“Did anyone follow you?” Cay asked, spoon halfway to her mouth.
He took the utensil from her. “I tell you I was nearly killed and your only concern is if you might get caught?”
Cay started to defend herself, but she saw that his eyes were teasing. “If someone followed you, I’d have to share the spoon with more people. You’re bad enough.”
“I guess a convicted murderer sleeping next to you is as much as you can take.”
Cay didn’t like his joke. It was too real—and too frightening. “I think you should tell me your side of what happened in Charleston.” She used her most sympathetic tone to encourage him to talk, but he barely looked at her.
“Hmph!” he said as he again took the spoon from her.
“What does that mean?”
“It means that it’s none of your business.”
“I think that if I can risk my life for you, and if you—”
“Was that a bear?” he asked, a piece of bread halfway to his mouth.
Cay half rolled, half leaped, to move closer to him as she gave a little squeal of alarm.
“Naw, just the wind,” he said and continued to eat.
She realized he’d made it up about the bear just to get her to stop talking about the murder. “I don’t think you’re a very nice person.”
“All of Charleston would agree with you on that one.”
“A whole town that’s a good judge of character.” She had meant the words to sound light, but she could see by his face that she hadn’t succeeded. They ate in silence for a while, then she said, “Did you love her very much?”
“Aye, I did.”
Encouraged by his words, she went further. “How did you meet?”
“At a race.” They’d finished the stew and Alex reached behind him for the pie—which Cay hadn’t seen.
“Gooseberry? My favorite.”
“And what food wouldn’t be your favorite right now?” His eyes had lost their sad
, faraway look, and she was glad.
“Beef jerky, dried apples, and creek water with little bits of moss floating in it.”
With a chuckle, he used his big knife to cut the pie into quarters. “We’ll save some for breakfast. If you leave us any food, that is. Where do you put all that you eat, lass?” He looked at her, mostly hidden under the cloak, but there wasn’t much of her.
“Muscle,” she said, her mouth full as she licked juice off her wrist. “I am pure muscle.”
He laughed at that, and she liked the sound.
“How long did you know her?”
“Who?” he asked.
“Your wife. How long did you know her before you got married?”
“Three weeks.”
With her mouth open in shock, she stared at him. “But that’s not long enough to get to know a person before you commit yourself to marriage.”