“Only if you stop calling me that,” he grumbled.
“I shouldn’t.”
“There are only swallows and thistle finches to hear us and I’m not sure I care what they think,” he pointed out.
“I suppose I can’t argue with that,” she allowed. “Are we far from the abbey?”
“Less than an hour by carriage,” he answered. “Considerably longer by foot.”
Luckily, it had been a dry week and the road was not filled with muddy holes to navigate. The wind moved through bramble bushes and tall yarrow as they followed the hoofprints. Hills rolled gently as far as the eye could see, crossed here and there with low stone walls. It was peaceful and picturesque.
“I’m almost afraid to ask but what else should I expect from these treasure hunters?”
“Some are harmless,” she said. “But even they might have the numbers, if word gets out and enough of them think it worth the trip to the country. The duke once had to shoot a man who had hidden in the pond for hours and then crept through the house dripping seaweed, all for want of a specific collection of Roman coins. He broke the housekeeper’s wrist when he was first apprehended and then tried to bite a footman.”
“Bloody hell.” He winced at his language. “Apologies.”
“I suppose the duke neglected to mention who will no doubt be spreading stories of your hidden treasure?”
“Who is it?”
Meg sighed. Her godfather would owe her new paints for this part alone. “Eaton. Though I reckon he’s after the trouble not the treasure. Either way, he’s likely to make things difficult.”
Dougal stopped. “That bastard?”
“I’m afraid so. Now that his pride has been hurt, he will make it all the worse for you.”
He nearly rolled his eyes. “I can handle a toff.”
“I don’t think Lord Eaton is a…gentleman. Beyond his title, I mean.” Not wanting to worry him she injected a note of brisk cheerfulness into her voice. It was the same tone she used when there was flooding in the fields or beetles in the cabbages. There was no use in dwelling on misfortune. One did what needed doing. The first step and then the next step after that. “Never fear,” she added. “I am here to confound all plots.”
She probably should not sound so confident. Seeing as she wasn’t. In the slightest.
“Aye, about that.”
She waited for the inevitable protest over her gender, her skills, his honor.
“Thank you,” he said instead, simply.
She melted.
Damn him, she melted instantly.
He’s not for you, she reminded herself.
“You’re welcome. But I should probably admit to not having as much experience as might be assumed in these matters. Despite the duke’s confidence.” Stubbornness.
“I have every faith in you,” Dougal said. “But I have a condition.”
“Which is?”
“You are not to put yourself in harm’s way for this bloody ridiculous treasure.”
“The duke is very worried over the proper care of historical relics.”
“I don’t give a damn,” he said bluntly. “I’ll burn them all to cinders before I risk a life over them.”
He meant it too. It was a refreshing change to the usual willingness to sacrifice various limbs in pursuit of history. To be fair, she was hardly better. She might give a toe for art. A little one.