Cards & Caravans
Page 11
“You sit down, or better yet, lie down,” Geneva said. “I’ll send in my idiot brother.” With that, she left the room.
Belinda obediently sat on the edge of the bed to wait. Moments later, as she fingered the carvings on a bedpost, Connor slipped in. He’d traded the coat and shirt stained with her blood for a silk dressing gown over his kilt. “The two men from your village are in custody. We’ll transport them to Edinburgh in the morning. I suspect only Douglas will be charged, as the others only came to arrest you. Even the squire suspects the alderman is simply mad with grief. He swears no violence was intended.” He drew in a deep breath. “Unfortunately, the witch-finder escaped. We have his name and location from his cousin Douglas, so it won’t be long before we have him as well.”
“I don’t want to even think about them any more tonight.” Belinda watched as he crossed the room to stand beside her.
“I don’t blame you, blackbird.” He lifted her good hand and kissed it. “I’d much rather think of you instead. You’re far prettier than Douglas or MacLellan.”
Having no idea what to say or do next, she blurted, “This is a beautiful bed.”
“Family heirloom,” Connor said. “It’s traditional for wedding nights. My father swears the mattress has been replaced.”
“It will have to be better than the one in the inn last night, even if it’s as old as the house.” Belinda gave a rusty laugh. “At least your feet won’t hang off the end.”
“Odd.” He eased down beside her. “All I recall is perfection.”
Belinda looked up into his eyes and her breath caught. “You’re insane, you know. All this, just to keep me from facing trial?”
“No. All this, because I want you for my own.” Tiny lines crinkled around the corners of his eyes. “You’ve seen my family and friends. Do you really think a wedding was the only way to protect you?”
“No.” And she couldn’t even accuse him of deceit, because deep down, she’d known that. She’d gone along because she wanted him, not because she was afraid of Douglas and Engle. She gave him a tentative smile. “But I still think you’re a lunatic.”
“I’ve never denied that.” He kissed her nose. “But admit it. You like me that way.”
“Heaven help me, I do.” She’d begun to more than like him, but she wasn’t ready to admit to that yet. True romantic love was a fairy tale—a softer sort of love, affection, companionship, passion—those were all real, and she’d experienced them with Micah. That kind of bond took time to build, and she didn’t know yet if Connor would want to keep her around long enough for that to happen. “I’m still older than you.” She’d stopped worrying about her unorthodox upbringing. At least she didn’t turn furry or have visions. That made her positively traditional among the crowd at their wedding.
“And women typically live a few years longer than males. That makes us a perfect match.”
“Can you truly be happy if we don’t have children?”
“You met the Hadrians, right? Lord and Lady Northland’s family.” He stroked a strand of hair away from her face. “Caro would rip your guts out if you suggested any one of them wasn’t her child—even Tom, whom they couldn’t legally adopt. If we want to raise children, we’ll find some. And the succession will continue some other way. Quite possibly Melody or Gen will have a gifted child. If not, the Order will survive with one fewer Knight for a generation or two. Meanwhile, we’ll just give it our best effort, shall we?”
“Aye, my crazy Scots warrior.” She tweaked his kilt. “Have I mentioned how much I like looking at your legs? I nearly fainted when I saw you and your kinsmen.”
“You’ve lived in Scotland for years.”
She shrugged. “A border village. They were more English than Scots. None of the men preferred the kilt.” Micah had thought the garments were effeminate. If only he’d known.
“Well, lass, this time you’ve a real Scot in your life—and your bed.” He slid his fingers through her hair. Even such a soft touch felt lovely and she hummed happily, until his wedding ring, slightly too large, caught in a tangle and dropped to the floor. “Blast. Will you mind if I have a jeweler make that smaller?”
“Not at all. Smith isn’t a made-up name. My grandfather really was a blacksmith before he became a lion tamer. His hands were enormous.”
“It was your grandfather’s?” She caught the sigh of relief he couldn’t quite suppress.
