Cards & Caravans

by Cindy Spencer Pape

  “It really does appear to be a hunt and I don’t think they care how they get rid of the so-called witches. I don’t believe the charges and trials are being handled in a legal manner,” Connor said. “I’d like the Home Office to invalidate Belinda’s death sentence as soon as possible. There’s no way she has the power, let alone the desire to cause a cholera outbreak.” Odd how it had never occurred to him she might be guilty of something, if not actual witchcraft. Yes, her gift was a soft shimmer rather than the hot glow of real power, but that was no guarantee a person was good. Something in him rejected the idea of Belinda being evil. Certainly her fear had been genuine when she’d been planning to kill herself rather than be burned and again when she’d offered to flee alone, on foot, rather than put him in harm’s way. He shuddered at either thought. The world would be just a little less bright without Belinda in it.

  “At the very least, she deserves a proper trial,” William, Connor’s grandfather, said. He shot Belinda the piercing gaze Connor knew all too well from childhood, the one that William’s children and grandchildren swore could see into your soul. “Why don’t you tell us what happened, Mrs. Danvers? Why do you believe you were accused?”

  Belinda repeated her tale is a calm, no-nonsense voice, her spine straight and her eyes on William. Connor slid his hand under the table again, this time to cover hers, which were knotted together in her lap, her only obvious sign of discomfort as she recounted what he already knew about her arrest and incarceration.

  “With regard to why,” she said at the end, “all I have is supposition. I will say that one of our village aldermen, Mr. Ian Douglas, is a vindictive brute. He’s always believed that because I was a gypsy, I ought to be...available, particularly after I became a widow. I managed to avoid his veiled suggestions and snide propositions for several years, largely by pretending not to notice and by staying away from the man, even though I was a friend of his wife’s. Last spring, his wife passed away in childbirth, leaving behind a baby girl and an older boy. Over the summer, Douglas renewed his attentions to me, growing more and more insistent that I become his mistress. Three weeks ago, he came out to my farm and cornered me in the barn.”

  Connor saw red, literally. A crimson haze filmed his vision for a moment.

  “Were you able to escape?” Geneva asked, the compassion that made her such a good doctor evident in her gaze. Connor could have hugged her for her kindness to his bedraggled blackbird.

  “Yes.” Belinda’s smile held a grim resolution. “I hit him over the head with a water bucket and kicked him in the privates.”

  “Good for you.” Connor squeezed her hand. “So he went away?”

  She nodded. “I ran and locked myself in the house. After that, I let it be known that I carried Micah’s revolver with me to guard against ‘snakes’ in the barn and fields.”

  “Go on,” Fergus said. “What happened then?”

  “About ten days after that, his four-year-old son Johnny died of cholera, along with two other children in the village. His cousin, Mr. Engle, arrived in time for the funeral. In less than a week, he proclaimed himself a bona fide witch-finder, and managed to convince the entire village that I caused the epidemic to punish the alderman for coming out to the farm to discuss the perilous state of my soul.” She used a deep voice on the last few words, obviously quoting the so-called witch-finder.

  Connor forced down his temper and asked, “And the magistrate, Squire MacLellan, how does he come into this?”

  “He and the alderman have been friends since their school days. For what it’s worth, I think the squire actually believes I’m a witch, unlike the alderman, who bloody well knows better.” She wrenched one hand away from his and clapped it over her mouth. “Pardon my language, my ladies.”

  “Not to worry, dear,” Evelyn said. “We understand that you’re exhausted and overwrought from you ordeal.”

  Belinda shook her head. “Still, that’s no excuse for poor behavior. Thank you for your indulgence.”

  “It sounds like sufficient grounds for requesting an appeal to be heard by the High Court,” William said. “I’ll telephone the Home Office and begin the process. Connor, Fergus, after the party tomorrow, I’d like you to continue to look into this witch-finder business. If we have someone deliberately killing off people with talents, we need to know about it.”

  “Yes, sir.” Connor tipped his head to his grandfather.

  “Of course,” Fergus said. “One thing that might be a problem, here, Father, is that the squire Connor talked to was correct on one count. Witchcraft is still defined on the books as a parish matter. Legally, if they find her before the appeal is granted, they could have standing to carry out the sentence. We’ll need to keep Mrs. Danvers well hidden for the time being.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that.” Connor drew in a deep breath. “Also, based on that, she may not have formal grounds for an appeal, which would be a nightmare.”

  “True, unfortunately.” William studied Connor’s face. “What’s your solution?”

  Connor looked around the table, then at Belinda. “I believe Belinda and I should marry, immediately.”

  Belinda choked on her tea.

  Around the table, shocked silence reigned. Connor patted her on the back until she stopped coughing.

  “You’re mad,” she finally sputtered once she’d gasped in some air.

  Everyone else seemed to hold their breath.

  Finally, Evelyn nodded. “He’s right. It’s the perfect solution”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Maura turned to Connor’s father for support. “Tell him, Fergus. This is lunacy.”

  Fergus, however, looked across at his own mother. “Are you certain?”

