In Pursuit of Eliza Cynster (12 page)

Beside her, also looking into the mirror, Meggin nodded. “A youth on the cusp of manhood. As long as you remember to stride and not glide, you’ll do.”

Eliza glanced down at her feet, then, grinning, caught Meggin’s gaze. “The boots will help with that.”

Meggin laughed. “True. So, are you ready?”

“Yes.” Straightening to her full height, chin rising, Eliza nodded as imperiously as her brother Gabriel might. With a graceful bow, she waved Meggin to the door. “Lead on, ma’am, and I’ll follow.”

Chuckling, Meggin complied.

But when they reached the head of the stairs, Meggin stepped back and waved her on. “Go down first — they’re eagerly waiting to see the results of their endeavors.”

Lips curving, Eliza started down the stairs. The front hall came into view as she descended. She saw a pair of boots, then, as the legs in the boots were revealed, realized they were Jeremy’s. He was standing closest to the stairs.

Meggin’s reservations about the men’s planning abilities replayed in her mind. For her part, she’d been surprised, delightedly so, by their resourcefulness thus far, but as Meggin had warned, perhaps she shouldn’t expect too much of them — they weren’t magicians. They were scholars, and such beasts didn’t change their spots purely through an exercise of enthusiasm.

With every step downward, she saw more of Jeremy. With every inch revealed, it was conclusively confirmed that her memory of him physically had been well and truly superseded. The present reality was significantly different, in ways that still made her heart beat faster, made her breathing quicken, and sent awareness prickling over her skin.

Ignoring the effect, head held at a lofty angle, she descended the last stairs; stepping onto the hall tiles, she coolly met the men’s widening gazes, then slowly turned, careful not to pirouette like a girl but half swagger around like a male.

Jeremy couldn’t take his eyes off her; they’d fixed on her long, shapely legs, displayed to advantage by the breeches and boots as she, with slow deliberation, had come down the stairs step by step, and now wouldn’t shift. As she continued her turn, he had to force himself to blink, force himself to haul in a breath — and only then realized he’d stopped breathing.

Despite his intentions, his gaze flicked unerringly to the curves of her derriere, subtly outlined beneath the skirts of the jacket she’d chosen.

His mouth dried. Another wave of heat washed through him, as it had in the basement when she’d smiled so dazzlingly at him.

His conscious mind, his logical, rational scholar’s mind, arrogantly dismissed the reaction — yes, it was lust, pure and simple, but that just meant he wasn’t dead — but some other, less rational part of his psyche knew there was a great deal more to it than that.

And he’d just volunteered to escort her, an unmarried Cynster princess, in her male guise, the two of them alone, over all the miles to Wolverstone.

His new insight cast the journey in a completely different light, more an ordeal than an adventure.

At least it would only last for a day.

He forced himself to meet her gaze as, completing her turn, she raised her eyes to his face. “You look … very plausible.”

Cobby cast him a sharp glance, then smiled at Eliza. “Convincing,” he declared. “Totally convincing.”

“You’ll do very well,” Hugo said. “Especially if you remember to move like that.”

If she continued to move like that … raising a hand, Jeremy rubbed his left temple.

“Come along, all of you.” Meggin had followed Eliza down the stairs. She shooed them into the dining room. “There’s an early breakfast waiting. You need to eat so you’ll be able to race off, to hare out of Edinburgh the instant the sun’s up.”

Ignoring the intrigued look Meggin cast him, Jeremy stood back and let the others go ahead. He seized a moment to steel himself before following them in.

Over a hearty breakfast of pancakes, griddle cakes, sausages, coddled eggs, bacon, ham, kippers, and kedgeree, they went over their designated routes one last time. Jeremy was pleased to note that Eliza didn’t restrict herself to tea and toast, as so many fashionable ladies did. She ate enough to see her well into the day, much to his relief; while potentially fleeing Scrope and the laird, a fainting female was the last thing he would need.

“With any luck, Scrope and this laird will hie after us and leave you two to make your way to Wolverstone unmolested.” Cobby pushed back from the table. “Really, the odds have to be very much on our side. There’s no reason whatever for either Scrope or the laird to look west, let alone cast their net wide enough to include a man and a youth.”

