“Feeling better?” He sat as well and studied her face. “You look rested, at least.”
She nodded. “I am. Thank you.”
He lifted one eyebrow and that youthful grin quirked his lips. “Oh, you’re more than welcome. Are you sore?”
Belinda felt her skin flush. “A little.” It had been a long time since her body had gotten that sort of exercise.
Connor kissed her deeply enough to make her bones melt all over again. Then, with a groan, he climbed out of bed. Utterly unconcerned about his nakedness, he strode over to the lavatory screen. “I’ll wash up first, then go make a phone call while you have a quick bath. All right?”
“Fine.” She leaned against the headboard and let her eyes close for a few moments while she waited.
It seemed only a moment later when Connor stood over her with a towel wrapped around his narrow hips, gently shaking her shoulder. “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”
Belinda jolted upright. “Beauty? Ha. Right now I probably look more like the evil crone.”
“Bull.” Connor yanked the covers away and ran an appreciative gaze over her too-full curves as she bolted for the bath. “You look good enough to eat.” He imbued the sensual words with the heat and intensity of a promise.
Barely an hour later, after a hurried breakfast, they were back on the road. It had stopped raining and the countryside was shining and bright. Neither had spoken a word about what had happened the night before, and it wasn’t something Belinda wanted to bellow about over the engine noise.
I’m sorry, Micah. She searched her heart for remorse as she took the controls. Not only had she betrayed her husband’s memory, but she’d been the aggressor. Connor was enough of a gentleman that he would have never initiated their lovemaking. She ought to feel immoral, but the sense of rightness remained. She had relished every second and couldn’t truly regret it.
Her response to Connor had astounded her. Although she’d enjoyed the marriage bed, she’d never missed it to the point of taking a lover. Relations with Micah had been sweet, loving and gentle. Connor’s lovemaking had been none of those. And if she was being honest with herself, nothing had ever felt so good.
It’s all right, Linnie. You’re a young woman yet, and I wasn’t all that young or randy, even when we were wed. You deserve a little fun—and a good man to keep you warm at night.
Micah? She still wasn’t sure he wasn’t a figment of her overactive imagination.
Aye, lassie. ’Tis I. You’ll be getting no scolding from me. You should have moved on with your life years ago. ’Tis more than time.
But I love you. It wasn’t past tense. She still loved Micah—just—perhaps not in the same way she had, or thought she had. He’d been twenty years her senior, always her teacher, her caretaker, never her partner or equal.
Aye, there you have it. You’re your own woman now and you need a man who can stand beside you, not before you. She could all but feel Micah’s big, work-roughened hand on her hair. Stop worrying about me. It’s time for me to move on.
Move on? She wanted to ask him more about this afterlife, but that seemed selfish and unimportant compared to just talking to him.
Aye, pass to the other side. My Emily is waiting and our little Julia.
Weeks ago, she’d have felt a pang about Micah wanting to go to his first wife and the daughter they’d shared. Now she thought perhaps it was right. She’d had him for long enough—he’d helped her grow from an idealistic girl who wanted a more rooted life than the circus into a competent, self-reliant woman. Perhaps it was time for him to go home. She only had one question. But what will I do?
She felt, rather than heard his familiar chuckle. The Knights will help you. They employ gifted women, you know. You may well find a place amongst them. At the least, they can help you sell the farm and buy a cottage somewhere else. Perhaps they’ll even help you publish those stories you’ve been scribbling at for years.
Knights? She knew Connor had been knighted, but this sounded different. She made a note to ask Connor about it later. Meanwhile, she pondered Micah’s words. Perhaps she would make an effort to get her children’s stories published. She could think of no more rewarding endeavor. She loved her writing, but it had never been more than a private fancy. Before she’d married Micah, she’d never told a living soul about her notebooks. While her grandmother had taught her to read and write, literary pursuits weren’t highly regarded among her troupe.
Aye. Knights. And if you choose to marry and have a family of your own, nothing would make me happier, lass.
But I’m barren.
Another chuckle kissed her spine. Are you? Or was that me, after my bout of fever? Perhaps one day you’ll find out.