  Evelyn shrugged. “It’s the Sight, not a science. But Connor is a grown man with a sharp mind and fine instincts. Don’t discount them because he’s young.”

  “The Sight?” Belinda gawked at Evelyn. “Marriage? This entire family is full of Bedlamites. And I’m the one accused of witchcraft?”

  William smiled at her. “While it must seem that way, I assure you, we’re all sane, at least for the most part. Since you have some magickal talent of your own, I don’t know why you’d be surprised that my wife inherited a touch of precognition.” He laced one gnarled hand through his wife’s and she smiled at him sweetly. Connor wanted what they had—or at least something close.

  Belinda conceded with a tip of her head.

  William continued, every inch the patriarch. “From a legal standpoint, Connor’s conclusion is valid. The arrest warrants and trial documents are for a widow named Danvers, who lives in Shadwick. A change of name and address, at the very least, will muddy jurisdiction enough to insure that the High Court will be forced to sort things out. Frankly, with our family’s connections, the High Court will most likely dismiss the case at that stage, based on my recommendations. I’m frequently called in to consult on supernatural offenses. That’s one of the main duties of the Order.”

  Connor’s mother and sisters began shouting denials and arguments, while his grandparents gazed at Connor and Belinda. Fergus simply patted his wife’s shoulder and looked troubled. Connor gripped Belinda’s hand, his spine rigid.

  Finally, Fergus cleared his throat. “Are you sure, son?”

  “Yes.” Connor had thought this through and hadn’t a doubt in his mind. Without releasing her hand, he dropped down on one knee. “I am entirely certain, both that she is innocent and that we’ll be content. Belinda, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  “You’re barking mad.” She shook her head and looked around at the others. “Every one of you. You’re all stark, raving insane.”

  “No,” Connor said, her hand still clutched in his. “The fact that Nan agrees with me is proof enough of the necessity. I spent most of last night and all day today thinking about your situation. I truly think our marrying is the best possible solution.”

  “Best for me, perhaps, but certainly not for you. To star
t, we don’t love each other,” she said, her voice rising more than she probably liked. “We hardly know one another. I’m Rom. I’m also older than you, and a widow, and barren.”

  “I couldn’t give a fig if you’re a couple years older than me, or about your heritage.” Connor refused to be swayed. “As for love?” He shrugged. “It will grow, I expect. I already like you and care for you. That’s a better foundation than many couples start out with.” He’d been madly in love once and lived to regret it. From their scattered conversations, he’d pieced together a little of her background. Her parents had died when she was young, so she’d been raised by her grandparents, the lion tamer and fortune-teller for the circus. Belinda clearly possessed some of her grandmother’s talent, but had never truly developed it. She’d married a man many years her senior and loved him dearly. Connor hated that he was jealous of a dead man.

  But Belinda was very much alive, and she deserved a second chance at life. Buried in a tiny hamlet, denying who and what she was—that was no way to live. Even if their futures weren’t destined to be together, Connor had the wherewithal to offer her more opportunity. His family had the power to make the trumped-up charges of witchcraft go away. The Order of the Round Table wasn’t an organization to be denied.

  Everyone was silent, the future hanging on her answer. He leaned up and kissed her cheek. “Well? We’re all waiting.”

  “I’m barren,” she blurted, dragging in a deep breath as she reiterated her main argument. “You’re the only son and heir to all of this.” Her free hand fluttered about, indicating the keep around them.

  “You don’t know that for sure,” he said. “We’ll just take our chances like any other couple. I wasn’t going to say this in front of everyone, but you know very well that we may have already disproved that notion.”

  Another round of gasps filled the room.

  Belinda let out a wordless shriek that rang of pure frustration and yanked her hand from his. “What will it take before you get it through your thick head? I’m barren. No children. You need a son. Forget about last night and find yourself a nice, normal girl to marry.” She sank her face into her hands as they all stared at her. “Good heavens.” She groaned and stared down at the floor. “I can’t believe I said that out loud. Do you think crawling under the table is a viable option? It seems I’m as much a lunatic as you are.”

  “I don’t want a nice normal girl.” Despite the seriousness of the situation, Connor found himself having fun. “Can you imagine some simpering debutante putting up with this lot? I want you. And if we don’t have children, so be it. There are cousins to inherit. Or one of their sons.” He made a sweeping gesture toward his sisters. “The Order is kind of flexible about succession. Having the power is just as important as the whole primogeniture thing.”

  “You may as well give in.” Melody began to giggle. “Belinda, if you don’t suppose you’ve anything to wear, I think we can alter something of mine. We’re about the same height.”

  “Are you sure you’re barren?” Geneva asked at almost the same moment. “Is it a medical diagnosis or just because you didn’t have children with your late husband? I’d be happy to talk to you about that in private, even examine you, if you don’t mind. Obstetrics was one of my specialties when I was in practice.”

  Belinda gaped at Connor’s sisters. “Are all of you deaf? I have not agreed to marry Sir Connor. And while I appreciate the offers, I do not need borrowed clothing or a medical examination from a total stranger. None of that is relevant as there will be no wedding.”

