Cards & Caravans

by Cindy Spencer Pape

  “Are you from Ireland, Sir Liam?” Belinda asked the Scotland Yard superintendent. “I believe that’s a trace of brogue in your voice.”

  “I am, originally,” he said. “I haven’t been back in some time. My home’s in London now, with my wife.” He shared a tender look with Wink. Almost too swiftly to be seen, each of them shot a concerned glance at Connor.

  Connor appeared to ignore the looks, but he took a deep drink of his champagne and swallowed hard. Up and down the table other eyes glanced nervously his way.

  Belinda shouldn’t have been hurt. Anything between Connor and Wink was clearly over, as she obviously adored her husband. Had she left Connor a disappointed suitor? Belinda tested out the idea and decided it fit, no matter how unpalatable the idea was to her. Poor Connor. No wonder he didn’t care who he married at this point. He was in love with a woman who was not only married, but obviously head over heels for her husband.

  Belinda squeezed Connor’s thigh beneath the table. Very well. She would do her best to make him happy, or at least content. Even if they never fell in love, they would have friendship and passion. That would have to be enough.

  * * *

  Connor fiddled with the thick gold band, which was a bit loose on his finger. He hoped to hell it was from his family vault and not Belinda’s first husband. Her hand rested on his thigh under the tablecloth, and he laced his fingers through hers, rubbing his thumb against the ruby he’d placed on her finger earlier. It had been a perfect choice, matching the red trim on her gown and the simple jewels she wore on her throat and earlobes. Once again, Nan’s intuition had been right on track.

  After dinner, Connor and Belinda were expected to lead the dancing. There’d been no time to hire an orchestra, so a mechanical piano had been dragged into the great hall, which was decorated with flowers and candles. The villagers had been invited, and those servants or neighbors with instruments and talent had been pressed into service. Fortunately, the hastily assembled ensemble wasn’t too bad, especially when Nell began to sing an old Scottish love song. Connor took Belinda’s hand. “Shall we, wife?”

  “Of course, husband.”

  He’d been waiting to hold her like this all day. She fit in his arms perfectly, and waltzing with her around the floor was a nearly dreamlike experience. “Are you sure we can’t leave yet?” he whispered in her ear, making her giggle.

  “Soon, I hope.” She gave him a wry smile as he spun her slowly. “The last few days have been exhausting to say the least. Your family is wonderful, but it’s been years since I’ve been accustomed to crowds, and my recent experiences haven’t been positive. I look forward to not having dozens of pairs of eyes on me.”

  Hmm. Connor hadn’t been thinking of sleeping once he finally got his bride alone. He hoped he could convince her to stay awake just a little longer. Was it truly only last night she’d been in a cell, awaiting execution? The idea made something hurt, deep in his chest. What a terrible waste of a vibrant life that would have been. What a loss it would have been to Connor, one he might have never even known about.

  They’d just finished their wedding dance and bowed to the company, when something or someone began to pound on the wide double doors of the old hall, which had once been the main entrance to the Tower.

  “More guests?” Unwilling to let Belinda go, Connor held her there in the center of the floor, while a liveried footman eased open one of the doors and Ewan, the butler, poked his stately gray head out the door. “May I help you?”

  The elderly butler was shoved roughly into the room, followed by five men, all bearing pistols. Three of the men were familiar, including Squire MacLellan, Major Mustachio and his sergeant, Muttonchops. The others included a bruiser in an elegant black coat and a thinner man with the look of an aesthete. That must be the witch-finder Belinda had spoken of. All five focused their gazes and their weapons on Belinda.

  The thin man with the hooked nose fairly quivered with anticipation. “We’re here for that woman,” he bellowed. “I have a legal warrant for the arrest and execution of Mrs. Belinda Danvers.”

  “Hand over the prisoner if you please,” said the major. Both soldiers looked acutely uncomfortable, but their staunch expressions spoke of a determination to do their duty, however unpleasant. “We don’t need any trouble, now, do we? Then you can get on with your party.”

