Spirited Brides

by Amanda McCabe

  “Not until you hear something. I know. I, too, am anxious.” Mary Ann leaned against the window frame, her smooth dark hair limned in moonlight. “Do you suppose Mr. O’Riley is searching with Lord Ransome?”

  Sarah did not miss the wistful note in her sister’s voice, and knew that it boded ill for a new infatuation. She was too tired, though, and too nervous to speak to her about it now. When everything was resolved, she and Mary Ann would have to have yet another talk about the differences between Minerva Press novels and real life.

  For now, all she said was, “I would suppose so. As is Mr. Hamilton.”

  Mary Ann wrinkled her nose. “Mr. Hamilton is probably at the inn, nursing his ninny of a wife.”

  “Mary Ann, that is unkind,” Sarah protested. “She has had a very unhappy time adjusting to her marriage.”

  “Is marriage always such an unhappy adjustment?” Mary Ann asked, her tone full of curiosity. “I have often wondered. Mother just purses up her lips, and says a wife must always do her duty. She is of no help at all.”

  Sarah imagined that marriage to Miles would not be an onerous adjustment at all. Not that she could say that to Mary Ann, of course. “It is of no surprise that Mother is no help to you. She was not to me, either. After all of this is settled, you and I will have a long conversation, I promise.”

  Mary Ann sighed. “It is always ‘after.’ ” She straightened up suddenly, peering out the window. “I think someone is coming!”

  Sarah’s heart seemed to skip a beat, then pattered quickly, too quickly, in anticipation. She carefully put down the jar, and rose from her chair. Could he be here, finally? “Who is it?”

  “I cannot tell. It’s too dark. A man on horseback.”

  Sarah went to stand by her sister at the window. There was indeed a man on horseback just turning into their garden from the lane. He was tall and straight backed, but the moonlight caught no gleam of golden hair. He dismounted and strode to the front door. The knock echoed through the house, and they could hear Rose scurrying to answer it.

  Mary Ann suddenly clutched at Sarah’s arm. “What if it is not someone we know? What if it is the murderer, come to finish his revenge?”

  Sarah thought she sounded too deliciously horrified, and gave her a stern look. “Mary Ann. Would a murderer knock at the front door?”

  “I do not know what a murderer would do, having never met one,” Mary Ann answered.

  “I am sure it must be Lord Ransome, or one of his men. Hopefully, he will have some news for us.” Sarah had just reached up to be sure her hair was tidy when Rose opened the drawing room door.

  “Mr. O’Riley, Lady Iverson,” the maid announced.

  It was not Miles. Sarah’s hand fell from her hair.

  Mary Ann stepped away from the window, her eyes shining eagerly. She bounced up on her toes as Mr. O’Riley came into the room, stooping his tall figure a bit in their low doorway.

  He looked very serious, no hint of a smile. Why should that be? Sarah wondered, grasping the back of a chair in a sudden wave of dizziness. “What news?” she asked. “Has something—something not pleasant occurred?”

  “Oh, no,” Mr. O’Riley said quickly. “I did not mean to frighten you, Lady Iverson. Lord Ransome has asked me to stay with you for a time while he finishes some business. He will be here later this evening.”

  “Oh, I see.” Still dizzy, Sarah sat down on the chair, and reached out to take Mary Ann’s hand and stop her fidgeting. “Mary Ann, dear, could you go and ask for some refreshments to be brought in?”

  “Of course,” Mary Ann said. “I will see if there are some of those lemon cakes left that you like so much. You ate almost nothing at supper.” With another smile at Mr. O’Riley, she hurried from the room, closing the door halfway behind her.

  She had been too full of thoughts and worries to eat at their early supper, Sarah remembered, a fact her stomach was only now reminding her of. It gave a small rumble. She crossed her arms over her midsection, and said, “Won’t you please sit down, Mr. O’Riley?”

  “Thank you, Lady Iverson.” He sat down across from her, still looking very solemn, but his green eyes lit up with interest as he saw the objects spread across the floor. “It appears you and Miss Bellweather have been very busy.”

