Starting to walk once more, Nathaniel relished the touch of air that soothed his still-heated skin. He could never align himself with a woman who embraced something he did not.
Though finding a way to convince his heart was another matter entirely.
***
“You’re late.” Captain Donaldson’s tone grated the air as he reined in his spirited mare.
The darkness thickened, adding to the nervous energy that encased Cyprian’s spine. “But I am here.” Handing over the three large bags of powder, his chest pumped as if he had been the one racing to meet his overseer and not the horse. “I got here as quickly as I could.”
Donaldson held onto the bags as if he were gauging their weight and found them wanting. “This isn’t much.”
Isn’t much?
Cyprian shifted in his saddle and clutched the reins, unable to keep disdain from seeping into his voice. “’Tis extremely difficult for me to get that powder. If you would like to steal it yourself you may.”
The instant the words poured from his mouth he wanted to yank them out of the air and shove them back down his throat. Idiot. In a flash, the frightened face of the young Campbell girl turned his blood to ice. He had Andrew just where he wanted him, but the girl seemed unsure, weak. How easy it would be for her to ruin everything he’d done to keep Camilla alive.
Shaking his head, he turned his attention to Donaldson who sat unmoving on his mount, his eyes clamping around Cyprian’s neck with the force of an iron restraint.
“Forgive me, Captain, I spoke out of turn.” He had to crawl out of the hole he’d dug. “I won’t be late again, and I will do my utmost to get more.”
Donaldson’s expression didn’t change. “I am not ignorant of the challenge, nor of your need.” He tossed a small bag of coins at Cyprian. “But ‘tis not I who commands this operation. If my superiors are dissatisfied, I fear I will be forced to call upon someone else.”
Donaldson pulled hard on the reins, turning the horse around completely before kicking its flank and darting into the darkness. The animal kicked up clods of trampled earth that fell back to the ground with a splat, reminding Cyprian how easily he too could be trampled and forgotten. The misty ocean air rested heavily around Cyprian’s shoulders like an unwelcome consort.
I cannot fail.
He tapped his heels into his mount’s flanks and tried not to sink into the weight of his affliction. Somehow he had to prove to the British he was good enough for the job.
Nay, not merely good enough. Perfect.
Chapter Eleven
The feel of cool dough against her fingers, the crack of egg against bowl, made Kitty almost believe all was well in the world. She worked the egg into the sticky mixture and inhaled the sweet breeze that blew in from the open kitchen window. Her hair tickled her neck and she smiled. Peace, like a dear friend, wrapped its arms around her and rested its head against her shoulder. Where had it been for so long? Brushing the back of her wrist against her forehead, she pushed a quick, happy breath from her lips. Forgetting the chains of bondage in which Cyprian enslaved her, and becoming lost in something she loved, gifted a precious serenity she had forgotten even existed.
Kitty turned back to the fire to fuss over the pudding. Perfect. The golden brown was just beginning to kiss the edges and would soon be ready to be relieved from the heat. As she stared at the rounded mass, the woes that plagued her crawled upward, its claws scraping into the walls she’d erected and she winced. I will not endure this now. She knocked the thoughts away as she focused on the biscuits that would soon enjoy a warm fire.
Just then Eliza stepped into the kitchen and stopped with a gasp. She pressed a hand to her chest and her gentle features lifted as she smiled. “Kitty, did you invite everyone in town for supper? You’ve made enough food to feed a hundred people, I’m sure.” Her green and cream striped gown swished as she walked toward the table and sampled the crust of a still-warm pie.
“Have I?” Kitty giggled and turned to survey the spread of goods decorating the table. Four pies, two loaves of bread, three cakes of various sizes and a tray of corn muffins. Mercy! How long had she been baking? As she had been blissfully lost in the art of forgetfulness, time had flown by. And oh, that she could do this every day—every moment—until another loathed Saturday arrived.
Kitty shrugged and motioned to the table. “I suppose I have made a great deal of food, forgive me.”
“Not to worry. The garden is overflowing now and ‘tis good to make use of what we have.”
Eliza’s meticulously prepared coiffure and well-set gown attested she was ready to leave for the latest gathering at the Coopers. She looked past Kitty toward the fire before meeting her gaze. “You’re certain you don’t want to join us?”
Not if you dragged me by the hair.
Kitty giggled, tempted to tease her sister with the statement, but thought better of it. “Thank you, no, Liza. I’d prefer to spend the evening by this fire. I can’t tell you what kind of soothing power all this baking possesses, and I have surely been in need of it.”
The loamy scent of the pudding reached her nose and she spun around, using her apron to snatch it from the heat. Placing it on the table she examined the dish and smiled. Perfection.
Eliza neared, her slender brows lifting. “Carrot pudding?”
Kitty turned to the biscuits, her words spilling out in a hurried stream. “We had so many carrots, I needed to do something with them ere they turn rotten.”
“Indeed.” Eliza stepped closer. The sisterly teasing in her dark eyes grew more potent until Kitty could hardly stand the weight of it. Eliza smiled. “I must say I find that quite remarkable.”