“You didn’t think I’d given you Micah’s ring?” Her own stomach turned at the thought and she wrinkled her nose. “That would have just been...wrong.”
“I’m sorry. It did cross my mind.” He let go of her to pick up the ring and put it on his middle finger, where it fit. “Only until I can get it resized,” he said.
She picked up his hand and laced her fingers through his. “Micah never wore a ring. He said they were unsafe for a farmer. My grandfather left me this when he died, along with the caravan.” After a pause, she said, “I was married before, but I promise, there’ll be no third in the bed with us. Micah’s been gone a long time, and so has the young girl who married him. The woman I am now is delighted to be here with you. No regrets.”
“Thank you. And now, Lady MacKay, I think we’ve both got far too many clothes on.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” She reached up to untie his dressing gown. “It’s odd when you call me that, you know. Makes me think you’re talking to your mother or grandmother.”
“Then, ma belle, how about I just call you mine?” With that, his lips claimed hers, and Belinda forgot all about everything except the scent of him, the taste of his lips and the feel of his big, strong body pressed against hers. “Are you in a great deal of pain?”
She shook her head. “It’s only a scratch, I promise. I’ve got my physician’s approval for us to resume our wedding night—that’s if you want to.”
“More than I want to breathe.” Those were the last words either of them spoke for a good long while.
Tonight he seemed determined to take things more slowly, kissing her and stroking her with his fingers until Belinda was ready to scream. Finally, he nibbled his way down her body until his head was between her splayed legs. Belinda’s breath caught. He couldn’t, surely—
He could. He lowered his mouth to her core and began to lick, then suckle her most sensitive spots. When he slid two fingers into her sheath and sucked on the pearl of her sex, she shrieked his name as she climaxed, her spine bowing up off the bed, her hand fisted in his hair.
“My beautiful Belle,” he murmured, rising up over her and kissing her mouth, the strong taste of herself on his lips.
Belinda shuddered again at the unbridled eroticism. When he began to enter her, she wrapped her legs about his waist and pulled him deep. A big man in every sense of the word, he filled her beyond what she’d have once believed possible. Her fingernails dug into his back as she met his every thrust and she ignored the pain that movement caused on her wound. She bit down on his shoulder, her teeth locked on to the strong tendon just below his throat.
“Yes!” His shout pushed her over into another climax as he emptied himself into her.
A few minutes later, Connor wiped the strands of damp hair off her cheeks and asked, “Do you want a bath?”
“Later.” Right now, she didn’t want to move. For long moments, she lay there, loving the feel of him still inside her, his weight above her.
* * *
In the morning they made love again, more gently this time as her arm had begun to throb. Afterward, as they cuddled in each other’s arms, she kissed his chest, running her fingers through the reddish curls over his strong muscles.
“I rather hate to rejoin the world,” he said. “But we should.”
“Yes.” Her breath caught as she looked at him in the faint sunlight that trickled through the narrow windows of the Tower. He was so young, so handsome, so virile. How long would it be before he tired of her? “We need to find out about the squire and Alderman Douglas.”
Sure enough, all her clothes and many of his had been carefully hung inside.
Connor selected his own clothing and then turned to her. “Which colors? We’ll need to get you a larger wardrobe as soon as we return to Edinburgh.”
As she’d only packed two spare shirtwaists and one other skirt, she nodded. “I’ll try not to spend much. Maybe at some point, we’ll be able to go back to the farm for the rest of my things.”
He raised one eyebrow. “I can afford to clothe you, Belinda—and not just with my parents’ or grandparents’ funds. I’m a wealthy man in my own right. The Order pays well, and I’ve a healthy private income from investments.”
“You have a position to maintain. I understand that.” She grimaced. “And I don’t wish to shame you by wearing the clothes of a simple farmwife.”
He pulled out a pink shirtwaist and her brown skirt and laid them next to his own garments on a nearby chaise. “Don’t put words in my mouth. I wouldn’t be ashamed of you if you were in sackcloth. I just want you to have some pretty things.”
