Ryan stared at her.
Strange—he could see her clearly even in the darkness. She looked terrible, and yet he couldn't look away.
Her hair had come entirely undone, wild around her face. Her clothes, which he was certain had been immaculate not two hours ago, were streaked with dirt from collar to hem. She was still breathing hard, arms trembling slightly under the weight of the stone she hadn't yet dropped.
There was nothing the world would call graceful about her in that moment. Nothing delicate, nothing composed.
And still he couldn't look away.
"Ryan!" She flung the stone aside and ran to him. "Are you all right? Oh God—your face—"
"You're wounded!"
Her fingers found his cheek before he could step back, the lightest possible touch, and it burned so sharply that he flinched away on instinct.
"Does it hurt badly?"
"No, it's not—wait. Give me some space." He stepped back quickly, needing the distance before something happened that he couldn't explain. His cheek throbbed now that she'd drawn his attention to it. He dragged the back of his hand across it and held it up to the moonlight.
A dark smear of blood. The dagger must have caught him glancing on the first rush, though he hadn't felt it until now.
"The dagger—"
He turned immediately, scanning the ground, and spotted it lying near the deserter's outstretched hand. He snatched it up and hurled it into the dark treeline. Then he crouched over the unconscious man and pressed two fingers to his neck.
"Is he..." Eloise's voice was tight behind him. "Did he die?"
"No. Unconscious." Ryan glanced back at her. "When he wakes up his skull will feel like a cathedral bell, but that's his problem, not ours."
He shrugged off his outer coat and began tearing it into strips without hesitation—it was summer weight, thin enough to give way cleanly. He worked quickly and efficiently, binding the man's wrists behind his back, then his ankles, then knotting a length of cloth between his teeth as a gag. The whole operation took less than a minute.
He gave the finished knots a firm inspection and stood.
"He won't go anywhere." For good measure, he pressed his boot against the deserter's back, leaning his weight into it. The man groaned faintly even in unconsciousness. Ryan left his boot where it was and turned to Eloise.
"Are you hurt?"
"Bruised from the fall. Nothing serious."
"Anything else?" He paused, then stepped deliberately onto the deserter's back and cleared his throat. "Did he... do anything else."
"No." She understood him. "You arrived in time."
Ryan exhaled slowly. His boot pressed down harder.
"Good," he said, his voice dropping to something flat and cold. "Otherwise I would have killed him and dealt with the inconvenience of dragging the body."
Eloise swallowed.
"In any case—thank you. I truly thought it was over—"
"What were you thinking!" The words came out of him like a door blown off its hinges. Somewhere overhead, a roosting bird exploded from its branch in alarm, and then another, wings clattering through the canopy in all directions.
Eloise flinched at the volume. Then her eyes narrowed.
"I wouldn't have gone alone if they hadn't told me the deserter was caught!"
Her voice filled the forest with equal force. More birds fled.
"And you were exhausted all day—I was already uncomfortable letting you walk me home every single evening. Was I supposed to drag you out on top of everything else tonight, after all that?"
"So you don't know what gratitude is!"
"Of course I do! Let me say it right now before I get any angrier—thank you for saving my life! There, I said it!"
"Are you grateful, or furious?"
"Both! I'm grateful *and* furious! I was already frightened half to death out here, and the moment you arrive you start attacking me!"
They stood facing each other in the dark, both breathing hard.
A long silence.
Then Ryan laughed. It started quietly and quickly became something he couldn't contain.
"What is there to laugh about?" Eloise demanded. "Is this funny to you? Are you in pain? Wait—the wound, let me look at the wound properly—"
The mixture of outrage and genuine worry in her voice broke whatever remained of his composure. He laughed harder.
He thought of her standing there with that stone. She could have run—she'd had a moment to flee while he and the deserter were tangled on the ground. After everything she'd already endured alone in this darkness, she would have had every reason to run and not look back.
Instead she had found a larger stone and come back.
He knew Feltham, Cambon, and Blissbury tolerably well by now. He was fairly confident he could search the whole of all three towns and not find another woman who would hit her attacker with a rock the size of her own head.
A truly strange woman.
He found he didn't mind it at all.
---
Iclipse hadn't gone far. They found her circling nervously at the edge of the treeline, and Ryan loaded the bound deserter across her back before mounting his own horse and pulling Eloise up behind him.
The moment Iclipse realized who her additional passenger was, she expressed her feelings clearly. She began pitching and shuddering with great purpose, attempting to dislodge him. When that failed, she landed a precise kick with her hind legs.
*Crack.*
The deserter came awake screaming.
Ryan looked at the leg, noted the angle, and shook his head. The man would not be running anywhere.
They rode back toward Blissbury. The deserter moaned and pleaded. They ignored him and argued the entire way.
---
Blissbury received them with considerable uproar.
The workers took charge of the deserter and lashed him to a tree in the garden—emphatically. Mr. Palmer rushed out with a medicine case and descended on both of them before they'd dismounted. Mrs. Parker arrived moments later, eyes bright with tears she was clearly fighting, pressing clean clothes into their arms.
Eloise's heart was still hammering. She was certain she would be awake until dawn.
She was asleep almost before she'd finished washing her face.
---
When she opened her eyes, the room was full of morning light and her mother was in the doorway.
"Eloise! My darling!"
Eloise, who was twenty-six years old and felt the designation somewhat optimistic, decided this was not the moment to raise the point. She let herself be gathered in and held for a long time while her mother thanked God at length, and Emily stood behind her crossing herself and making private vows about church attendance and charitable giving.
When the weeping had run its course, Mrs. Severton drew back and cupped Eloise's face in her hands.
"Are you hurt?"
"No. Ryan arrived in time." A knock at the door—she looked up to find Ryan himself standing in the gap, waiting to be acknowledged.
"Ryan? What is it?"
"The deserter. I thought you should know."
She excused herself and stepped into the corridor.
"The guards came. They were surprised to find a man already bound and waiting." A slight pause. "It turns out there's already a deserter in their prison."
Eloise stared at him.
"There were two of them."
"Two." She pressed a hand briefly to her mouth. "That explains it. He was reported in different places at once, and first it was only stolen provisions, then suddenly he was attacking people—I thought desperation had made him more violent, but they were two separate men entirely."
"They've taken him away. The broken leg means he'll be treated before trial, but they expect the whole matter to be resolved before the bone heals." He glanced past her shoulder toward the room where her mother and Emily waited, and offered a slight smile. "They only need one witness, so I'll handle it myself. Mrs. Severton has had enough of a fright. Go and reassure her."
"Thank you, Ryan." She smiled. "I'll try not to keep you long."
He told her there was no need to hurry and went downstairs.
Eloise returned to her mother.
Mrs. Severton was watching the doorway with an expression Eloise couldn't immediately read.
"You and Sergeant Thornton seem to have grown quite close."
"...What?"
"You called him Ryan," Mrs. Severton said simply.
Eloise opened her mouth, then closed it.
She thought back. Through the whole conversation—the corridor, the door, all of it.
*Ryan. Ryan arrived in time. Thank you, Ryan.*
She hadn't noticed at all.
And, she realized slowly, he hadn't noticed either.
They had been calling each other by their given names for some time now—she couldn't even say precisely when it had started.