As awkward, yearning silence fell, Cassie said briskly, “Time to get moving. We have a steep ride ahead of us.”

She gave a last wave and set off on a narrow path that led into the woods behind the farm, Grey following. When they reached the woodsmen’s track Romain Boyer had showed her the day before, it was wide enough for them to ride side by side through the bare trees. Patches of snow lay on the ground, but there was a hint of spring in the air.

“How long will it take us to cross over the hills?” Grey asked.

“Romain told me of a hut near the summit where we can spend the night,” Cassie replied. “We should reach our road on the other side of the hills by afternoon tomorrow, barring bad weather.”

He studied the sky and inhaled the air. “There are no storms coming.”

“You sound very sure.”

“I’ve been studying the weather in this region for ten years. Granted, it was through a rather small window, but I had ample time to observe the local weather patterns.” His mouth twisted. “Another one of those unlooked-for blessings of captivity.”

“One of the more useful ones.” She patted the saddlebag behind her. “Even if a late storm sweeps in unexpectedly, Madame Boyer sent us off with enough food to take us from here to the English Channel.”

“She is a woman in a thousand,” he said with conviction. “Unfortunate that she’s already married.”

“We were very lucky to have the Boyers take us in,” Cassie agreed. They’d been speaking in English, but she switched to French. “We shouldn’t speak English anywhere we might be heard.”

In French, he replied, “That would land us in serious trouble, but I do want to continue practicing my English when we’re in private. I’m still thinking in French.”

“You’ll find yourself thinking in English after we reach England. I find that my mind makes the switch easily when the language is all around me.”

“I hope you’re right. It would be embarrassing to return home speaking my native tongue like a foreigner.” He frowned at the rugged hills ahead. “What will Durand do in his pursuit?”

“He’ll use the fast government courier system to send word to all the gendarme posts on the roads in every direction,” Cassie said. “He has very little information to go on, so odds of our being caught are slim. But not impossible.”

The thought was sobering. “Then we shall have to be fast and easily overlooked.”

She gave him a quick smile. “Exactly.”

They fell silent for a long stretch of trail, the only sounds the horses’ hooves and the occasional cry of a bird. Halfway up the sizable hill, Grey said abruptly, “I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day about anger. I hadn’t realized how angry I was until you said that. Now I’m afraid of what I might do if I lose control. So if I’m about to do something murderous, hit me with a rock. Break my arm. Block the blood to my brain. Do whatever you must to keep me from hurting someone.”

“Very well, I will,” she agreed after she got over her surprise. “Unless you’re damaging someone who deserves it. Even Père Laurent thought that your Sergeant Gaspard deserved his fate.”

“He did. But if you hadn’t asked me not to kill the guard, I would have broken his neck as well, and I don’t know if he deserved killing,” Grey said flatly.

No wonder he was concerned for his sanity, but he underestimated himself. “The fact that you care whether he deserved execution bodes well for your character.”

“Now I care a little,” he said gravely. “But when I was in full fury, I would have killed him whether it was just or not. Ten years in hell have ruined my character.”

Choosing her words, she said, “Of course ten years in prison changed you, but you had twenty years before then, and the most important were the earliest. That is when your character was formed. The Jesuits say that if you give them a boy for his first seven years, he is theirs for life. Did your parents see that you were raised well? Were you taught honesty and responsibility?”

“Yes, and kindness as well,” he said slowly. “I hope you’re right that my character was formed then, because I don’t know whether I still have those qualities. That’s why I asked you to stop me if I lose control.”

“I’d rather you worked on your anger yourself,” she said frankly. “With your Hindu fighting skills and strength, I would surely lose any fight unless I took you by surprise.”

His brows arched. “I suspect that you’ve had more practical experience fighting than I, and that you know lots of wicked tricks.”

She had to laugh. “You’re right, I do know a number of wicked tricks. It helps that most men don’t expect a woman to fight, much less fight well.”

“You sound like a woman who has done a great deal of fighting.”

“I’ve been fighting my whole life,” she said, her voice flat.

Several minutes of riding later, he asked, “What will you do when peace comes?”