Belinda opened her mouth to argue, but closed it again at the sight of his scowl. Instead she smiled. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He went into the bathing room and soon she heard the sound of the bathtub filling. She’d had more baths in the last two days than she usually had in weeks, but after the days in gaol, she still wasn’t sure she’d ever feel clean again. Last night, they’d bathed together, with Connor carefully washing her, while keeping her bandaged arm out of the water. Would he expect the same this morning? The notion of learning all his moods and preferences suddenly seemed daunting. The man could move from gentle to mischievous to passionate to lethal, all in the space of a heartbeat. How was she ever to keep up with him? Still exhausted from the last few days, she drifted off against the plump feather pillows that still smelled of him, of her and of their lovemaking.
“No going back to sleep, wife. You’ll want to wash while your water is still warm.” He padded back into the bedroom, wet, with a towel wrapped around his waist. His smile fell away as he glanced at her arm. “Do you need any help?”
“No, thank you.” She swallowed hard before dropping the covers and managed to keep her chin up, despite his warm regard, as she walked past him without a stitch of clothing on. She and Micah had never been this uninhibited. She peeked over her shoulder, pleased to see he was watching her with hooded eyes. When he dropped the towel, she caught a glimpse of an impressive arousal and the tenderness between her legs clenched.
“You may want to get dressed, wife, before we end up spending all day in this room.” His voice was low and raspy as he swallowed hard and looked away from her. Eyes downcast, he slipped on his tight knitted smalls and undershirt. Watching him lift his arm over her head made her wound ache, so she admitted, “I may need some assistance with my clothes.”
“I’m calling now for a maid with some chocolate and toast,” he said. “She can wait while you bathe and help you with whatever you need. Just put on your shift and wait in here. I want Geneva to have a look at your arm before you dress.”
“Yes, sir.” She nearly snapped a salute. “And I’d prefer tea, if you don’t mind. I’ve never been fond of chocolate.” If that showed her plebian ancestry, so be it.
Connor just grinned. “Good to know I shan’t have to share my chocolate supply. Tea it is.”
He picked up the speaking tube to summon their breakfast, so Belinda stepped into the bathing room and shut the door. “If he thinks he’s going to get away with being an autocratic husband,” she muttered, “he’s in for one devil of a surprise.”
* * *
After Geneva had pronounced Belinda’s wound to be healing nicely, she helped Belinda dress and the two descended the stairs together. The rest of the family, along with most of their adult guests, were gathered in one of the sitting rooms, which appeared ready to burst at the seams. Every last individual stood as the two women entered. Starting with Maura, they all began to applaud—except for Connor, who scowled.
“Don’t.” He strode across the room and took Belinda’s hand to guide her to a seat beside him on a settee. “Don’t encourage her to do such a bloody damned stupid thing ever again.”
Maura curtseyed deeply in front of Belinda. “Thank you.” Her voice was thick with unshed tears. “I’m sorry if I didn’t welcome you to the family with open arms. Can you forgive me? I was being a fool.”
Belinda dropped to her knees and embraced the older woman. “No, Lady MacKay. You were being a mother. I can’t fault you for wanting to protect your son. Let’s just put everything that happened yesterday behind us and start afresh.”
“I will never be able to forget that you leaped between my son and a bullet.” Maura hugged her back and they both stood. “But I’d love the chance to start anew. Please, call me Mama or Mother or Maura, whichever you’re most comfortable with.”
“I’d love to call you Mother.” Belinda’s own parents had died when she was young, but she still didn’t feel right calling another woman Mama. Maura resumed her seat as Belinda swallowed the lump in her throat and let Connor lead her to a chair one of the younger men had hastily vacated in favor of the floor. Connor sat cross-legged in front of her, his back leaning against her knees. Belinda wouldn’t have thought to see this much touching among the upper class, but nearly every couple, young or old, maintained some kind of physical contact. It was a quirk she liked, so she let her hand rest on Connor’s shoulder.