Hugo had eaten quickly, then excused himself to don the gold silk gown he’d borrowed and the cloak Eliza’s captors had given her; he reappeared in time to hear Cobby’s last remark. Hugo struck a ladylike pose in the doorway. “Certainly not when they have a lady and a gentleman of precisely the description they seek to follow instead.”

The others all stared.

Jeremy recovered first. “The gown suits you. It brings out the hazel in your eyes.”

Hugo batted his lashes. “Why, thank you, kind sir.”

“’Pon my word, you make a very dashing young lady, Hugo, m’lad.”

Hugo pointed at Cobby. “Just remember to drop the ‘m’lad.’”

“Well,” Meggin said, taking stock of them all. “You’re all nearly ready, which is just as well.” With her head she directed their attention to the uncurtained window. It faced east, and the faintest lightening of the sky was spreading upward and outward over the roofs. Meggin rose. “Just wait one more moment while I fetch my contribution.”

The other four exchanged puzzled glances. They drained their cups, put down their napkins, and rose.

They were waiting in the front hall, Eliza swirling a man’s cloak about her shoulders, when Meggin came out through the door from the kitchens carrying three packed saddlebags. “These are for you.” She handed one to Cobby, and the other two to Jeremy. “Just in case.”

Cobby and Jeremy peeked under the bags’ flaps.

“Food,” Meggin informed them. “And there’s a small knife in the bottom of each bag.”

Just in case.
Eliza met Meggin’s eyes. “Thank you,” Eliza said, then glanced at the others. “For everything.”

Cobby saluted her. “We’ll see you at Wolverstone this evening.”

“We’ll beat you there.” Hugo took her hand in a manly grasp and shook it. “We’ll be waiting on the terrace with a glass of wine in hand to greet you.”

Eliza shook Cobby’s hand, too, then enveloped the smaller Meggin in a warm hug. They touched cheeks, squeezed fingers.

Releasing her and stepping back, Eliza waited while Jeremy bussed Meggin on the cheek. “I’ll come and visit again soon,” he said. “Without the excitement.”

“You must.” Meggin’s gaze flicked to Eliza, including her. “You’ll need to tell me how all this works out.”

Amid a flurry of farewells, the front door was opened, and Eliza found herself standing beside Jeremy in the street.

“Good luck!” Meggin waved from the open doorway.

They all waved back, then Eliza and Jeremy looked at Cobby and Hugo. The three men saluted; Eliza quickly mimicked them.

“Until Wolverstone.” Jeremy turned up the street, gesturing for Eliza to follow.

“To Wolverstone!” Cobby and Hugo echoed as they swung away and, with Cobby carrying Jeremy’s bag, walked off in the opposite direction, down the sloping street.

Following Jeremy, Eliza quickly climbed to Cannongate. Turning left, side by side they strode east along the Royal Mile, into High Street and past the Tron Kirk — the church beside South Bridge that she’d remembered — and on past the Cathedral of St. Giles and the Parliament.

She used the moments of pacing along the largely deserted main street to practice her manly stride. At first she found keeping her hips relatively still difficult, but by the time they were nearing the western end of the main street, she’d mastered the art of taking longer strides and letting her arms swing in a more natural manner.

One saddlebag slung over his shoulder, the other over one arm, Jeremy paced alongside her, acutely aware of what she was doing, that every now and then her gaze would drop to his hips, his thighs, as she used his stride as a model for hers.

Ignoring the distraction as best he could, he kept his gaze trained on the street, scanning ahead, probing every alcove, dissecting every shadow. His instincts were awake and alert, his senses alive in a way he couldn’t remember ever experiencing. He told himself it was because he was protecting her — and it was — but he’d never imagined the simple act of protecting a female would generate this level of excitement, let alone the blend of suppressed tension and readiness for action that was presently coursing through him.

It was exhilarating; he was starting to comprehend how men like his brother-in-law and the other members of the Bastion Club might have grown addicted to this medley of sensations. It was undeniably a challenge to be in charge, to make the plans, give the orders, and play the knight-protector, but he’d never expected the accompanying thrill that came with success, with achievement, much less that it would have much effect on him.

He was a scholar through and through; what did he know of or need with such warrior-protector reactions?

