloody downtime.

He would write to Niall and tell him to ride for Otto. If Niall thought the odds good, he should sign them on.

When the coach arrived, he inspected the horses and quizzed the driver—a man called originally enough "Coachy." Finding both acceptable, he went to wake Annalia. Through the front window of the inn, he spied her rushing down the stairs, smoothing her hair, and looking none the worse for wear for their drinking. His head had been pounding since he'd sobered. When she strode outside, he asked, "How do you feel?"

She appeared surprised that he was still there, but covered it with a shrug. "I feel fine. Why?"

Because she'd been riding through a downpour last night, recently shot, and then got drunk, he almost answered. He was learning that the black plague personified could kiss her and she'd be fine. "No reason."

She glanced down and ran the toe of her shoe over some tufted grass by the walk. "I didn't know if you'd still be here."

Did she think that badly of him? He'd given her his word—when he was soused and under duress from needing to tup her—but still his word. "I made a deal with you, and I plan to keep my side of it."

She gave him a disbelieving expression. "Don't become testy, MacCarrick. It isn't as if you've presented yourself as the most trustworthy man."

He moved closer to her, to a point she would deem impolite. "If you will no' believe I'll keep my end because I'm a man of my word, then believe I will just so you'll keep yours."

She blushed and observed the grass again.

"So that means I'll be getting you somewhere I know you'll be safe."

She frowned when she faced him again. "You told me the posting house was safe. This was where you were going to leave me."

"Changed my mind after the attack yesterday, and I know a place in London."

"I'm not traveling to England!" She crossed her arms over her chest. He noticed she put her hands lower because of her injury. "You said you'd help me find Aleix, not take me farther away from him!"

"Your brother's coming for you. The Rechazado said he was on our trail to save you from the brutal Highlanders and then murder me for revenge. He'll go where we go. And he'll thank me later for taking you to safety in London."

"Why didn't you tell me this information sooner?"

"When should I have done that? During the downpour or when I was drunkenly trying to get you out of your gown?"

She gasped, eyes wide, but then she narrowed them. "You're attempting to distract me. To keep me from saying yet again that I am not going to England."

"Lass, we're leaving. Now. The subject's ended."

"I can't leave without sending him a message!"

"To where? Your home? He's doubtless already in France."

She paced and he wondered how many soles she went through in a year. Didn't matter—he would always encourage it. "Do you have relatives in France?"

Shaking her head, she said, "No, my mother's family is in Spain, in Castile."

"Any friends or connections?"

Her brows were drawn. "There are only two places in France that I have connections to and both are near Paris."

"Which are?"

She answered absently, "My mother's grave and my old school."

Wait…. "Your mother does no' rest on your family's land?" He tried to read her expression, but she appeared deep in thought. Why the hell wouldn't she? And if not there, then at least in Spain?

"We could send a message to The Vines!" she continued as if she hadn't heard him. "He'll check for information there."

"We'll see."

"I'm not going anywhere until you promise."

"Fine, promised," he grated. "Now go get in the coach."

"Coach? But the Rechazados will catch up."

"I doona want you riding anymore. And if it rains, we'd have to stop then anyway."

"I will not slow us down."

"Anna," he began in a warning tone, "the coach, or I'll take my kiss and I'll take it back in the bed."

She must have believed him, because she glowered at him, but only while sashaying to stand beside the coach.

When Groot brought out their things, Court tossed the bags to the coachman, then set about loading the weapons that Hugh and Ethan had unknowingly paid for this morning. He couldn't resist running a hand over his new rifle, near lovingly. A repeating rifle, five shots in one loading—he'd heard tales of them coming in the future, tales in the same vein as those of the beast of Loch Ness, but he'd never seen one. This rifle meant dead Rechazados.

Once they were set and Groot had returned inside, she mumbled, "I still say we should ride."

"Anna, you're no' as strong as you think."

"No, I'm not," she said, her chin at a stubborn angle. "Every time I conclude how strong I am, I surprise myself. I continue to exceed my conclusions, so I must be stronger than I think."

She surprised him, too. Constantly. Like now, when after her rousing statement about her growing strength, the prim little lady stood outside the coach's door, directly beside the folding step, waiting for him to assist her in. She didn't even realize she should be making a show of helping herself inside, making a gesture of independence.

His eyes narrowed. Or perhaps she did realize it and wanted all things her way.

As he strode toward her—and how could he not when she put her arms out to him?—he thought about the paradox. All Court knew was that a woman who peered at her nails infinite times in a day should not know how to hide a rock in her skirt to pummel the unwitting Scot.

Her incongruent actions went against all that was right and governable in the laws of nature.

He shook his head hard, then handed her in, growling under his breath, "Fascinatin' woman."

"Isn't the countryside lovely?" Annalia asked as she gazed out over a valley in Burgundy. The land was bedecked with patchwork fields of sunflowers and vineyards, and she smelled damp earth. When the sun came out from behind white clouds, a breeze blew, but swayed only the squares of towering blooms. And she couldn't stop smiling.

"Lovely," he agreed though he'd never looked away from her. He'd been watching her closely ever since her…indiscretion four nights ago, though Annalia wished he wouldn't read too much into her actions. She'd simply been reacting to the traumatic events of the day, and there'd been imbibing once more, but he acted as though something had changed between them other than the fact that she no longer detested him.

To be honest, she didn't even think she could manage to dislike him anymore. She'd seemed to grow used to him, becoming more comfortable around his size, becoming more aware when his sharp words were like teasing.

And she suspected that the impulses to be good to her and even possibly gentler with her were within him. Unfortunately, she also suspected that he didn't know quite what to do with those impulses.

She could nearly think of them as uneasy allies, except for the fact that his help would come at a price. Her knight slayed no dragons without a payment, one that he hadn't yet demanded.

As they rode through the first town in the valley, the bright colors of the homes struck her, and she thought she heard music. When she tried to work her coach window open, he quickly reached across her to shove it down with ridiculous ease. It was a gesture a Castilian gentleman might make. Except for the total destruction of the window rails.