“What?” She shrieked that last out loud, forgetting to speak inside her mind. What did he mean she might not be barren? After last night, she had damned well better be.
“Everything all right over there?” Connor called from around the divider.
“Fine. Just thought I saw a deer in the road.” It was the first lie she could think of. Dissembling had never been her strong suit, despite being trained by her fortune-telling grandmother to gull the customers.
“Well, keep an eye out. They’re pretty bold around here, though the noise should scare them away.” He started whistling an old folk song, and she absently began to hum along.
Micah?
There was no answer. She was on her own. Squaring her shoulders as she drove, she smiled. She was up to the task. No more looking back. It was time for Belinda to take charge of her own destiny.
While Connor whistled, she sang along, the clanking and wheezing of the engine adding a staccato counterpoint to their melody. Overall, it was so awful, she couldn’t help but laugh.
“Let me know when we pass a low stone wall,” he called after they’d been on the road about an hour and a half. “We turn right at the next lane.”
“We’re coming up on a wall now,” she told him. “There’s a pedestal at the corner, with something on the top. A lion, perhaps? No, it’s a dog of some kind.” It was hard to tell since the gray granite statue was so old.
“A Scottish deerhound. My family’s been breeding them for centuries.” He dumped another shovelful of coal in the boiler. “Turn into the lane and keep going, another mile or so.”
“A mile? From the entrance to the house?” She eased the throttle back and made the wide half circle necessary to turn the cumbersome wagon. “Just how wealthy is your family?” The vehicle barely fit between the two stone pillars. Off to the left, she thought she saw a small gatehouse.
“Hell, I don’t know. Rich enough.” He heaped one last shovelful of coal in to the boiler and then came to stand beside her. “Home sweet home. Legend has it that when Camelot fell, Arthur’s Knights spread out over the island, each settling in a different part of Britain, to oversee and protect it. Sir Kay, Arthur’s foster brother, came here and built his tower, not far from the Scottish lowland home of his wife. Hence the name Kay’s Tower. The current castle only dates to the twelfth century but there are traces of the older one in the foundations and the curtain wall. Sir Kay is also the root of the name MacKay.”
“You’re suggesting the legends of King Arthur are real, and that you’re a direct descendant of Sir Kay?” She couldn’t keep the skepticism from her voice. This was more unbelievable than one of her fairy stories. “Is your grandfather an earl then? Maybe a duke?”
“Ah, no, just a baronet.” He gave her a silly grin. “It’s the same for most of the families within the Order. The only duke is Lord Trowbridge. His family name is Lake, or du Lac, if you will. Marquess Drood, from ‘druid,’ is descended from Merlin.”
“Lancelot and Merlin.” Funny, Connor didn’t look like a lunatic. But his story was utterly absurd, although Micah had said something about an Order.
“Of course. A few of the gifts have passed through daughters, so not all the names are dead giveaways. Baron Northland’s surname is Hadrian, for example,
and his home is in Northumberland, adjoining the ancient wall. I think Sir Tristram was his ancestor.” They passed by a handful of cottages, and when people ran out to look, Connor leaned out the window and waved.
After a few more minutes, he pointed to the top of the hill they were presently climbing. “Watch. As soon as we crest the hill, you’ll see Kay’s Tower. It’s a beautiful sight, if I do say so myself.” The look on his face was so happy and carefree, she almost let herself relax and feel excited too—especially when he looped a casual arm around her waist. “And it’s built to withstand torches and pitchforks, even if your squire and alderman manage to follow us.”
He seemed so youthful—laughing and joking about the most serious of subjects. And then she looked into his eyes. Beneath the ready smile was such steely, lethal intent, that she caught her breath. This was no stripling, despite his jovial nature. He’d proved that when he broke her out of gaol and in bed last night. Suddenly, she wondered what he’d done to be knighted at such an early age. Under the winsome grin and easy banter, this man was a warrior.
“Look ahead.” His voice thickened and deepened. His gaze fairly smoldered as he ran his eyes down her body from head to feet. The muscles of his shoulders tensed. A glance down at his trousers confirmed his lust.
Her skin quivered. That he still wanted her after last night caused a little thrill to dance in her belly.
