I can see the city there. It’s less than half a day’s ride away. Galloping away from the carriage would be extremely brusque, but surely they would understand. And yet I know I dare not. These people and creatures are my responsibility. Oh Lord, just hold the rain at bay for a little longer—that is all I ask.
He was still praying when he felt the first droplet of rain.
“Your Grace?” His driver, Trevor Wimbley, glanced over with a dubious look on his face. “It’ll be a nasty torrent. We won’t make it tonight.”
We could have if we hadn’t stopped to eat.
Stopping himself from glaring at the carriage, Tristan focused on the driver. The two of them studied the sky and the landscape, the unfortunate truth clear but inevitable.
“There’s a decent hotel over the next ridge, Your Grace.” Trevor sniffed as more raindrops began to pelt his head. “Brand new. Will suit your needs.”
A clap of thunder sounded overhead, and Tristan felt his horse tense up, shaking slightly. He sighed in irritation before putting a hand on his horse’s neck to soothe him. “Blast it. Fine, let’s go.”
Risks increased too quickly for his liking in the rain. There were countless ways for one to perish in a storm, should they be caught even for a moment. He should have refused Verity’s request to have the picnic. He should have pushed them onward. He should have known the weather would turn.
“Er, Your Grace?”
He whirled back to the driver, who merely blinked at him.
Trevor had been with him for some time, mostly doing odd jobs. He had few skills beyond carving bits of wood. But Tristanhad taken him in some time ago, appreciating the man’s calm disposition. He might occasionally move as slow as a snail, but he never failed in anything he did.
“It’s raining,” Trevor said. “Rather hard.”
Tristan squinted at him. “And…?”
“Does Your Grace wish to ride in the carriage, then?”
It seemed a rather useless thing to do. They’d have to stop the horses and the carriage, tie his horse to the side, and then climb in, only to spread water inside their little shelter. Though Tristan was prepared to weather the storm—he’d been a soldier and could do whatever was necessary, given the situation—Trevor was already slowing down the carriage.
“Fine,” Tristan relented. “I’ll only be a moment switching over.”
“We’ll be all right.”
Whether the driver was referring to himself, the horses, or Tristan, he could not know.
Tristan didn’t want to start asking questions, as he saw lightning strike far ahead. His horse twitched. Sliding down from the saddle, he calmed the creature before tying him to the back of the carriage. Then, he hastened over to the door and yanked it open.
“Oh!” He’d forgotten that Verity’s maid was there.
Too late, he was climbing in. He hesitated for a moment, however, half in and half out as he debated where to sit.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Verity said, shoving him back. He might have protested, but then she rose from her bench to join the maid, leaving one side open for him. “Do join us.”
Something about her tone chafed at him deep down in the spine, as if she was mocking him.
He huffed and plopped down on the bench. Once he closed the door, he rapped on the ceiling so Trevor could get them moving once again to someplace dry.
He rubbed his hands over his face and hair, feeling the chill seep into him. His clothes and hair were soaked through. Grimacing, he shifted but found little way of hope.
And then he heard a muffled sound. Almost like a giggle.
That gave him pause. He glanced up at the two women. While the maid tended to her knitting, his wife was peeking through the curtain with wide eyes and her hand over her mouth.
When she finally glanced at him, he noted the pink flush on her cheeks. “Yes, Your Grace?” she asked.
“I said nothing, but I believe you might have.”
Her bright eyes widened to twice their size. “Certainly not. Is something amiss?”