  “Yes, I wanted to examine and relabel the objects as soon as possible, so we could judge what was lost.”

  “Not a great deal, I hope.”

  “Not as much as I had first feared. Many of the artifacts required only minor repair or some cleaning, which my sister has been taking care of. Some of them, though, are damaged beyond repair, or even recognition. I have had to look at the records to see what is missing.” Sarah knew that she was babbling on, but she hoped that talking about the work would help distract her from everything else that was happening—just as the work itself had.

  That hope was in vain. It was all still there, floating in her mind.

  “I am sorry to hear that,” Mr. O’Riley said. “If I could assist you in any way . . .”

  “Oh, yes, if you like. We need to sort this box of knife blades according to size, so I can reference them in the records.” Sarah stood up, and fetched the boxful of dented and nicked blades. She spilled them out on her desk, and pulled a chair up for Mr. O’Riley.

  A few silent moments passed companionably, as they sat and arranged the blades. The only sound was the soft tick of the clock on the mantel, and the distant hum of voices from the kitchen. Sarah could feel herself calm as she went through the routine of the motions. Mr. O’Riley was a very soothing, understanding companion—she could see why Mary Ann would choose him for a friend.

  “Were you in the same regiment as Lord Ransome?” she asked, holding one blade up to examine it in the lantern light. “I do not think I have heard how you met.”

  “No, we were not in the same regiment,” Mr. O’Riley answered in his light brogue. “Our regiments did fight in the same battles a time or two, but I never had the privilege of meeting him. We became acquainted after the war, when I was living on the street in London.”

  Sarah looked up at him, startled. “You lived on the street?”

  “Aye. I returned from Spain to find that there were not many positions for limping Irishmen with few skills aside from soldiering. Nothing on the land, which was all I knew before I went into the Army. My cousins made it clear I was not welcome back at my family’s estate. Somehow I found myself in London, doing the odd job of manual labor. The day I met Lord Ransome, there were no such jobs to be had.”

  “I am so sorry,” Sarah murmured. She was appalled, and even a bit ashamed. She had understood the reasons Miles gave for wanting to use his land for practical purposes, in an intellectual way. But here before her was a living human who was deeply affected by things such as that. Not an abstraction, but a person.

  She was more confused than ever.

  Mr. O’Riley gave her a reassuring smile. “Now, you needn’t feel sorry for me, Lady Iverson. I’m here now, aren’t I? In this fine country, with good friends and the prospect of work. I have a fine life.”

  Mary Ann came into the room in time to hear his words. She stood aside as Rose arranged the tray on the table beside the fire. “Work? Sarah, have you put Mr. O’Riley to work already?” She leaned over Sarah’s shoulder to examine their tidy piles of blades. “But I see that you have. And I was only gone for five minutes!”

  Sarah laughed, pushing aside all doubts and confusions for the moment. “He did volunteer, Mary Ann. And no one should volunteer in here unless they truly want to be given a task.”

  “And very tidy work he has made of his task, too.” Mary Ann reached out to touch one of the artifacts with her fingertip, and smiled at Mr. O’Riley. Her gaze held his for long seconds before turning away.

  Mr. O’Riley smiled back at her. Sarah glanced between them, a tiny misgiving taking root in her heart. She could not help but sense the admiration in those smiles, as no one could who saw them. She herself felt that M
ary Ann was for once being sensible in her infatuation—Mr. O’Riley was handsome, and intelligent, and obviously right hearted. But would their mother agree?

  Sarah was absolutely certain she would not. Mr. O’Riley was estranged from his family, and who knew who they were, anyway? And he was Irish.

  She took Mary Ann’s arm, and steered her firmly to the tea table, pushing her into a chair as far from Mr. O’Riley’s as possible. “Tell us some more of Ireland, Mr. O’Riley,” she said, and reached for the teapot to pour. “It is such a fascinating land, and, I think, rich in antiquarian sites that have not yet been properly studied.”

  They spent the next half hour in conversation about the history and artifacts of Ireland. Almost all of the tea cakes and sandwiches had been consumed when there was another knock at the front door.