“You’ll see the castle in just a moment or two.” After a short pause, he said, “There.”
“Oh.” She gazed out at the castle from a fairy story, the kind she wrote in her notebooks. It wasn’t white or daintily built, but made of a dark gray stone, with stout walls topped by turrets. The outbuildings stood off to one side, and the whole compound was circled by a low curtain wall and a stream that forked around the castle to form a moat. A footbridge arched over it to the front door of the tower itself, while a heavier drawbridge gave access to the court, where several children ran about, throwing a ball with a number of giant dogs, just like the one on the statue. The vista managed to convey power and hominess all at once. “It’s...amazing,” she said. “Lovely.”
“It’s home, that’s the main thing.” He squeezed her waist. “Pull up right in front of the drawbridge. We might as well park this thing in the yard now, rather than make someone move it later.” He dashed back to shovel several more scoops of coal. When she reached the drawbridge leading to the court and stopped, he kissed her cheek and hopped out.
He waved at the man in a squat tower guarding the gate. “Laren, I’m home. Let me in.”
“Master Connor. What the ‘ell ‘ave you there?” Even as he spoke, he pulled a lever and the mechanical winch lowered the bridge with a rumble. “Come on in, then. Your grandmother’s worrying a mite that you wouldn’t make it in time.”
“Just a mite, eh?” Connor laughed as he walked across the bridge and was immediately mobbed by the children. “Come now, out of the way. Let the lady in the gates, you little monsters.” He picked up a small boy and plopped him over his shoulders, then held a smaller girl against his chest before motioning to Belinda to drive on in.
“Gage, let’s go open the hay barn doors,” he yelled to a servant who’d come running out of the house. “Should be room for this monstrosity inside, shouldn’t there?”
“Aye.” The servant ran across the yard, while Connor handed off the little children to some older ones, and sent them scurrying out of the way of the wagon.
Soon, Belinda had the wagon parked in the barn, and Connor was there to help her down. He opened the back, grabbed her cloak and placed it around her shoulders, then allowed Lucifer to follow them out. At the sight of the dogs, Lucifer puffed up and hissed, but none of the enormous hounds approached too closely. “Someone please see to the mule in the back of the wagon,” Connor called over his shoulder as he took her arm. “His name is Nick.”
“Aye, sir,” chorused a handful of voices.
“Well, Mrs. Danvers, are you ready to meet my family?” As they approached the side door of the tower, it burst open and two pretty young women scurried out to grab Connor and hug him, chattering excitedly.
Belinda felt a stab of jealousy, before she noted the resemblance between the redhead and Connor. Another woman, in her fifties perhaps, who looked much like the darker of the girls, stood in the doorway holding a fair-haired infant. The man beside her could be Connor in another fifty years. They both arched eyebrows when they saw Belinda, but to their credit, neither smile wavered.
“Let’s move this inside.” Connor shooed the younger women toward the door. “And we could use baths. That caravan isn’t the cleanest thing to drive.”
“Tea first, in the kitchen,” the woman who had to be Connor’s mother decreed. “Then baths. Your grandmother wants to see your face and reassure herself that you’re still among the living.”
Connor bit his lip, making her turn to see what was wrong. “Nan worries,” he whispered with a shrug. He kept Belinda’s hand in his as they followed his parents inside.
Once they’d been ushered into a big, cheerful breakfast room, they were joined by a still-spry elderly couple, and served tea and scones. Connor kissed his mother and grandmother, hugged the older man, then sat beside Belinda to make the introductions.
“Belinda, meet my grandparents, Sir William and Lady MacKay. Nan’s first name is Evelyn, as opposed to my mother, also Lady MacKay, whose name is Maura. Awkward, having several generations of Knights in the family—but there you go.” He presented her to his family with as much dignity as if she were a queen.
Belinda smiled and nodded as Connor wolfed down scone after scone and rattled on. The tea was heavenly—a far better quality than she’d ever been able to afford¬—so she sipped it slowly, letting the taste coat her tongue. “These two hoydens are my sisters, Geneva, Lady Findlay and Miss Melody MacKay. The small fry is my nephew, Garrick.” Connor lifted the little boy from his mother’s arms and gave his grandfather a serious look even as he cuddled the babe. Watching him with the child brought a lump to Belinda’s throat.