She shrugged. “I haven’t thought much about it since I never believed I’d survive that long. Perhaps I’ll find a quiet cottage by the sea and raise flowers and cats.”

“In England or in France?”

“England,” she said immediately, surprised by her certainty on a subject she’d never much considered. “France has too many dark memories.”

He nodded agreement. Once they were back in England, he’d never have to return to France unless he chose to.

Cassie had no choice, for without her private war with Napoleon, her life had no meaning. She’d return again and again until the war ended.

Or until she died.

By the time they reached the tiny hut near the summit of the highest hill, Grey had learned two things. The first was that he hadn’t forgotten how to ride despite ten years of never going near a horse. His body remembered how to sit, how to control his mount.

The second thing he’d learned was that riding required the use of muscles he’d forgotten he possessed. Despite the rest breaks, every muscle and joint in his body was complaining by late afternoon.

The track had narrowed so Cassie had led for the last couple of hours. The blasted woman seemed tireless. She had an elegant back, though, and she rode beautifully. He enjoyed watching her.

He’d stopped feeling guilty about inappropriate thoughts for a female twice his age. She was proof that a woman could be alluring no matter how many years she had. A good thing she was capable of tossing him into the nearest wall if he behaved badly.

Would he know what to do with a willing female when the time came? He supposed if he could still ride a horse, he’d be able to ride a woman. He’d find out once he was back in England. For now, he and his guide needed to concentrate on traveling quickly and not being noticed.

The hut was by a jagged outcropping of rock, just as Romain Boyer had described. Cassie halted in front. The hut was small, large enough for perhaps four people to sleep if they liked each other well. A lean-to had been added on one side for horses, and the other side boasted a pile of wood. “I’m glad to see firewood,” she said as she dismounted. “It’s going to be a very cold night.”

Grey tried not to groan when he swung from Achille’s broad back. “I don’t mind the cold, but my aching body is likely to stiffen like a board by morning.”

“I have some liniment that’s good for sore muscles.” She led her pony to the lean-to and started to bed Thistle down for the night.

“You are a remarkably useful woman to have around.” He tethered Achille under the lean-to and removed the saddle. He was becoming rather fond of the old boy.

“My fairy godmother bestowed practical gifts like efficiency and endurance rather than beauty, charm, or golden hair,” Cassie said dryly.

He wasn’t sure what to say, so he said nothing. He doubted she would be flattered if he told her she had a beautiful back. Even though it was true.

Cassie the Fox was the perfect travel partner, Grey decided as he rolled into his blanket that night. She was relaxing to be with and fulfilled his desire for companionship while asking very little of him. Which was good, because his camping skills were nonexistent. While she prepared supper and hot tea, all he’d had to do was forage for more firewood to replace what they used from the woodpile.

On the other side of the hut, Cassie wrapped her blanket around herself. She was all of about four feet away from him. “Sleep well,” she murmured. “Tomorrow’s ride should be easier.”

“Every day is a new adventure,” he replied. “Tomorrow’s will be discovering if my seat is too sore to sit a saddle.”

Her laughter swiftly turned into the soft, regular breathing of sleep. He was so tired that he thought he’d sleep easily, too, but his mind stubbornly refused to slow down.

Cassie might think herself lacking in beauty, but he found her increasingly alluring. With nothing else to distract him, all he could think about was her.

He rolled onto his side facing away, but it was impossible to forget her presence. As the night wore on, he added wood to the flames in the primitive little fireplace. It barely took the chill off the air, but no matter. He was quite heated enough.

During the latter years of his captivity, passion had died and he’d felt like a eunuch. The idea had hardly bothered him when there were no women in his world except in increasingly distant memories. But now he was sharing a small space with an attractive woman whom he liked and admired, and all he could think of was how much he wanted to touch her.

He guessed it would be a long time before his craving for touch would be slaked. Greedily he remembered the hug she’d allowed when he had just been freed. She was all woman—soft and woman scented, but also strong. Efficient, but kind.

He couldn’t help but wonder how far her compassion would go. Would she lie with him from pity? He was so crazed with lust that he didn’t care what her motives might be. Pity would be fine if offered.