Twenty-three
Regina and Xavier were still sleeping when Evangeline slipped into their dark room to say goodbye. Her sister stirred when she leaned down to hug her.
“Are you leaving in the middle of the night?” Regina whispered.
“Sir Jonathan is waiting with his drums. It’s nearly morning.” Or so she had been told. She hadn’t anticipated the work of an antiquarian involved waking before dawn, but here they were.
“It isn’t too late to change your mind,” Regina said.
Evangeline repressed a sigh. They had debated her accompanying Jonathan at length before bedtime. There was no more time to argue. “You’ve always known I’m an adventurer. Now, go back to sleep before you wake your husband.”
“Too late,” Xavier said, his voice gravelly.
She and Regina apologized and exchanged another hug before Evangeline left through the glass door leading to the courtyard. A fine mist surrounded her, and if she hadn’t memorized the layout of the gardens, she might have fallen headlong into the fountain.
Jonathan was standing outside the back gate with the donkey loaded with their gear—his frame drums, changes of clothing, and her precious sketching supplies.
They had settled on a disguise last night: married traveling performers on their way to a wedding at a small village in the mountains.
Non-threatening and believable, if Jonathan was as good at drumming as he claimed.
“Ready?” he whispered.
She nodded, too tired to engage in conversation, and shuffled beside him like a sleepwalker. He reached for her hand, holding it tight as he led their small traveling party along the fog-shrouded streets. They had a long day ahead.
Jonathan said they wouldn’t reach the base of Mount Parnitha until tomorrow. It was safer to sleep beneath the stars than seek lodging, if they could even find a household willing to take them in. Limiting contact would make it easier to protect their identities.
A frisson of excitement passed through her, leaving her a little more awake. She hadn’t camped outdoors since she was a girl.
“I hope you packed blankets,” she said, clasping her cloak around her to keep out the chill.
Thankfully, she had donned linen trousers beneath her split gown. Their maid Joy had helped her alter her wardrobe before leaving London so she would be prepared to join Uncle Charles in the field. Little had she known then how dangerous his latest expedition was.
Had it caught him by surprise, too—learning the mercenaries were real and still active? She couldn’t put the pieces together yet, but he must have started following Lord Geoffrey for a reason.
It certainly didn’t fall under the usual duties of an antiquarian, which likely accounted for the icy boulder sitting in her gut. Uncle Charles was defenseless against the warriors, and so were she and Jonathan if they were seen as a threat.
“Traveling performers,” she murmured. “Are you truly that good at drumming?”
He chuckled. “Passable, I think. Though it would be more believable if you agreed to dance.”
She laughed lightly, too. “I draw. You dance. Remember?”
“I recall our agreement, but I truly would like to see how you respond to drumming. It’s different for everyone.”
“Do you want me in a trance, sir? No, don’t answer. Clearly you do. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be awake at this ungodly hour.”
He glanced at her, eyes crinkling with amusement. Now that the early morning mist was lifting and wisps of purple and pink fanned across the sky, she could make out his features. And heavens above, he was handsome.
“Surely, my antiquarian bride isn’t a late sleeper.”
She trained her gaze on the road, her palm growing slick inside her glove. The marriage was simply a ruse, but she loved that he had called her his bride. No, antiquarian bride, as if her future plans needn’t change if they were truly husband and wife.
“Perhaps you should introduce me as an artist. No one will believe the other.”
He shrugged. “What little imagination others have, but you’ll prove them wrong.”
“Thank you.” She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed hers back. “Just imagine what we would accomplish if we collaborated.”
“I do imagine,” he said, “and fondly.”
As they walked north, the sun burned away morning dew and eventually her boots dried. They passed through olive groves and vineyards on ancient stone roads. She lifted her face, reveling in the feel of warm sunlight on her skin.
At Acharnae, she shed her cloak and welcomed Jonathan’s suggestion to stop at the village well, where two women balanced jugs on their shoulders, smiling shyly at them before heading back toward their homes.
Jonathan hauled the bucket from the cool depths, and together they replenished their skins and watered the donkey.
They continued north, skirting a small farm settlement with flocks of sheep on a distant hill appearing like clouds. The landscape grew rockier the further they traveled. Cypress trees and wild thyme grew among the crevices, their calming fragrances carrying on a breeze.