  Sarah almost dropped her teacup in surprise, having become so immersed in the talk that she had nearly forgotten what was happening outside their cozy drawing room. The china rattled in the saucer, and she set it down carefully on the table.

  Rose came in, just as she had earlier to announce Mr. O’Riley, and said, “Lord Ransome, my lady.”

  And he was there, just as she had hoped for, longed for all afternoon and evening. The firelight glinted on the wheaten waves of his hair, and on the white flash of a smile he gave her. He looked tired, with exhaustion creasing his eyes, and his boots were dusty, but she thought him the most beautiful sight in all the world.

  She longed to jump up, to run to him and put her arms around him, to hold him close.

  But, of course, she could not. Not with her sister and Mr. O’Riley and Rose looking on. She could smile at him, though, and hold out her hand for him to bow over. “Lord Ransome, it is so good to see you at last! Won’t you sit down? I believe there is a drop of tea left in the pot.”

  “Thank you, Lady Iverson.” He sat down in the last empty chair, his expression revealing deep relief at being off his feet. “I would certainly not say no to a cup of tea. I see Mr. O’Riley has been guarding you well.”

  “Guarding us?” Sarah lifted up the china teapot, praying that her hands would remain steady and not spill any drops of liquid. “If that is what he was meant to be doing, then he has accomplished it very well. We have come to no harm, and he has even assisted me in some of the sorting.” The pouring accomplished, she passed the cup to Miles.

  His fingertips brushed hers gently, and lingered just for an instant, warmly.

  Sarah shivered, and pulled her shawl closer about her shoulders.

  “Have you discovered the murderer, Lord Ransome?” Mary Ann asked, leaning forward eagerly.

  His jaw tightened, and he shook his head. “Not as yet, I fear, Miss Bellweather. But I have learned a few things, and he will not elude us for long, never fear.”

  “Oh, I am not afraid!” said Mary Ann. “I know that he will be caught, and that until then my sister will keep me safe.”

  There was such confidence in her sister’s voice that Sarah looked at her in surprise. Mary Ann’s face was open, shining with assurance that she was safe and always would be, surrounded by people who would protect her. It gave Sarah a small glow to know that someone had such faith in her, even if she could not have it in herself.

  Miles nodded to Mary Ann. “Indeed, she will, Miss Bellweather. You and your sister will both be safe.”

  “What are you going to do next?” Mary Ann asked.

  “Tonight, I will guard the village site,” he said. “There will be no more destruction.”

  “Guard the site?” Sarah cried. “But you must be so very tired! And what if the villain does return, and you are alone there?”

  “I will not be alone. Some of the footmen from Ransome Hall are stationed there, armed, and Mr. O’Riley will go with me. Enough has been lost there already.” He held up his hand as Sarah opened her mouth to protest. “No, I am determined on this.”

  Sarah could see that he was, and she could not help but love him more for it. Even though he did not value the village as she did, he knew that she loved it, and was willing to safeguard it for that. It gave her a small, unwitting hope for their future.

  She nodded. “Very well. Then I will go to the village, too.”

  “Me, too!” Mary Ann said eagerly, clapping her hands. “Oh, how very exciting! Do you think we will see ghosts while we are there? Perhaps Thora will appear, and show us where her treasure is.”

  “Mary Ann, I do not think you should be out in the night air,” Sarah told her.

  Mary Ann crossed her arms stubbornly. “If you do not let me go with you, I will just follow. And if I cannot go, then you should not, either.”

  Sarah sighed. She knew that Mary Ann would do exactly as she threatened. Probably she would be safer at the village with all of them than alone in the hunting box, anyway. “Very well, but you must stay close to me.”

  Miles watched them, his expression almost bewildered as the situation slipped out of control. “It will not be a place for ladies.”

  Sarah turned to him. “It is my village. I must help to protect it.” When he still looked doubtful, she added, “I know how to fire a pistol, if I need to.”

  Miles laughed, and held up his hands in mock surrender. “Why am I not surprised by that? Very well, Lady Iverson. You and your sister may come with us. But you, like Miss Bellweather, must promise to stay close.”

