Captain Farlow muttered in Thérèse’s ear. She was fleeing for her life, clasped in the captain’s arms and perched on the pommel of a stolen horse’s saddle, and she was expected to pretend to be happy? But of course she must, now that they were almost to the city and the levee road was growing more crowded. “Are you smiling?” she hissed through her teeth. “Of course I am.” He slouched a bit in the saddle, pulling her against him. She felt his leanly strong torso, steady against her spine, and also his faint wince when the horse’s rough gait knocked her against his wounded side. He called out a greeting to a pair of soldiers riding in the opposite direction and laughed at their ribald jests, just as though he was one of them instead of an enemy they’d been trying to kill just a week ago. He tugged at the reins with the hand that wasn’t holding her, and the beast slowed from a trot to a walk. “Ah, that’s better,”