  “I’m afraid you’re mistaken.” Connor glared the squire down, but with his peripheral vision, he noted movements among the crowd. Subtly, the men tucked their women and children behind them and a few lifted wine bottles or other makeshift weapons. Some of the women, like Dorothy Hadrian and Wink, refused to be tucked and closed in around Belinda and Connor. Miss Dorothy produced a small pistol from the pocket of her skirt and Wink seemed to have nicked one of the antique swords off the wall near the hearth.

  “No mistake, boy. The warrant’s legal, all right. Signed it myself.” The squire quivered with outraged dignity.

  “But this lady isn’t Mrs. Danvers. Gentlemen, allow me to present Lady Connor MacKay.” He lifted Belinda’s hand to show off the ring. “So unless your warrant has that name on it, I’m afraid your journey has been wasted.”

  “A hasty wedding doesn’t change her guilt.” Ignoring the menacing stares of the assembled Knights and other men of power, the alderman and his henchmen pushed forward. “She’s coming with us.”

  “I think not.” The voice of Lord Drood, the Order’s top wizard, rang out, the authority in his tone so potent that he must have been augmenting it with magick. Even the squire stepped back and turned his eyes to the sorcerer.

  “All cases of witchcraft, or magickal crimes of any nature, in the realm are under the jurisdiction of the Home Office.” The duke strode into the center of the room. “You may present your petition to the Superior Court in Edinburgh, but these charges are not under your jurisdiction.”

  The soldiers bowed and back away. The squire snarled, but took a reluctant step toward the door. The witch-finder stalked forward.

  “That bitch murdered my son,” the bruiser, who must be Alderman Douglas, bellowed. Without further word, he raised his double-barreled pistol and aimed at Belinda.

  Everything seemed to happen at once. Connor tried to step in front of her. She tried to step in front of him. Liam McCullough leaped in front of them both. The first bullet struck his clothes, but when he landed on the stone floor, he was no longer a man in the elegant suit, but an enormous wolf in shredded rags. Then Belinda gave Connor a shove and he cried out as the next bullet struck her and she crumpled to his feet.

  Wink cried Liam’s name and dropped to her knees by her husband’s side as Connor did the same with Belinda. He wrenched off his dinner jacket and pressed it over the blood seeping from the sleeve of her gown.

  “I’ll be all right,” she whispered. “It’s just a graze on my arm.”

  He lifted his coat away and tore the sleeve of her dress to reveal a small crease in the skin of her upper arm, bleeding sluggishly. Inhaling deeply, he reapplied pressure to the wound. Once he could breathe again, he stared down into her dark eyes, fighting back nausea at the thought of having almost lost her so soon. “I don’t care how minimal it is, you shouldn’t have been injured at all. Don’t ever do that again.”

  “Only if you make the same vow.” She tried to smile and winced.

  “Let me see her, brother.” Geneva was there beside him, to examine the wound. Connor looked up to see that the squire, the alderman and the others were rounded up by the Knights and the two soldiers, whose loyalty had apparently changed quickly as events unfolded.

  “The dungeon, Sir William?” Kendall asked. The squire yelped as his arm was twisted behind him.

  Connor’s grandfather shook his head. “Take them to the gaol in town. I don’t want them in my home.”

  The soldiers agreed and were dispatched along with Fergus, Kendall and Merrick Hadrian to see it done.

  The Order families closed around, herding the local people away
from the two injured individuals. Caroline squatted beside Wink and used a penknife to dig the lead ball from Liam’s—the wolf’s—shoulder. Once it was out she held a folded serviette to the wound. “Now shift, Liam. You should be fine afterward.”

  Tom removed his coat and laid it over the wolf, who then shifted back. Liam sat up, drawing Tom’s coat around his waist. “Well, my suit’s ruined, but at least I’ve been seen to by the loveliest ladies here. And I think that should qualify as a wedding gift. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be heading along with the others.”

  “A werewolf?” Belinda gasped as Geneva bandaged her wound. “No wonder this lot didn’t blink about adding a gypsy to the mix.”

  “I told you everything would be fine.” Connor wished he could stop shaking.

