“I would not.”

“Splendid.”

I lift my head from the sacks to ensure we are indeed traveling over the moors on an empty road. Then I duck back under and begin wriggling downward. When I reach for the button on his trousers, he sighs and runs his fingers through my hair.

“I may have to marry you, crécerelle.”

“Don’t be silly,” I say. “One does not marry a girl who would pleasure you in a hay cart. One marries a girl who would faint at the thought. Everyone knows that.”

“Then everyone is doing it entirely wrong.”

“I have always thought so,” I say, and then peel down his trousers to begin.

Fortunately, I have finished my ministrations before we reach our destination. Otherwise, that would be terribly embarrassing. I actually finish quite swiftly. Or, I should say, Nicolas does. I credit the situation rather than any skill of mine. If anything, I believe proper skill would ensure it doesn’t end quite so quickly. I mention that afterward, curled up in the cart with him. He doesn’t answer. Just groans and starts whispering in French, nuzzled against my neck. I really do need to learn the language. It is most vexing.

When we do stop, it’s at the ruins of a very old church. Nicolas rummages around in his satchel as I pick hay off myself and thank Mr. Walker.

“For your trouble,” Nicolas says, holding out a gold coin that winks in the sun.

The old man waves him off. “I did not do it for that, Nick.”

“I know, which is why I insist you take it. I put you into a precarious position, and I appreciate that you helped us and would like to compensate you for the risk.”

When Mr. Walker still demurs, Nicolas flips it into the hay. “There, it is yours. If you can find it.”

“You’re a good lad,” the old man says. “Too good for most of this lot around here. You need to get back to France before they hang you.”

“I fear that would exchange the noose for the guillotine, and I am uncertain which is preferable.”

“Not dying at all?” I suggest.

He smiles as Mr. Walker wheezes a laugh.

“I will be gone as soon as I have finished what I began,” Nicolas says. “My confederates have a plan to put an end to his lordship’s tax nonsense.”

“You mean Mr. Jenkins.” He waves off Nicolas’s protest. “I know the man has been helping your cause, and if anyone knows how to stop his brother-in-law, it is him. I only wish you both luck, and if you need my cart, you know where to find me.”

Mr. Walker digs the gold coin from the hay and waggles a finger at Nicolas as he pockets it. Then he’s off. Nicolas waits until the cart is out of sight and then laces his arms around my shoulders.

“I do not believe I asked whether you are all right after what happened with Norrington,” he says.