Page 46 of Fair Weather Enemies
“Care to guess?” he asked.
She nodded. “Down that road lies Keswick.”
“How far.”
“Oh, hours and hours. My papa’s mum lives there. We traveled to Keswick only two months ago. Our cart became stuck in the mud, and we were made to walk much of the way. Hours and hours.”
Adam nodded and pressed the coin into her hand. “One more thing, Miss Margaret.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Do you recall seeing anything that might resemble, say, an army of stone?”
The girl’s face constricted as she pondered deeply. “No, sir. And I don’t think my mum would know that, either.”
“Very well, Miss Margaret. We thank you for allowing us inside the castle walls and for so diligently answering our difficult questions.”
“Hear, hear,” said Jane. “We will always consider you the Princess of Penrith Castle.”
Margaret frowned. “I am not the princess. I am captain of the guard.”
Jane laughed. “Indeed! My mistake.” She saluted the girl. “Carry on, then, Captain. You never know what invaders lurk about.”
The girl smiled, tossed her head, and danced away toward the ruins. Jane laughed again and cut her eyes to Adam to catch him staring at her like a fool. He blinked and yanked his gaze toward the west.
“Let’s be off, then. Apparently, we must walk for hours and hours. However, we should purchase food for the journey first.”
“Already packed onto the horse,” said Jane. He could not help but note the mirth in her reply.
“Water, then. Despite the chill air, we will certainly become thirsty.”
“Done, Adam.”
He tugged the reluctant horse into motion on a line for the western road. “Just when did you arrange that?”
“Aunt Hester and I rose before the sun to haggle with farmers just coming to market. We traded our labor of unloading their carts for vegetables and salted meat.”
Adam suppressed a pondering grunt. He had suspected Jane of being an enterprising woman, given how circumstances had saddled her with the family mill. However, she continued to exceed his expectations, a fact he did not wish to admit cavalierly.
“You rise too early, Jane.”
“Better three hours too soon than a minute too late.”
He cocked his head and grinned. “Still quoting Shakespeare, are we?The Merry Wives of Windsor, if I am not mistaken.”
His comment produced the surprise for which he’d hoped. She lifted one dark eyebrow. “Mr. Ashford. Did you not claim only yesterday how little you know of Shakespeare? If I recall correctly, a single line was the extent of your knowledge.”
“Perhaps I exaggerated a little.”
“Perhaps? A little? You clearly suffer from an inability to judge degree, sir.”
“I suppose you are right. Given my esteem for Marlowe, my propensity for embellishing stories only stands to reason.”
“And that is another thing,” she said with mild contempt. “Your preference for Marlowe over Shakespeare befuddles me. He clearly did not match the Bard in either quality or quantity. How could you favor him?”
Adam chuckled again. Jane seemed to possess a gift for stabbing him straight in the heart. However, unlike Marlowe, he did not mind. “You see through me. In fact, I do prefer Shakespeare’s style. However, I am drawn to Marlowe’s personal story.”
“Oh?” She cocked that eyebrow again. It threatened to unnerve him. He devoted a moment to stopping his hand from grabbing hers. She would likely strike him dead in the road if he did so. While he stumbled through the thought, she waited patiently for his explanation.
