Page 25 of Keeping Kate
Chapter 8
Emerging into the rain and darkness beside Captain Fraser, Kate felt the cool bliss of moisture and wind on her face. She lifted her face to it, glad to be outside for the first time in weeks, regardless of the circumstances.
He pulled her along and she hastened beside him, then stumbled, feeling his hand quickly at her waist, guiding her. Ahead, she saw a post-chaise in the shadows by the outermost gate, harnessed to a pair of horses. A man waited beside the horses.
This one opened the door, lowered the hinged step, stood back. He was young, lean as a whip in dark clothing and cape, his features hidden by a tricorne hat, rain dripping from its front corner as he bowed his head in silent greeting. He was not wearing military gear, she noted, puzzled, even as Fraser urged her into the coach.
Lifted at the waist and dumped into the interior, Kate scrambled to the forward-facing bench seat as Fraser entered and sat beside her rather than opposite. The vehicle was small, only large enough for two or three, but the squabbed leather seat was comfortable.
Rain pattered against the windows in the sides and door, and the sloped front wall of the coach had one small window. Through that opening, she could see two horses. Then she saw the fellow in cape and tricorne leap onto one horse to ride postilion.
“Sit back and hold on,” Fraser said. “Our rider is in something of a hurry.”
She leaned back against the seat with a sigh, feeling a renewed appreciation for even this basic convenience and touch of luxury in the leather bench. The coach rolled slowly and paused as the postillion rider spoke briefly to the sentry. Fraser lifted a hand in salute as the vehicle rumbled out and onto one of the stone roads that Wade’s construction crews had been cutting throughout the Highlands.
Suddenly the rider called out, urging the horses, and the coach lurched forward, soon racing. Kate slid sideways into Captain Fraser, who righted her. She scooted away closer to the corner by the window.
Through the rain, the sky was not in full darkness but still in gloaming, a hazy gray-lavender above the dark shoulders of distant mountains. She leaned her cheek against the cool glass and watched the scudding clouds and the slanting rain.
After a while, more accustomed to the rhythmic, rapid bouncing of the coach, she glanced at Fraser, just an arm’s reach away. A damp chill pierced the interior and she shivered, awkwardly pulling her plaid closer for warmth.
Seeing her hindered by the shackles, he stretched out a hand to help her drape the arisaid over her shoulders. His hands were deft as he found and fixed the silver pin, caught in the fabric, more securely for her. She was glad the intricately worked pin was still attached and had not been stolen.
“Silk-lined woolen tartan,” he said, touching the fabric. “You make quite the living as a laundress.”
“Laundresses can have nice things, too,” she said. He was silent, fastening the brooch. She savored that closeness, the warm scents of soap, man, and a surprising hint of something sweet. “You smell good,” she said impulsively. “Nice.”
“Thank you,” he murmured.
She held out her manacled wrists. “You may take the chains off now, please.”
He tipped a brow. “Not yet. We might bargain for it.”
“I will not bargain. I will have the chains off now, if you will.” She opened her palm. “And I will have the necklace you offered too. No bargain. It is mine. And freedom is my right.”
He pinched back a smile. “The larger chain will stay in place. And the finer chain is in my safekeeping.”
“But it is mine,” she protested, feeling frantic suddenly. The necklace was more precious than he could know. From the age of seven, she had never been without it. “I must have it.”
He lifted a brow. “Can you prove it is yours? You said your name was...?”
She looked away, chin firm. Fraser settled in his corner, folded his arms, watched out the window. For a few miles, they rode in silence, though Kate continually glanced toward him.
Still, she was grateful to be free of the prison, warm in her own plaid, riding in a fine coach on her way somewhere, anywhere, and away from that place. And she was grateful to Captain Fraser for spiriting her out of there, though she did not know exactly what prompted that. Although she was loath to admit it, she felt a subtle thrill running all through her just sitting near him. He had a curious effect on her.
The coach rumbled along, and Kate bounced a little on the seat. The shackles, resting in her lap, clanked. “Where are we going?”
“South,” Fraser said simply. His gaze, quick and piercing, made her feel fluttery inside. She did not want that—she wanted to be firm, angry, resentful, and plotting escape. That would serve her in better stead than these girlish, silly feelings. He looked away and out the window, and in the dim light, she studied him. His chiseled profile blended elegance and strength, easy to admire. But his dark, straight brows were pulled tight as if in grim, troubled thought, she noticed.
“We are following Wade’s road down the Great Glen into Perthshire,” she said. “Will we head to Edinburgh from there, or take the lesser road straight east?”
“So you know the way, I see. We will travel through Perthshire, then head southeast for Edinburgh. If weather permits, we will make only one stop. Jack insists for the sake of the horses, and for your sake, for which you may thank him.”
“I will. Jack?”
“Jack MacDonald. A cousin,” he allowed.
“You are kin to MacDonalds?” She felt a little surprised by this, as generations of Frasers and MacDonalds had tension between them.