  “You’ll be going nowhere but your bed, Liam McCullough,” Wink decreed, visibly shaken. “I know shifting heals you, but it also exhausts your energy. You’re going to take a bath and go to bed.”

  “You might want to consider a bath as well, Wink,” said Dorothy. She’d put away her gun and now her friend, Miss Julian, clutched her arm. “Your dress is soaked with blood.” She patted Miss Julian’s hand. “And yes, Maggie, I think we should retire now as well.” A loving look passed between the two women.

  Belinda choked.

  “Yes, they’re a couple,” Connor whispered. “Are you convinced now that you’ll fit right in with this lot?”

  Caroline laughed and slid over to help Geneva. “Don’t worry, dear. I was a governess and they let me in without a fuss.”

  “I think it’s time for us to take our leave as well, wife.” Connor looked at Genny. “Does she need stitches?”

  Geneva tied off the linen compress she’d placed over the wound. “No, but I want to clean and properly bandage it. I can do that best upstairs in your room.”

  Connor lifted her carefully and carried her to the stairs. Belinda, pale but smiling, waved at the assembled guests. “Get me my bouquet,” she said to Geneva. “Please?”

  “Use your left hand,” Geneva said. But she gestured for a servant to bring it over, while Melody and Nell gathered the unmarried ladies from the village.

  “Can’t we skip that part?” He wanted her bandaged, and he wanted her to himself. Now.

  Belinda shook her head. “It’s tradition.”

  Connor sighed and supported her with one arm around her waist while she tossed the flowers over her shoulder with her undamaged arm. Feminine squeals and giggles followed and he turned to see a blushing housemaid had caught it.

  “There,” Connor said to his bride. “Now can we go upstairs and get you settled.”

  “Yes, husband.” She reached up with her good hand to touch his cheek. “We’ve had enough excitement for our wedding night, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” He kissed her hair. “I intend there to be plenty of excitement once we’re alone, so long as your physician approves.”

  “Ah.” Her skin flushed at the raw promise in his tone. “Suddenly I don’t think I’m fatigued at all.”

  With Geneva and Magnus following behind them, Connor lifted her and carried her along the gallery to another stair, this one an old stone spiral.

  “Your room is in the Tower?” she asked.

  He grinned at her surprised expression. Most of the family bedrooms he’d shown her were in the newer part of the castle. This part hadn’t been modernized nearly as much. Torches burned in wall brackets rather than gaslamps. “It is for now,” he muttered. “There’s just one bedroom in this part of the building.”

  “Excellent choice. As long as there’s a bed and perhaps a washstand, I don’t mind if there are no gaslights, steam heat or running water. Not tonight.”

  “Just wait.”

  Chapter Seven

  The room he carried her into was a surprise. Gaslamps did burn softly, and an open door led to a modern bathing room, not quite as luxurious as in her other room, but still far more than adequate. An arrangement of roses and yellow tulips decorated the heavy wooden chest of drawers. The room, round on three sides, was dominated by an enormous medieval curtained canopy bed. The brocade curtains were open, revealing that the covers had been turned down and a few rose petals had been sprinkled across the crisp white sheets.

  Connor moved to lay her on the mattress, but she stopped him. “Not there. Not until I’m clean.” For heaven’s sake, she wasn’t on death’s doorstep. She could walk all on her own, but he seemed to want to carry her, so she let him.

  Connor glanced at his sister, who had followed them into the room.

  “She can sit.” Geneva rolled her eyes. “In fact, the bathroom will probably be ideal for this.”

  Magnus, who hadn’t said much of anything to Belinda, moved to do his wife’s bidding, lighting the gaslamp in the sumptuous bathing chamber, formed by the one arc walled off from the rest of the room. Magnus smiled at her as Connor carried her past him. “It was a brave thing you did, lass. Connor’s a lucky man.”

  “I am.” Connor settled her on a simple wooden chair set next to the big copper tub. Then he knelt next to her and held her good hand in his. “But don’t be getting any ideas about doing that again.”

  “I’m going to cut away the rest of your sleeve,” Geneva said. “It may hurt.”

  “I’ll manage.” Belinda looked into the doctor’s kind eyes. “I feel awful about ruining this wonderful gown your mother loaned me.”

