“We need to open the big doors at the far end,” Belinda said. She set down her bag and moved toward them. “Can you uncover the wagon?”
Connor obediently dragged the heavy tarpaulin away from the wagon. Once he did, he stared at the vehicle beneath for a moment, then leaned back against the wall of the barn, laughing so hard he thought he might burst.
The widow’s steam-powered conveyance was an enormous, vividly painted horseless circus wagon.
Chapter Three
“I don’t see why you find it humorous.” Belinda got the wide double doors open and turned, just to find her so-called rescuer laughing his fool head off at the sight of her grandfather’s caravan. “It was the very top of the trees just three years past.”
“I believe it was.” He sobered quickly and quirked up one dark eyebrow. The lamplight cast copper highlights into his dark hair, showing it as auburn rather than black.
She shrugged and strode to the rear door of the steam-powered caravan, Lucifer at her heels. “My grandfather left it to me. I still don’t see why it’s funny.”
“We’re sneaking out of town in the brightest, biggest, probably loudest conveyance possible. That doesn’t strike you as amusing?” Still, he craned over her shoulder as she opened the wide door to the stall area at the back of the caravan. “It doesn’t have a calliope attached to the boiler, does it? That would be a bit much.”
“Perhaps a little.” Who was she fooling? It was ludicrous. “There’s no organ. Put the luggage in here. There’s even straw in the stalls, so we can take old Nick.”
“Your cat is Lucifer and your mule is Old Nick and the villagers aren’t supposed to think you’re a witch?”
She winced. “That’s a coincidence. I got Lucifer as a kitten and originally named him Lucinda, and my husband had Nick long before I married him.”
“Right.” Connor eyed the geriatric mule and looked back at the divided sections in the caravan. “I suppose I can’t say anything, since my favorite stallion is named Mephistopheles. This area is designed for horses?”
“Lions, actually,” she said. “My grandfather was a lion tamer.”
“Of course he was.” The burly Scot only laughed. “But my own family tree has some odd nuts, so I can’t turn up my nose. At least with these wide studded wheels, the wagon shouldn’t have any trouble staying on the road, even if the rain gets worse.” Without argument, he loaded her measly possessions while she got Nick and led him into the caravan.
With the utter nonchalance of any feline, Lucifer hopped in and claimed the smaller stall as his own. Well, if there were mice in the straw, at least he’d be fed.
They both moved swiftly about their tasks, and just a few moments later Belinda struggled to light the boiler in its small compartment beside the driver’s position.
“Allow me.” Connor muttered a quick incantation and pointed his finger at the burner valve. The flame ignited instantly. He used another spell to speed up the steam compression, so they’d be able to leave about twenty minutes sooner than normal. She shivered, not sure she’d ever get used to someone who could genuinely cast spells.
He quirked his eyebrow again. “Complaining?”
“No.” She was lucky to have him, and she knew it. Most gentleman of his station wouldn’t know a coal shovel from a fire poker.
Next he lit the lamps, and removed his frock coat. Belinda hung it beside her own cloak in the cabin area.
“Now, milady, shall we be off? Before the clowns and acrobats catch us up?” He began shoveling coal into the boiler.
Whoa, lassie. His damp shirt revealed his powerful arms and shoulders, making Belinda’s mouth go dry. For the first time since her husband’s death, she felt something like lust curl through her belly. It had clearly been too long since she’d been with a man. Seven years, part of her brain responded. Why on earth had her body decided to wake up now, when she was running for her very life?
Despite her desperation to be gone, Belinda laughed at his enthusiasm. “Yes, sir.” She snapped him a salute and moved past the thin partition to the driver’s station. She knew which pedals and levers to use. Grandfather had made sure of that when he’d brought her the caravan a month before his death.
“I hope to hell the water tanks are full.” Connor’s voice carried over the sound of the boiler and the now working steam engine as she put the big vehicle into gear. With a belch of steam, the caravan crept forward on its massive wheels.