Whenever they encountered ruins, Jonathan suggested they stop so Evangeline could sketch them, though she suspected it was an excuse to allow her a rest. She was active at home, but walking in steep terrain sapped her strength. It would take time to adjust once she was in the field permanently.
“How do you prepare for an expedition?” she asked. “Physically, I mean.”
He secured the donkey to a tree and sat next to her on the uneven rock.
“It takes time in the beginning. I try to do more each day, but I have to be patient in an unfamiliar environment. Should we stop earlier than planned today?”
“No, resting helps.” She swiveled toward him. “I’m not sure patience is the answer now. I didn’t want to say anything in front of my sister, but I’m worried about my uncle.”
The muscles in his jaw bulged. “Your uncle knows how to take care of himself.”
“How do you know?” She passed her water skin to him, and he took a swig, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. Her gaze lingered on his lips. She turned away and took a hefty drink.
“Not too fast,” he said gently.
When she replaced the cork, he cleared his throat. “Your uncle has been on many expeditions, and he has always come back, am I right?”
She nodded.
“That tells me he knows how to protect himself. And he taught you and your sisters Wing Chun. He isn’t helpless.”
But Uncle Charles had never before encountered mercenaries or men who plotted against England. She forced a smile, not wanting to cause Jonathan to have second thoughts about searching for her uncle. She needed him, and Uncle Charles must be warned about the man in the market.
“We should keep going,” she said.
Afternoon shadows stretched across the dusty lane as they entered the village of Fyli. It was the last populated area they would encounter before setting up camp in the countryside.
Smoke curled from cooking fires, carrying the savory scent of onions, while the bleating of goats echoed off whitewashed stone walls. Five children darted past, their sandals kicking up dirt, as she and Jonathan made their way to the village stables.
A young man greeted them as they approached. His large eyes were rimmed with dark lashes, and unruly curls fell across his forehead. Jonathan handed him some coins to feed and care for the donkey while they visited the tavern for a meal.
“We should give him a name,” she said as they washed dirt from their faces and hands in the cistern outside the tavern.
“Who?”
“The donkey. I cannot call him darling or sweetheart the whole way.”
“Why not?” Jonathan grinned and handed her a handkerchief to dry herself. “He doesn’t seem to mind, especially when you’re feeding him slices of turnip.”
She returned his smile. “I suppose he doesn’t. We’ve become fast friends, he and I.”
“The supplies are meant for you, sweet girl. To keep up your strength.”
“He is working harder than me,” she said as Jonathan held out his arm to escort her to the tavern door. “I hope I haven’t slowed us down too much today.”
“Not at all,” he said, allowing her to enter ahead of him.
Like most places she had seen in Greece, outside of Lord Dominic’s villa, the furnishings were simple—rustic wood tables, unpadded benches, clay pottery, and baskets.
A peaceful warmth wrapped around her, and the scent of herbs rising from the cauldron bubbling over the hearth carried the comfort of home.
They slid into seats across from each other.
“If anything,” he said, “you’ve made the time go by quickly. Not many people want to listen to me natter on about drums, let alone care to ask me questions.”
“I’ve experienced the same with my talk of ancient warfare.”
“But it’s fascinating.”
“Thank you. I couldn’t agree more.”
The cook snapped her fingers. A serving girl hopped from a stool and headed their way.
“Regina thinks my interests are too macabre,” Evangeline said, “and she isn’t wrong. Still, I find the tactical aspects captivating, not to mention the negotiations leading up to and after battle. Of course, the most successful negotiations circumvent a fight.”
The girl’s gleaming black curls were pulled back with a faded dark blue kerchief, and she was fresh-faced. Thirteen or fourteen at most. She and Jonathan conversed in Greek for several moments. Her eyes widened, and she sent a small smile toward Evangeline before leaving to retrieve their meal.
“What did you say to her?” she asked.
“I told her mutton was acceptable.”
“Is that all?”
He leaned an elbow on the table, propping up his chin on his hand. “Chauncey?”
“Pardon?”
“A name for the donkey.”
She scrunched her nose.
“Ah, you don’t like Chauncey. How about Herbert?”
“Never.”
“Angus? Tippy?”
“You are definitely not naming our future children.”
When he drew back in surprise, she laughed and shrugged with her hands in the air. “You promised we would have children when I agreed to become your wife and join you as a traveling performer.”
“That was before you informed me that you don’t dance.”
“A promise is a promise, husband. Have you forgotten your vows so soon?”