  “Gave you.” Geneva used sharp scissors to quickly cut away the entire sleeve, while her husband stood behind her, patiently waiting to hand over anything she needed. “It is a shame to have spoiled your wedding gown, though I appreciate you sacrificing it to save my brother’s worthless hide. I suspect there’s some of the fabric stashed away. Estelle will be able to make a new sleeve. Mother’s thrifty like that.”

  Belinda clung to Connor’s hand, trying to focus on Geneva’s chatter about sewing, which was probably what the physician intended. Belinda squeezed hard while the black-edged gouge was cleaned out with carbolic acid and iodine, then wrapped in a tight linen bandage.

  “I can give you some laudanum for the pain,” Geneva said. “Or Nan probably has some willow bark tea around.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Belinda’s arm hurt, but this was still her wedding night, after all. “I’ve been injured before, you know. I’m not made of glass.”

  “Still, I’ll check your arm again first thing in the morning,” Geneva said. She leaned down to kiss Belinda’s cheek. “I’ve finished as your physician. As your sister, I can linger for a few more minutes. Would you like some help getting out of your stays and washed up a bit?”

  “No—” Connor began, but Belinda held up her good hand.

  “I’d like that...sister.” She touched Connor’s cheek. “Please? I’d rather join you in a moment, once the blood is washed away.”

  “All right.” With a kiss to his sister’s cheek, Connor left the bathroom, Magnus close behind.

  “Your husband is an impressive man.” Belinda stood and allowed Geneva to undo the buttons on the back of her gown. “However did you meet the laird of an entire island?”

  “It’s a long, strange story,” Geneva said with a chuckle. “But I adore him, so it was all worth it.” She finished the buttons and helped ease the dress down to Belinda’s waist.

  “Of course you do. And you have a lovely son. How old is Garrick?”

  “Four months. He’s the light of my life.” Geneva seemed to have no qualms about playing lady’s maid and made short work of Geneva’s hoops and corset. “I never expected to marry, so the past year or so has come as a great shock to me as well as my family.”

  “Whyever not?”

  Geneva shook her head. “Not too many men are secure enough to marry a woman physician. That I’ve found one who not only doesn’t mind, but actually helps me? It’s nothing less than astounding. I mean, if I’d loved someone within the Order or one of the Order families, then maybe. But Magnus and
Garrick are just gifts from the gods.”

  “I understand.” Belinda was already beginning to think Connor had been sent by some divine agency to rescue her. Now a child—well, a child would be the greatest gift she could ever imagine. Nonetheless, she wasn’t about to get her hopes up.

  “I still want to examine you sometime,” Geneva said. “It’s so common for male doctors to misdiagnose female reproductive issues.”

  Belinda shrugged. “I never saw a doctor. I was just married for years without conceiving, and my husband—my first husband, that is—had a daughter with his first wife.”

  “That’s still not definitive,” Geneva warned. “If this is the first time you’ve been active since your marriage, you might want to keep track. When were your last menses?”

  A startled laugh escaped Belinda’s throat. “I honestly have no idea. It’s been so long since I had to keep track. Not last week—the week before that perhaps?”

  “Then let me know if you haven’t had them again in a month. You can phone me at Torkholm and we can talk.” Geneva took a washcloth and carefully washed all the blood from Belinda’s bared skin, then helped her out of her shift and into a clean nightgown of sheer champagne-colored silk. It must have been left here by whoever prepared the room. Belinda certainly didn’t recognize it. Finally, Geneva carefully removed the pins and battered flowers from Belinda’s hair. “You look lovely.”

  “Thank you.” Belinda stood—gratified when the world didn’t sway as it had before. “It will be all right if we—well, it is our wedding night.”

  Geneva laughed. “Nothing too acrobatic, and try not to put any strain on the arm. You’ve very lucky it was just a graze and that you weren’t knocked out when your head hit the marble floor.”

  Belinda nodded. She had only the slightest headache and little bump on her skull. Her sister-in-law gave her a gentle hug and followed her back into the bedroom, which was empty.