  Sarah gave him a small smile. “Well, I do not think that staying close will prove too onerous a task.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The moon was bright on the Viking village, shimmering down in silver and pale gold, turning the sea of mundane ropes and holes and trees into something enchanted and otherworldly. It was not an ancient, dead place anymore; it had a pagan aliveness that transcended ordinary time.

  Sarah sat on a stool outside the stable door, and watched as the vague figures of the footmen-guards moved in and out of patches of light. She could see Mary Ann and Mr. O’Riley sitting beside the remains of the smithy. Occasionally, a word of their conversation would float to her on the breeze, and then drift away.

  Miles stood next to her, leaning back against the door with his arms crossed over his chest, watching and alert. Always alert. She knew he must long to send her away, for her own safety, and she loved him for it, even though she would never, ever go.

  Despite the strangeness of their situation, Sarah had truly never felt happier. Never felt more at peace. She wished she could sit here, wrapped in her cloak and the night air, with the village spread out before her and Miles beside her, forever.

  She sighed, and closed her eyes to hold it all inside her heart.

  “Are you cold?” Miles asked.

  She smiled without opening her eyes. “Oh, no. I feel perfect.”

  She sensed him kneel beside her, and he took her hands in his, rubbing them gently. “Your hands feel cold. Sarah, darling, you really should have been sensible and stayed at the house.”

  Sarah laughed, and opened her eyes. His head was bent over her hands, his hair shining like a bright beacon in the darkness. She drew one of her hands away to touch the soft waves, unable to resist. It was almost like touching liquid gold, she thought whimsically.

  “I do not want to be sensible,” she murmured. “I want to be here with you.”

  He looked up at her, still holding her hand. She slid her hand to the nape of his neck, where the hair tapered away silkily. “I would never want to see you hurt,” he said, his voice thick and hoarse. “It would kill me.”

  Sarah felt just the same about him. “How could I be hurt here tonight? This is an enchanted place, just for this one night, and no wickedness can enter here.”

  Miles lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her fingers. “Any time is enchanted when I can be with you, Sarah.”

  She smiled at this bit of romanticism, made more precious by the sense she had that he was not usually a poetic man.

  He held her hand against his chest, warm through his wool greatcoat
. “But this could be a dangerous time. I do not know what will happen, or even who it is we are fighting.”

  “It is not very much like it was for you in Spain, is it?”

  Miles shook his head. “Not at all. There I always knew who the enemy was.” He paused, then added softly, “There I did not have you.”

  She gazed up at him, her heart warmed and soothed by his sweet words. “I fear I am a great burden to you. At a time when you should be enjoying your inheritance, and being back in England, I have brought trouble to you. I am nothing but trouble.”

  He smiled, a ray of light piercing his so-solemn mien. “You are—a gift. A precious one that I want to keep safe.”

  “I am safe,” she said. “If I thought there was any danger here tonight, I would never have let my sister come. There are so many of us about, that unless our foe possesses an army, I doubt he will confront us. I rather wish he would, though, so this could be over.”

  “It will be over very soon. I promise.” He released her hand and sat down on the ground, leaning back against the wooden wall and stretching his long legs out before him.

  Sarah half turned to face him. “What did you learn today? I have not had the chance to ask you before now.”

  He snorted. “Precious little, I fear! The magistrate informed Mr. Hamilton that that farmer was feuding with some of his neighbors. Indeed, he had a nasty habit of annoying almost everyone around him to the point of violence. I spoke to his neighbors, in the hope that it might be one of them who had done for him.”

  A hope that this could be ended so neatly, with strangers as the culprits, rose up in Sarah’s mind. “And was it?”

  He shook his head, looking as regretful as she felt. “It could not have been. They were all at a wedding celebration until very late that night, and saw and heard nothing suspicious.”

  “But you also said he made many enemies. It could have been any of them, could it not?”

  “Of course, it could.”

  “Then perhaps, now that he is dead, they are satisfied. There will be no more—incidents.” Sarah was almost desperate to believe this, even though she knew how unlikely it was. Why would someone who only wanted to be revenged on that man also destroy her artifacts?