“They are. I promised my grandfather I’d always keep it ready. Fresh oil once a year, full water tanks once a month. Actually, even the straw is only a couple months old.”
“We’re going west, correct?” he shouted. “They’ll check the nearest stations. We’ll make for one a little farther away.”
“All right,” she said. “There’s an old farm road we can take toward Dumfries.”
“On the other hand, if we go east, we could reach my family home by morning. You’d be safe there. And the sheriff is in Dumfries. I don’t think we want to head right toward him.”
“Against the full force of the law? I don’t think so,” she shouted back, warmed by his offer, even if she couldn’t accept.
“My father and grandfather are both Home Office as well and both outrank me considerably. They’ll be able to get this all sorted out. Trust me, you’ll be fine. My word as a gentleman.” Even over the engine’s din, she could hear the certainty in his strong voice.
“We only have enough coal for about twenty or thirty miles.” It was tempting to believe there was somewhere she could safely relax. She had stayed in Shadwick for so long—which had proven in the end to be a mistake.
“Most inns offer coal for sale,” he yelled. “I can afford to pay for fueling. Do your villagers know to look for a circus wagon?”
“I don’t think so.” It was a valid question, so she stopped to think before responding. “They know I was a gypsy, but not any more than that. My grandfather left it to me, but I never thought I’d use it so I certainly didn’t tell anyone about it.”
“Then we should be safe, once we’re on the main road. Keep a watch in the mirror. If anyone is following, we’ll trade places and I’ll speak to them.” For just a moment, his voice lost all trace of youthful frivolity and he sounded positively dangerous. At that moment, she noted again just how large a man he really was, despite the cheerful and irreverent demeanor which made him seem less imposing. Had she traded the frying pan for the fire? A shiver ran down Belinda’s spine, this time one not based on the proximity of an attractive young male.
You keep telling yourself that, lassie. Then mayhap you won’t embarrass yourself.
Odd how it sounded like Micah’s voice in her head, teasing her for being attracted to another man.
Well, do you think I’d want you to grieve forever? Hearing his voice in her head again startled her into releasing the throttle, and the powerful engine stuttered.
“Everything all right?” her rescuer called through the dividing wall.
“Fine. My hand slipped.” More like her mind had slipped. Why, after all these years, would she be hearing Micah’s voice in her head?
Blast if I know. Must have something to do with the wagon. Your abilities could be strengthened by the connection to your ancestors.
That was definitely Micah’s voice. And his words made sense. She did feel an increase in her minimal powers here inside the caravan.
I’ve been around, lass, but not for much longer now. You’ll be on your own soon.
“I thought I was for years,” she muttered. It didn’t seem fair that he’d finally spoken to her right as he was leaving.
“What was that?” her companion yelled.
“Just talking to myself,” she shouted back. “Nothing to worry you.”
“As long as you don’t answer yourself back.” Despite the danger of their situation, he laughed.
“I make no promises.” For a moment, Belinda almost laughed too. A strange giddiness filled her at the tho
ught. Certainly, she’d laughed with one of the other village women from time to time, but with a man? No, none under seventy or over seven, not since Micah’s death.
“Have you family to go to? Your uncle’s circus perhaps?”
That question sobered her right up. “No.” The circus had stopped being her home ten years earlier, and once her grandfather had passed, any appeal to going back had ended. “I’d rather not.”
They chugged along steadily with no further conversation until she made out the crossroad rapidly approaching. “East or west?” she called.
“Kay’s Tower is east,” he replied. “Maybe thirty miles, then another five north.”
“You’re sure about this?”
“I am,” he replied with no trace of hesitation.
Trust him, Linnie.
Oh, blast it, even her dead husband agreed with the man. Who was she to argue with that? Slowly, mindful that the rain made the roadway slick, she turned the wagon to the right. The wheels slipped a bit, and Belinda let out a long breath when the caravan began once again chugging forward. Toward the rail station, or toward Connor’s home? And his wife? She wished that thought hadn’t occurred to her.