Clearly there was another side to him, a dormant side with which he hadn’t previously engaged.

The castle loomed ahead. Bumping Eliza’s arm — as he would have if she’d been male — he veered left, striding down the curve of Grassmarket to where a collection of stables served the traffic that came into the city from the southwest.

As they approached the stable he’d selected as the most suitable for their purpose, he murmured, “Remember — I’m your tutor, you’re my charge. Look bored and disinterested in what’s happening about you. Don’t speak unless you have no other choice.”

She nodded. “Give me one saddlebag.”

Halting outside the stable, he handed her the bag he’d been carrying; the other still over his shoulder, he left her by the roadside without a backward glance and went into the stables, hailing the stable master and engaging in a swift exchange of pleasantries before getting down to the business of choosing suitable mounts for them both.

Instinct constantly prodded, then more insistently pricked, urging him to glance back at Eliza; he had to keep lecturing himself that if she’d been the lad she was supposed to be, he wouldn’t think to watch over her, not unless some commotion arose.

Gritting his teeth, he concentrated on the matter at hand. They needed two swift steeds to carry them along the roads, even, if necessary, across the fields, but their best time would be made on the roads. That said, they also needed strength and stamina; while they could and would change horses at least once along the way, he wanted to get as far as possible, Carnwath at least, before having to stop at another hostelry.

The stableman was experienced and, when informed of their needs, turned out two likely chestnuts, one heavier, the other a touch younger and sleeker. Jeremy inspected them and approved. Selecting saddles and tack was quickly accomplished. After paying the man, Jeremy led the horses out into the narrow yard beside the road.

At the sound of hooves, Eliza turned.

Her eyes widened.

He frowned. A quick glance back showed that the stableman had retired deeper into his domain.

Slowing the horses, Jeremy used them as a screen as he halted in front of her. “What’s wrong?”

Dragging her eyes from the restive, eager horses, Eliza focused on her principal rescuer’s face. “I, ah …” With an effort she suppressed the urge to wring her hands. “Wouldn’t it be faster to drive? In a curricle with a pair of fast horses, for instance?”

His frown grew a touch more etched. “Possibly — possibly not. But the deciding factor is that a carriage of any sort will restrict us to the roads — passable roads — while on horseback, if necessary we can go cross-country.”

Her gaze flicked to the horses again.

She felt Jeremy’s gaze search her face. After a moment, he added, voice low, “If Scrope or the laird manage to find our trail and chase us, we need to be flexible, mobile, able to tack and turn like foxes. We need to be able to run, so we need to be on horseback, not in a carriage.”

She dragged in a breath, shifted her gaze to his face, and forced herself to nod. “Yes, of course.”

He hesitated, then asked, “You can ride astride, can’t you? I’ve always heard that riding sidesaddle is harder.”

“I’ve heard the same.” She clung to the commonly held belief. “I’ve just never ridden astride before.” Locking her gaze on the smaller horse, she hauled in another huge breath, fought to quell her suddenly pitching stomach enough to lift her chin and declare, “I’m sure I’ll manage.”

She would have to. He and his friends had gone to so much trouble to help her, and riding was clearly required to make their rescue work.

“Good.” He angled the smaller chestnut before her. “I’ll hold him. Can you get up on your own?”

“I think so.” She’d watched her brothers and cousins mount more times than she could count; grimly determined, she placed the padded toe of her boot in the stirrup, grabbed the pommel, and hoisted herself up.

And was pleasantly surprised by the unexpected freedom her breeches afforded her; swinging her leg over, with commendable grace she came down in the saddle and quickly picked up the reins.

She could definitely get used to wearing breeches.

Jeremy adjusted the stirrups for her. The sensation of sitting astride the horse’s back felt odd, yet far more secure than her usual position in a sidesaddle.

I can do this.
Surely riding astride in her new male persona she wouldn’t have any problem. She just had to believe; horses sensed the mood of their riders — she knew that well enough.

Jeremy attached both saddlebags, one before her saddle, the other before his, then swung easily up to his mount’s back. He settled, then picked up the reins and nodded briskly at her. “Right. Let’s go.”

He led the way out of the stable yard. Eliza’s mount followed its companion more or less of its own accord.