  Evelyn pursed her lips and studied Belinda’s face. “Connor has a touch of my gift along with his own. If he thinks you’ve conceived, it’s very likely true.”

  “In one bloody night?” Fergus cursed. “With a woman under your protection? Son, I’m disappointed in you.”

  “It was my—” Belinda began, but stopped when Connor lifted a finger to her lips.

  Connor squeezed her hand. “You’re shouting, love. And of course we’re going to be married. You didn’t really think I’d have...” He glanced at his mother and younger sister and grinned, then dropped his tone to a whisper. “Anyway, I’d assumed my intentions were perfectly clear. It doesn’t matter who made the first overture. I made the choice of my own free will. I’d already more or less decided on this course of action. Now agree, so we can move forward.”

  “All that was clear was that you’re a lunatic with a glib tongue and a gift for lighting candles.” She sighed, looking at Connor with wide eyes. He could see her resolution start to waver in the chocolate-colored depths. “You’re certain?”

  He nodded. “I’ve never been more convinced of anything in my life.” Oddly it was true. Not even when he’d proposed to Wink last summer. Perhaps he had known deep down that she wasn’t for him.

  * * *

  There were several nods around the table, and another round of chatter involving how and when the wedding should be held. Since the laws were much more lax in Scotland than in England, the wedding could be held here at the house, and within the day.

  Belinda suppressed a sob. This whole situation couldn’t be real. They were all Bedlamites. Then she made the mistake of looking into Connor’s eyes.

  It wasn’t the boyish, laughing Connor she saw there. Lurking behind those clear blue orbs was a man, fully grown, deadly serious and full of intent.

  She shivered despite the warmth of the room and then looked around at his family. There was so much strength in this room, so much love. Yes, they were all clearly deranged, but they were the kindest, most engaging and most powerful lunatics she’d ever met, even his mother, who still looked as if she’d been served tainted milk with her tea. Belinda looked back at Connor. Bless him, he meant every single word. Suddenly, three years’ difference in age didn’t seem like such a barrier.

  She couldn’t hear Micah’s voice, not like she had in the wagon, but she felt his presence, urging her on. She could see his kind face grinning at her as if to say, you know you want him.

  May all the gods help her, she did. If he regretted it later, she’d leave him, fake her death and move to America, run off and join another circus or find some other way to set him free. She took a deep breath and nodded. “All right. Someone with sense has to take you in hand.”

  Connor stood, lifting her off her feet in a hug and whirling her around in circles. “Oh, blackbird, you can take me in hand anytime you like.” Everyone laughed and Belinda flushed at the open innuendo. In front of his sisters, parents and grandparents, no less. Yet none of them looked horrified.

  Bedlamites, indeed. But life with him would never be dull. She’d had her fill of dull, living alone on her farm in that disapproving village. The chance to become part of this crazy, cheerful family was quite possibly the best thing to have happened to her in many, many years, maybe even her entire life.

  “Well, with that decided, I’ll call the vicar. Maura, one of your gowns might be a better fit for the girl. Melody’s a little...slimmer. Easier to take in the waist than to let out the....” Evelyn waved a hand in the general area of her bosom before turning back to Belinda. “I assume you didn’t pack anything for evening?”

  “No, because I was rather occupied fleeing for my life.” Blast it, when would she learn to curb her tongue? It wasn’t as if she’d owned anything resembling an evening gown anyway.

  “Sensible, indeed.” Evelyn laughed. “Never mind. My maid, Estelle, can work magick with a needle and miracles with hair. I’m sure between us, we can find you a proper dress to be married in. You’ll make a stunning bride. Right, Maura?”

  Maura gave a perfunctory nod. “Of course.” She left the table, followed closely by her younger daughter.

  “Some of the guests for tomorrow’s party were arriving this afternoon,” Sir William said. “Additional witnesses wouldn’t come amiss, especially Merrick and the Lakes.”

  Belinda had no idea who those people were, so she looked to Connor.

  “Lords
Northland, Lake, Drood and the Duke of Trowbridge,” he said. “All close friends of the family. With witnesses like that, no one would ever be able to deny the wedding took place and was legally in order.”

  Belinda nodded, unable to dispute the logic of that. Her head was swimming. Three lords and a duke? She was so far out of her depth she wasn’t sure she’d ever find her feet again.

  Evelyn got up and came over to give Belinda a warm hug. “Welcome to the family, my dear. I think it’s lovely that my only grandson is getting married almost on my diamond anniversary.”

  “Anniversary?” She swallowed hard—this was the first she’d heard of that. The couple both looked younger than the near-eighty they must be to be Fergus’s parents. They also looked at each other with so much love and devotion it nearly took her breath away. Was she making the biggest mistake of her life by marrying a man she didn’t love, who didn’t love her? It didn’t bear thinking about. “Congratulations, my lady, Sir William. Sixty years is an impressive feat.”

  “It’s tomorrow,” Connor said. “In fact, wouldn’t it be a treat if we held our ceremony just after midnight, so it would properly be tomorrow? Then our anniversary would be the same as theirs.”

  His grandmother beamed. “Which gives us a lovely explanation if asked why you had such a quick and quiet ceremony. Well thought.”