He’s not married. Leastways, I don’t think so. I can only pick up a few of his thoughts, enough to know he’s honorable and able to defend you if needed.
Thank you, Micah. It was disconcerting to talk to him in her head, but she didn’t want Connor to overhear. Do you know if the squire and his men are following us?
I’m sure they are, Micah replied. Soon, if not yet. But I can’t see anything more than a few hundred yards away from you.
And you’ve been near me all along? She thought about the nights when she could have sworn she almost felt him beside her in the bed, only to open her eyes and find it empty. Had he actually been there?
Not all the time, but in and out, yes. My presence here is weakening, however. Once you’re past this crisis, I suspect you’ll be on your own. But you can do it. You’re a strong woman, Linnie, but that’s no reason for you to be alone the rest of your life.
I’m almost thirty, barren and a Rom. Not exactly prime marriage material.
Lassie, you’d be surprised. I’m not the only man who’ll see past your ancestry. Affectionate laughter laced his tone.
“Does the house belong to you, or were you a tenant?” Connor asked as they chugged along.
“It’s mine,” she said. “My husband was a gentleman farmer—it belonged to his grandparents. I hope the townsfolk don’t burn it down or tear it down.” It was a good house. Someone should live there and love it. Just not Belinda.
“You don’t have any children?”
“No.” That came out sharper than Belinda would have liked. “We were never blessed.” It had been the one great sadness in their marriage. They’d both wanted a family so badly, but she’d never conceived. In truth, that was part of why she’d married Micah. She wanted to be settled somewhere, with a good man and a houseful of children. She’d loved him, in a quiet, affectionate way, and he’d loved her.
“I’m sorry.”
Belinda sighed. Even this stranger picked up on her deficiency. Fabulous.
After another half an hour of travel, they passed a small village. Belinda almost forgot to breathe as they drove through. As late as it was, the High Street was deserted, and if a few people opened their curtains and pointed at the wagon, she pretended not to notice. All she cared was that there was no squire with his outriders, waiting to stop them.
“The next town’s maybe five miles. That’s what, another half hour at this speed?”
“Thereabouts.” From what her grandfather had said, the machine could do fifteen miles per hour in good weather and daylight, but only about ten in these conditions.
“We’ll stop there for more coal and water, if you think it’s safe.” She noticed his burr had thickened as they traveled—he was clearly Scottish, though he’d likely been educated in England.
“Aye.” Had she really said that? Heavens, she’d lived in Scotland so long she was starting to sound like a native herself.
“Were you born here in Scotland, or on the Continent?” he asked a few minutes later. Clearly the man didn’t have the knack of keeping quiet for long.
“Wales, actually. I’ve traveled across Europe, but mostly here in Britain. I’ve lived on the farm for nearly ten years.”
“You were an infant bride?” He sounded genuinely shocked, and she couldn’t help a small purr of feminine pride. She did look younger than she was. Even the last few years of poverty since the crops had failed hadn’t aged her prematurely.
“Not nearly.” She laughed. “I was eighteen.”
“Well, that is practically an infant, isn’t it?” He didn’t even hesitate or pause to do the math. “How long since you’ve been widowed?”
“Seven years.” Long, lonely ones. Micah had been her dearest friend. They’d met when he’d been in Carlisle, taking his crops to market. She’d always be glad he’d stopped by the circus on a whim. Their courtship had been brief but sweet, and after their wedding, they’d enjoyed a healthy degree of passion. Was it so wrong that she now felt a stirring for someone else?
You’re still a young woman, my sweet. Don’t chastise yourself for normal human feelings.
Of course. Micah had always been the practical one. “I’m sorry,” Connor repeated. “The squire said he fell?”
“From the hayloft.” She sighed. “He’d gone up to rescue an injured bird, but it flew in his face and made him stumble. I was right there, but there was nothing I could do. His neck was broken in the fall.”
