Well, half an hour, anyway. Much too long, to Evie’s mind. She wandered to the window without any expectation of being able to see through the rain and dark. The yard was black, with only a few dim lights from the inn and the surrounding houses illuminating the perimeter. If it hadn’t been for the flash of lightning, she would never have seen the solitary figure striding between the inn and the stable, and if that figure hadn’t been glancing at her window at just the right moment, she would never have recognized McAlistair. Baffled, she leaned forward and peered into the darkness, hoping to catch another glimpse, but he had disappeared into the night. What the devil was he doing? They’d only just gotten dry, hadn’t they? Granted, his overcoat had done a better job of shedding the rain than her wool cloak, but he had still been soaked down to his waistcoat. And with his overcoat still damp, he was likely now to be soaked down to the bone. He’d catch his death. If he wasn’t struck by lightning first or felled by a falling tree branch or hit with flying debris from the crumbling inn or— She was more than a little tempted to push the window open and call out to him—or, to be more accurate, in the general direction of where she’d last seen him—but she could well imagine what his reaction to that might be.
