“Cay!” he said sharply. “Get dressed.”
“Am dressed,” she mumbled.
He picked up the binding cloth and tossed it on to her shoulder, but she just stood there. When she didn’t move, he said, “So help me, I’m tempted to leave you here! I’ve already been downstairs and the barman’s found out his daughter ran off with the stable lad. The man knows someone here helped them. If I left you here, there’s no way you’d keep your mouth closed and not brag that you arranged everything. He’d probably have you put in jail.”
Cay opened one eye. “You wouldn’t actually leave without me, would you?”
Alex, fully dressed, paused at the door. “Five minutes. If you aren’t at the horses in five minutes you won’t see me again.” With that, he left the room, closing the door behind him.
Cay stood still for a full minute. He was, of course, lying, but on the other hand, maybe he wasn’t. Four and a half minutes after Alex left the room, Cay was outside the barn, standing beside her mare and yawning. Alex was nowhere to be seen. When he walked out of the tavern, two steaming mugs in his hands, she said, “You took long enough. I’ve been waiting for hours.” She saw a hint of a smile under his whiskers, but he just handed her a mug. “Where’s breakfast?”
“This is it. The barman’s too angry to cook. The man he wanted his daughter to marry is in there.”
When he said nothing else, she said, “So what’s he like?”
Alex’s eyes showed his merriment. “Very old, very ugly.”
She drained her mug and headed toward the tavern, but he caught her arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To tell the man about jasmine oil. It makes even old, ugly men look good.”
“Get on your horse,” Alex said, laughing. “If we ride hard for the next two days we can be there by tomorrow evening.”
“Tomorrow?” she asked, and that word woke her up. Just one more day.
Alex looked at her from atop his horse. “Will you miss me, lass?”
She wanted to say that she’d be glad to see her family, but the words wouldn’t come out of her mouth. When she saw Alex’s frown, she knew he was starting to worry again. “Did I tell you about Ephraim?” she asked as she got on her horse.
“Is he the third suitor?”
She followed him out of the courtyard and on to the road. “Yes. He’s forty-two, a widower, and he has three nearly grown children.”
“Lass, please tell me you’re making a jest.”
“No. He’s quite wealthy, has a beautiful house, and—”
“But does he makes your heart dance with joy at the very sight of him?”
“I do believe, Alex McDowell, that you’re the most romantic man I’ve ever met.”
“Except, of course, for Adam.”
“On long winter evenings, Adam writes poetry.”
Alex groaned. “I hope I never meet your perfect brother.”
When Cay looked at Alex, it occurred to her that he might never meet any of her family.
He saw her face change, saw the gleam leave her eyes. “Are you ready to ride? Can you keep up with me?”
“I can outride you any day of the week.”
“That’s better. No more sadness, now. You’ll be rid of me soon enough.” Turning, he started down the road at a rapid pace, Cay close behind him.
As they traveled deeper south, they began to run out of towns and even roads. They passed huge, magnificent plantations that were more like villages than houses. Acres of fields full of indigo, cotton, and rice bordered the rutted, weed-infested roads they rode on.
Where there weren’t plantations, there were tiny, falling-down houses that all seemed to have a dozen children running around them. It was a marked contrast between the very wealthy and the very poor.