“Tragic.” Even over the engine, she heard genuine sympathy in Connor’s deep voice.
“Yes.” She choked back a sob. Typical Micah—he’d given his life for an animal that hadn’t even appreciated it.
For a long while Connor shoveled coal in silence. Belinda basked in it, unused to constant conversation. Then she glanced ahead and saw the row of horses stretched across the road. Her throat went dry and she had to try twice to yell to Connor, “Bloody hell, he’s called out the army. They’ve cordoned off the road.”
* * *
Shite. Connor shoveled in one last load of coal then went to join Belinda in the driver’s box. He pointed to the controls. “Which levers do what?”
She spit out the answers in a long, barely coherent jumble.
“Good. Now go hide in the cabin, and don’t make any noise.” He eased in behind her and reached for the throttle, his hand briefly grazing hers as he took control. A tremor coursed through his skin at that minimal touch and he knew he had to see more of the unorthodox widow.
“Be careful. We don’t know how much the squire has told them.” She lingered in the doorway.
“I’ll be fine. Go.” He waved her toward the midsection of the caravan, a miniature sleeping compartment similar to a Pullman berth. He thought the whole thing was quite clever and looked forward to showing it to his grandfather and sister, who shared a love for all things mechanical. And Wink, of course. Odd how now she was an afterthought, not in the forefront of his mind. Maybe time did heal some wounds.
As Connor slowed before the blockade, he cast a small spell on his person, hoping it was good enough.
Two minutes later, the wagon drew even with the wooden barricades, and the officer in charge motioned for Connor to stop, flashing a pistol. After easing the huge vehicle to a precarious halt, Connor slid his own revolver from his belt and kept it in his left hand while he cranked down the window with his right.
“Is there something wrong, Major?” Connor hoped the officer saw a younger man, slimmer and with light brown hair.
“We’re searching for a fugitive.” A burly fellow with bristly muttonchops coated with ice leaned in the window. “And just what the bloody hell is a circus caravan doing all alone at this time of night?”
“Not that I should have to explain myself, but it’s a birthday gift for my brother-in-law, Baron Findl
ay of Torkholm.” Connor arched a brow in an obnoxious parody of an aristocrat’s sneer. He could do snooty with the best of them when he wanted to. “Magnus has an odd fascination with steam machines.”
“Torkholm? Isn’t that in the islands? You’re not going to be able to drive that there.” The sergeant had approached and stuck his head in as well.
Connor shrugged. “He’s visiting friends over near Bellston. How he gets it to the island is his problem.”
The sergeant eyed Connor grimly. “Who are you? You don’t look like gentry.” He raked his eyes over Connor’s filthy face and shirt.
“Sir Thomas Hadrian,” he replied, shamelessly stealing his best friend’s name along with his appearance. “And you’d be filthy too in this thing.”
The major grunted. “We’re searching for a fugitive, Sir Thomas. Have you seen a woman, fleeing on foot or horseback along this road?”
“Not a soul out and about but me,” Connor said. “Wouldn’t expect a woman alone could get too far in this. Might want to check that inn I passed a few miles back.”
“We already have,” the sergeant growled. “You sure she didn’t sneak on board with you?”
Connor snorted. “My stallion is in the back. I assure you, he’d have let me know quite loudly if anyone had invaded his territory.” Which would have been true if Mephistopheles was really here. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m expected to have this ridiculous thing to Kay’s Tower by first light. Happy hunting.”
Sergeant Mustachio looked like he wanted to argue, but the major held up a hand, sending Connor on his way.
Nodding farewell, Connor cranked up the window and eased the throttle forward, setting the wagon in motion again. The horsemen moved around him, maintaining their soggy vigil on the road.
“We may not wish to stop at the next tavern,” he said as Belinda returned to the front. “I’ll shovel some more coal, but when we reach the edge of the next town, we’ll switch again. They may have warned someone to be on watch.”
Cards & Caravans Page 4