Belinda greeted each one, her head swimming. Several curious eyes were raised to her, but at least they were all unfailingly polite.
“Connor explained the situation on the telephone this morning,” Sir William said. “I understand you’re in grave danger, young lady.”
“Yes, sir.” Belinda met the old gentleman’s eyes. “I’m sorry to bring it to your house.”
“My father will be along in an hour or two,” Connor said. “We’ll talk more once he arrives. Meanwhile, Grandfather, I want you to offer Belinda formal sanctuary on behalf of the Order. I suspect the men who want her dead won’t give up easily.”
“Did you do it?” Connor’s grandmother asked in a matter-of-fact tone, as if questioning someone about murder was part of everyday conversation. She also passed a plate of scones toward Belinda.
“And if you did, was there a good reason?” That was the younger sister, Melody. The two sisters were both lovely young women but very different. Geneva was tall, with auburn curls like Connor and Sir William, while Melody was petite and dark like her mother. Both seemed to have hearty appetites, undiminished by the turmoil Belinda had brought to their home. Apparently Connor’s enjoyment of sweets was a family trait.
Several of the others began to talk at once. Belinda nibbled on a lemon scone, but her stomach was so tied up in knots she could barely swallow solid food.
“She didn’t do it.” Connor’s voice cut through the chatter and he wrapped an arm around Belinda’s shoulders. “It was a cholera outbreak. They’re claiming death by witchcraft.”
“Well, that’s just silly.” It was the older Lady MacKay who shook her silver head. “No self-respecting witch would resort to something so erratic, not when they could simply induce heart failure or a convenient accident. More likely, the silly people fouled their own well or drank from a contaminated stream.” She gave Belinda an assessing stare. “Are you a witch, dear?”
&nbs
p; Belinda shrugged. “I am Romany. I can read cards, tea leaves and such. My herbal tinctures work well for coughs and bruises.” That was the extent of her power. In some places, that would be enough to get her hanged as a witch.
“She doesn’t have the kind of power to cast that sort of spell,” Connor said to his grandfather. “Surely you can see that?”
“Of course.” The older man nodded. “I spoke to Fergus half an hour ago and he concurs that the situation is bollixed up. I’ll go give the order to seal the gates.”
Belinda gaped. They would do that before they’d even spoken to her? Tears pricked at her eyes as Connor’s mother stood and took her arm. Only reluctantly did Connor nod and let go of Belinda’s hand.
“Come along, Mrs. Danvers. Why don’t you let me show you to a room?” With that, Belinda found herself separated from Connor. One look in the younger Lady MacKay’s eyes told Belinda that she, at least, would have no qualms throwing a stranger to the dogs if it meant protecting her son. Belinda couldn’t fault her for that.
Belinda returned the strained social smile and followed along. Only once she was alone in a sumptuous guest room did she shiver and hold Lucifer close to her chest.
* * *
Shortly after noon, Connor looked around the MacKays’ dining table at his family. Only the adults were present, and the doors had been shut even to the servants. This was less of a luncheon and more a council of war. More than one eyebrow had been lifted at Belinda being included, but Connor wasn’t about to let them get away with snubbing her. He had plans. What had been a germ of an idea last night was now fully developed. The only one who would have the power to change his mind was Belinda, and he fully intended to win her approval. He reached under the table and squeezed her thigh, just for the pleasure of touching her, even through layers of skirts and petticoats.
“After you phoned this morning, I had Alisdair search parish court records and local newspapers,” Fergus said about halfway through the main course. “You were right. There have been a number of other witch trials in a handful of small villages in the south of Scotland and the north of England. As far as our records indicate, none of those executed was known to have significant magickal ability. Many of those accused were Romany, Hebrew or immigrants. We might be looking at some kind of religious crusade or attempt to rid England of immigrants. Furthermore, one known wizard—a man who has assisted the Order in the past—has also gone missing near Newcastle. His mother was from New Delhi, which matches up with the other victims. Our findings indicate that something on a larger scale is going on.”
Cards & Caravans Page 6
