She glared at him for a long moment, then threw up a hand. “Well, you appear to be our only choice right now. So beggars can’t be choosy about their saviors, now can they?”
Apparently, the blow to the lovely lady’s head had not diminished her wit nor curbed her tongue. Again, he touched the brim of his hat and offered a polite nod. “Tobias Risk at yer service, mistress.”
She visibly gagged while swaying from side to side. “Sorry. That was not directed at you. My world is still spinning a bit.”
“Lie back down, Mistress Jovianna. We’ll fashion a litter to haul ye up from the gorge.” He turned to his men. “Fitch, tell Pag and Silas what we need. Donnor, stand watch up above, ye ken? Cade, have ye any whisky left in yer wee flask? The ladies might appreciate a sip to warm them.”
Cade pulled out his prized flask. The round, hand-sized container of silver sported more than a few dents and had once belonged to his father. After hefting it in his hand, he offered it to Mistress Amaranth with a kindly smile. “I didna ken how much was left, but there should be enough there to warm ye and yer daughter.”
“Thank you.” She offered it to Mistress Jovianna first. “I know you’re not supposed to drink with a head injury, but it’s the best way to knock the chill, since you’re soaked.”
The lovely lass pushed it away, making Tobias decide to get involved. He knelt beside her. “Ye should listen to yer mother, mistress. A wee sip would do ye a world of good.”
“Maybe so, but it will burn as hot coming back out as it did going down.” Her squinty, one-eyed glare dared him to argue.
“It will numb the pain,” he coaxed her.
“Thank you, Mr. Risk, but I’ll still pass.” She offered him a smile that he could tell she didn’t mean and clutched the blanket tighter around her.
“Ye may call me Tobias.” He rose, shucked his coat, and tucked it around her.
“Thank you, Tobias. You may call me Jovianna.”
“That wouldna be proper, mistress. At least not until we know one another better.”
“Whatever makes you comfortable,” she said, while lightly touching the gash on her forehead.
He would not be comfortable around either woman until time told whether or not their tale was true. Mistress Jovianna was especially dangerous. Not only because of her beauty but also her spirit. Even though she found herself in a helpless situation, she remained steadfast and calm. He admired that about her but couldn’t allow his admiration to make him careless. After all, they had yet to explain their strange clothing.
“Did yer cousin have ye dress that way?” he asked.
“What?” She closed her eyes and tucked into a tighter ball beneath her coverings.
“Yer manner of dress. The strange trews and shiny, tight tunics. Did yer cousin advise ye to wear such things to escape Glasgow?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew himself to be a fool. If that hadn’t been the reason for what they wore, they might now claim it to disguise the truth.
“Easier to ride across rough country without fighting skirts,” she said without opening her eyes.
“Please let her rest,” Mistress Amaranth said. “I’m sure getting her out of here will be an ordeal. She needs to save her strength.”
“As ye wish, mistress.” He touched the brim of his hat and moved a few strides away while motioning for Fitch and Cade to follow. “Yer thoughts?” he asked as soon as they were out of earshot of the women.
“I dinna think them dangerous,” Fitch said, then glared at him. “And aye, I remember well what happened to my father. But that doesna mean every English woman is a heartless whore.” He glanced back at the ladies again. “These two seem…different.”
“Cade?” Tobias eyed the old Highlander. The man had been through more than any of them, and bore the scars and horrific memories to prove it. One of the few who had survived Culloden, he shied away from cities and towns out of fear of arrest even fourteen years later.
“Ye ken how I feel about the English,” the man said.
“Aye.” Tobias waited, knowing it sometimes took Cade a while to put his thoughts into words.
Cade stared at the women, squinting as though sighting a gun. His nostrils flared. “I smell their fear, but I dinna think it is us who stirs it.” After a thoughtful nod, he shifted his focus back to Tobias. “I believe them to be running from something. Whether or not it is the earl’s men, I canna say. But I will point out that they headed northward, away from England.”
“If they started at Glasgow,” Tobias said.
“Where else would they start from?” Cade frowned. “Chances are we would have come across them had they been coming from Edinburgh or Stirling.”
Cade was right about that. Tobias recalled that their most recent benefactors who had supplied them with the fine horses and carriage had been traveling from Stirling. Travelers from Edinburgh would use the same route. It was why they watched that road. “See what’s taking them so long with that litter. Daylight burns swiftly, and I dinna relish climbing out of the gorge in the darkness.”
Both men departed, leaving him to observe the mysterious Englishwomen alone. He meandered closer, noting that Mistress Jovianna appeared to have started shivering. So much so that her mother had added her blanket to the rest piled across her daughter.
“She needs the warmth of a fire or some sort of shelter,” Mistress Amaranth said. “And soon.”
He agreed. What little color had been restored after she expelled the water had now drained from the young woman’s cheeks. “Are ye strong enough to climb up the embankment unassisted?” he asked Mistress Amaranth.
“Of course. Why?” The woman eyed him as though he’d sprouted a second head.
He didn’t bother to explain. Just strode forward, scooped her daughter up into his arms, and settled her against his chest like cradling a child. She moaned but didn’t open her eyes or speak. That concerned him even more. “Tuck the blankets and my coat tighter around her.”
Her mother hurried to do so without question.
Tobias took the lead up the side of the gorge, finding an incline that wasn’t too fierce to manage. If Mistress Amaranth had issue, he felt sure she would call out. He concentrated on jostling the poor lass in his arms as little as possible. Even still, she groaned or hitched in a breath with his every footfall. The farther he trudged, the tighter she held on, fisting her hands in his shirt. “Just a little farther, lass. A little farther and we’ll build ye a fine, warm fire and set ye a pallet right beside it.”
“Thank you,” she whispered against his throat, her soft breath tickling his flesh.
He swallowed hard and tried to move faster. The softness of her in his arms, her clinging trust, the gratitude in her whisper—all of it affected him in a way difficult to ignore. “No need to thank me, mistress,” he said softly. “Just get better, aye? Ye’ve been a brave lass. Dinna give up now, aye?”
She didn’t answer, just curled tighter against him.
Donnor and Pag met him just as he crested the summit.
The only thing that kept him from bellowing at them about their tardiness with the litter was that he knew it would hurt the lady’s head. So he poured his irritation into his glare. “Build a fire and a shelter for them in case it rains. Make haste, aye?”