The Scent of Jasmine (Edilean 4)

Cay was behind him with the scissors and trying to cut a few inches off his long hair. Personally, she envied him the smell of his hair, but she knew better than to say that.

She thought his real problem was that when they woke up this morning, they’d been snuggled together like puppies. While it was true that the heavy wool of the cloak was between them, they were still close together. Alex was on his side, facing the fire, and Cay was behind him, her body against his and her arm over his chest. Her face was buried in his fragrant hair, and she was having sweet dreams.

She knew Alex didn’t want to admit it, but he must have been having good dreams, too, because he’d picked up her hand and put her palm against his cheek.

But when Alex had awakened more fully, he came to his feet in a roar of anger. But he didn’t frighten Cay. She stretched out, smiled up at him, and told him he smelled wonderful. That’s when he ran to the stream, stripped off, and did what he could to remove the jasmine oil.

It hadn’t worked. His hair still smelled great. Cay got him to sit on the log so she could cut it, and every time she made a remark or, worse, put her nose to his hair, he got even more angry.

“I’ll shave my head, that’s what I’ll do,” he muttered. “I’ll go bald.”

“You’ll have to shave your face, too, as I do believe that that beard of yours smells just as heavenly.”

Turning, he glared at her.

“Sorry. The smell is very masculine. However, I can’t wait to tell my women friends about it. I wonder if I can get the recipe from the shopkeeper’s wife. I’ve never smelled jasmine oil so strong. I wonder what her jasmine tea is like?”

Alex stood up, still glaring at her, and took the towel off his shoulders. Unfortunately, it was the towel that was coated in jasmine oil, and just moving it made the air around them fragrant.

Cay had to bite her lips to keep from laughing out loud, but then she was tired of trying to placate him. He was being ridiculous. “At least you’re not a bank robber,” she said.

“And why is that better than being called a murderer?” He was saddling his horse and putting on the packs.

“They could identify you as soon as you walked in the door.” When he turned and gave her a look meant to make her stop talking, she just blinked at him. “They’d hire ladies to track you.”

Glowering at her, he took a step forward and she went backward. If she’d had on a dress, she would have tripped over some twigs on the ground, but with her breeches and her newfound freedom, she agilely stepped over them. “What would the handbill for your arrest say? ‘Smell this criminal.’ Maybe they could pass out little samples of the oil on bits of paper. People could compare the smell to the hair of every man they met.”

“You—” Alex began, but she could see that the anger was no longer in his eyes.

“The men who use rosewater would be eliminated. No, only jasmine would be guilty. Think what you’d do for the world of criminals. It wouldn’t be a man’s picture but his smell that would identify him.”

“All right, that’s enough,” Alex said, but he was hiding a smile. “Get on your horse and let’s go. If you can stop making fun of me, that is.”

“I’ll make my best effort, but I have a request. May I ride downwind of you?”

He couldn’t keep his laughter in. “Go on, lass, get up or we’ll never get to the rendezvous with Mr. Grady.”

She climbed into the saddle, and when she reined her horse past him, she ostentatiously took a deep breath and closed her eyes, as though in ecstasy.

Ignoring her gesture, he led the way out of the little clearing and back onto the road. “Remember, now. When we see people, keep your head down and say nothing. It wouldn’t take much for them to know you’re a girl.”

“But I don’t smell like one,” she said, grinning. “I leave that to you.”

He shook his head at her and they started moving.

Ten

Where is she? Alex asked himself again. Cay should be in the tavern beside him but she wasn’t. It had been her idea to give her disguise a test, and earlier, they’d had an argument about it.

“You will not!” he’d said in a way that was meant to be an order.

“I’m going to have to appear in public sometime, so why not now?”

“We’re still too close to Charleston.” He was sitting on his horse rigidly, his eyes straight ahead, not looking at her.

“I know we’re south of Savannah. Not that I’ve been allowed to look at the map, and not that you’ve told me anything about where we are, where we’re going, or how long it will take us to get there. In fact, you’ve still not told me what your plan for me is. I saved you from death, I’ve put my own life in jeopardy, but you don?

?t so much as inform me where and when, and when I ask you—”