“Right. Now that we’ve all thanked you for your courage,” Fergus began.
Connor coughed and glared at his father.
“And reminded you to be more careful about avoiding injury in the future.” Fergus looked back at his son until Connor subsided and nodded for his father to continue. “We thought we ought to discuss what the Order has been able to discover in the last day or so, regarding both your individual case, and the idea of witch-finders running amok in Britain.”
“Using the Order’s Babbage Engines, we’ve been able to go through a year’s worth of newspapers from cities and towns all over England and Scotland,” Wink said from her perch on the arm of her husband’s chair. “We also looked through parish court records. There have been a surprising number of witchcraft cases, even more than we’d thought at first, mostly in smaller villages. Nearly every one of them was rushed through trial and execution. There are also more than the usual number of missing persons, particularly in the professions of midwife, apothecary and performer—all of which are often filled by individuals with supernatural gifts. It appears someone is waging war on magick, and particularly singling out anyone with less than pure Anglo-Saxon or Norman heritage.”
“But I’m not magickal,” Belinda said. Wink’s words made her stomach churn. “Why would they choose me?”
“First of all, you do have gifts, even if they’re not powerful ones,” Merrick Hadrian, Baron Northland, said. There were so many people here that Belinda struggled to keep them all straight. “Secondly, I think there is some sort of ethnic or religious angle. We could be looking at a resurgence of Cromwell’s puritans.”
“The darkest hour for the Order,” Sir William said. “They did their best to eradicate magick from Britain, along with anyone who didn’t follow their beliefs or share their bloodlines.”
“I tend to agree,” said Lord Drood, a middle-aged Welshman who was here alone as far as Belinda knew. He was an unassuming sort but if she glanced at him from the corner of her eye, even she could sense power. According to Connor, this was the most powerful wizard in all of the Empire. “There is some sort of organized war going on. We need to root out the people responsible and stop it befo
re more innocents wind up dead.”
“But how?” asked Nell.
Several people jumped in with ideas and a lively discussion ensued.
“I think we need a Trojan horse,” Caro said, interrupting half a dozen other ideas. “We know there’s someone—probably a group of someones—attacking people with magick and non-traditional backgrounds. Rather than wait for the villains to pick them off, one by one, and perhaps come after us when they’ve gained more power, we could set a trap—a situation where a number of talents are all in one place, looking harmless. Then when they strike, you can capture them and question them, to make sure you’ve rounded up the entire group.”
“Very clever,” agreed Amy Lake.
Belinda sat silently, amazed by the degree to which the women were included in the conversation.
“That’s a good idea,” Amy’s father-in-law, the duke, agreed. “What sort of group will draw their attention? I can send several Knights.”
“Knights might be too obvious,” his son said.
Miss Dorothy nodded. “It needs to be a group that looks harmless, like a troupe of performers or a—”
“Circus,” Belinda interjected. “We could set ourselves up as a circus. We already have one wagon.”
“That’s not a bad idea.” Magnus, Geneva’s husband looked exhausted, as if he’d hadn’t slept at all the night before. “We’re leaving tonight after the ball, but if there’s any way we can help, just phone.”
“We could do a trained wolf act.” Wink grinned at her husband. “I think I could pull of tights and spangles, don’t you? Plus, you’ll need a mechanic.”
“I’d come take pictures, but Ned’s still nursing,” Amy said. “But I could teach someone the basics and loan you the equipment.”
“I can sing,” Nell said softly. “If you want me to, that is.”
“You’re not involved in this,” Tom snapped. “It’s liable to be dangerous.”
“If Jamie and Piers didn’t have to go back to school, they could put together a magick act—with real magick. That would help draw in the witch-finders.” Nell ignored her foster brother and turned to Belinda. “The five of us grew up in Wapping, picking pockets. We all still remember sleight of hand and how to defend ourselves.”