Page 84 of How To Tempt A Bodyguard

In the pale light filtering through the carriage curtains, Florence's face was gaunt. The ash she'd smeared on her cheeks hollowed her features, making her look like a stranger.

Or maybe not the ash. Maybe the journey had carved those hollows. Maybe the fear and the fighting and the sleepless nights had worn her down to bone and sinew.

He wanted to reach for her. Wanted to hold her and tell her everything will be alright.

But he highly doubted she’d permit him to hold her in front of a bleeding boy. And he didn’t know how to comfort women with words.

The carriage jolted over a rut in the road. The boy moaned. Florence adjusted the bandage without a word, her face betraying nothing.

They reached the physician's cottage before dawn, a small stone building at the edge of a village Matthew didn't bother to learn the name of. Brennan carried the boy inside while Matthew watched from the carriage, scanning the road for pursuit.

Nothing yet.

"How much farther?" Florence asked. Her first words to him in hours.

"Our decoy is taking the direct route. We're taking the long way around. Two hours to the border where we'll wed. Then another three to the residence."

She nodded and looked away.

"Did you hear me? We say our vows as soon as we cross into Scotland. Declare ourselves married before witnesses." He waited. "That's all Scottish law requires. No priest. No church. It'll be legal."

"Yes."

"Florence."

"I know." She still wouldn't look at him. "It's a good plan. It'll work."

He turned the conversation over in his mind, searching for where he'd gone wrong. He'd offered her protection. Security. A legal claim to everything he owned if something happened to him. He'd even offered her a way out. A divorce if she wanted one.

What more was he supposed to give?

He should ask. Should open his mouth and say, Tell me what you need or what did I do or why won't you look at me.

But the words stuck in his throat. They always did.

The carriage lurched into motion again. Matthew leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. His mind drifted to battle plans, contingencies, routes and risks, the things he understood. The things that made sense.

Easier than trying to decode the silence of the woman across from him.

Chapter twenty-one

Choosing vs Wanting

Florence

The border was nothing more than a stone marker in an empty field.

No guards. No checkpoint. Just a weathered pillar carved with words worn smooth by centuries of wind and rain. On one side, England. On the other, Scotland.

Florence stared at the marker as the carriage slowed to a stop. Her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat.

"This is it," Brennan said quietly, climbing down. "Quick and quiet. Tam, Duff, you're witnesses. The rest of you, scatter. Draw any pursuit away from here."

The other men melted into the grey morning without a word. Decoys. Willing to risk themselves so she could reach safety.

Matthew appeared at the carriage door, offering his hand. She took it. His grip was warm and steady, his calluses rough against her palm.

He didn't let go.