“What about Whimsitt?” Isobelle asked, hearing the words and hating herself for caring. Ordinarily she would have cheerfully risked his wrath, but there had been a different, darker edge to his anger the night she’d snuck out to meet Gwen. An edge that made Isobelle, for once, hesitate.

“If he asks, I’ll cover for you. Easy to say you’re indisposed with a monthly condition of some delicacy.” Olivia’s lips quirked. “I can guarantee he won’t ask any further questions.”

Olivia always had an answer ready. It was Isobelle’s experience that Olivia could sort out almost anything, though it was often better if you didn’t ask for details.

She wasn’t particularly surprised to find the wheels of their salvation already in motion this morning, and from that point on, she devoted her attentions to gathering up more of the bread and cheese, in case there wasn’t a nice place to stop for morning tea along the way.

Half an hour later, they were on the road.

Chapter Sixteen
She was very much accustomed to people looking at her like they didn’t understand what was happening and wanted it all to stop

The movement of Achilles’s haunches was hypnotic, if you watched it long enough. Isobelle had been gazing at the back of Gwen’s horse—and, if she was honest, the back of Gwen—for hours. Achilles wasn’t the sort of horse you saw down in the village, but Gwen rode him as if she’d been born to it, swaying slightly to match his movements, her touch light. Isobelle herself was mounted on a friendly silver mare with whom she was getting along passably. She’d tied one of her green ribbons around her bridle to give them a little cohesion in their look.

They rode along the top of a ridgeline. To their left, the land dropped away to open farmland, fields neatly laid out and combed into rows. With summer nearing its end, the wheat and barley fields were a bright, coppery gold, and they swayed in the breeze, whispering secrets.

To their right lay the real secrets—there, the open grass gave way to the tangled dark of the great forest, which in turn gave way to the craggy base of the mountains that housed Whimsitt’s mine.

There had not been a nice place to stop for morning tea, and Isobelle was now certain there would not be a nice spot to stop for a bite of lunch, either. There had been a hurried snack under a tree during their one break, which Isobelle suspected they only took so they could water the horses.

There had also not been a single moment alone with Gwen.

Up ahead, Madame Dupont was still talking about jousting.