In The Service Of The Queen (The Gunsmith Book 1)

by C. K. Crigger

  No, I take that back. By preference, I longed for Caleb’s voice, telling me I hadn’t gotten him killed. Not yet, anyway.

  My footsteps sounded loud in my own ears as I jogged back to the coach. I grabbed the closest lantern, and shined it inside just in time to find Ethan in the middle of pulling himself up into a sitting position. He was retching, choking back nausea and muttering under his breath while he massaged the goose egg on the back of his head with a gentle hand.

  “Boothenay?” His green eyes, squinted against the glare of the lantern, held the hazy, blind look of someone looking into the sun. He blinked a couple of times. “Is that you? What the hell are you doing in that get-up?”

  Relief poured over me in a cascade of shimmering joy. I fairly leapt into the carriage, barely able to contain myself long enough to first set the lantern down. I knelt in front of him and wrapped my arms around his shoulders, carefully, so as not to jostle his head

  “Caleb! Oh, thank God, you’re back. You’re here! You’re Caleb.”

  I finished this perfectly logical speech with a big, welcome home style of kiss on his lips.

  After a second, he puckered up in response and drew me closer.

  “Were you expecting someone else? Not with that greeting, I hope.”

  Then he pushed back. “Bleh! You’re soaking wet, Boothenay. And cold as a little ice calf. What’s going on?”

  “You don’t know?” My first euphoria collapsed into dismay. I’d hoped he’d know without me having to tell him, although now I took time to study him, I did see he looked more than a little bewildered.

  “Er…What’s the last thing you do remember?”

  Caleb looked down at his own clothes, wetter even than mine, and pressed the material between his fingers as if to gauge the dampness.

  He frowned, shuddered once with cold, and thoughtfully touched the swelling on the back of his head.

  “We’re there, aren’t we? England in 1811. We’re on a quest to rescue my cousin Jonathan from prison, and…and…did we wreck the carriage?”

  I signaled encouragement, more happy than words can say when he put his two lives together. “And highwaymen,” I prompted. “We had a little run-in with a couple of highwaymen.”

  He closed his eyes and propped his head in his hands as if it was too heavy to stay upright on his neck. “Yes. Highwaymen. I seem to recall shooting.”

  “Well, nothing that’ll make you lose any sleep. It was mostly a series of misses and misfires.”

  He took a deep breath that shuddered in his lungs, and swallowed deeply.

  I noticed his wan face held a faint greenish tinge overlaying the pallor. “Are you concussed, Caleb? Tell me what I can do to help you.”

  “I’ll be all right,” he said, a little too quickly for his assurance to ring true.

  “You sound like Dad just before he keeled over with his heart attack,” I told him.

  “I’m not having a heart attack. What I’m having is a headache. A real nasty headache.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I hovered over him. “I wish there was something I could do.” I touched his cheek and, for a moment, I believed I felt the pain that pounded in his head radiating through my bones. A quick shudder rippled through me, and the sensation of pain evaporated.

  His eyes popped open and he stared at me with a bemused expression. “What was that?”

  Blandly, I met his eyes. “What was what?”

  After a few seconds he answered in a quiet voice. “My headache is gone.”

  “That’s good news,” I said, hugging the knowledge of that strange second of power to my heart.

  “Bert and William,” he exclaimed at little later, out of the blue.

  “Yep.” I tracked him.

  “And you got pissed because Bert wanted your muff, so you shot him—or tried to shoot him.” Caleb managed a substantial grin.

  “Don’t be silly,” I said. “The muff didn’t matter. I fired the gun to scare him off. It worked, too. His horse spooked and threw him, which accomplished the same thing. And William is the one who got dumped, not Bert.”

  “Whichever. Anyway, you can’t fool me. You wanted that muff for a souvenir.”

  “I did not give two whoops in hell for that stupid muff,” I muttered.

  What an insane thing to be discussing.

  “I suppose it went with your outfit,” he said.

  “Are you making fun of my clothes? I’ll have you know this outfit is all the crack. I think.” Unless Belle habitually dressed in an eccentric manner.

  “Whatever that means,” Caleb drawled. “In case you hadn’t noticed, it does have one serious defect—it’s wet.”

  “So you said before. I’ll tell you what—that point hasn’t escaped my attention. I might say the same for you.”

  Caleb eased up from where he’d been sitting on the carriage floor, and using my shoulder as a prop, managed to slide onto the seat. He still looked shaken, if not quite so ill and dizzy.

  I growled in exasperation when a toe caught in my soggy gown and I halfway fell into the seat opposite him.

  “Umm. Have we been swimming with all our clothes on, Boothenay? If I’m not mistaken, it’s winter—and colder than crap out there.” He shivered again, and all my fears that we’d both develop a runaway case of pneumonia came back.

  “Not swimming precisely. Mostly, the water is only a foot or so deep—the problem is staying upright. Don’t you remember what happened to you?”

  Caleb shook his head, wincing with the motion. “Not this part. I guess I’ve got some gaps in my memory. Why don’t you fill me in?”

  “Do you remember the shift? The moment when you became Ethan?” I felt an overriding curiosity to know if he endured the same sensations I always did.

  “Yes, I do.” He paused. “There wasn’t as much to it as I thought there’d be. One minute I was sitting at your workbench, then I felt a whirling sensation, as if I was caught up in a vortex. I heard a sound resembling thunder, deep bass thunder, the kind you think is going to pulverize your bones.”

  “Surround sound,” I interrupted, since I knew the feeling very well.

  “Yes. Then I was here—in England, completely Ethan Delaney.

  Hell, I’m still Ethan Delaney,” he added. “Only now I’m Caleb Deane as well. This is a very odd feeling, as I expect you know. Anyway, I remember being the queen’s coachman and everything up until just after the highwaymen stopped us.”

  “If you remember all of that, there probably isn’t much you don’t know. In short, the horses ran away, and a wheel broke when we crashed in the middle of the creek. You managed to repair the wheel, then slipped on the rocks and went down just as we were ready to leave. That’s when you hurt your head and why you’re all wet.” I got the lantern and held it above Caleb’s head.

  He looked up and I saw the glazed expression had almost faded from his eyes. The flesh alongside his nose may have been a little pinched and white, but I felt sure he’d soon be back to normal.

  “If you think you can, Caleb, we need to hit the road. We’re both bone cold and soggy wet. I didn’t come here to get sick and neither, I’m sure, did you.” Get sick, my ass, I added to myself. I didn’t bring you here to get you killed.

  Caleb nodded and made as if to rise. “I think you skipped a thing or six. That may explain why I’m so wet, but it doesn’t explain why you are.”

  I waved a disclaiming hand.

  Caleb slumped back into the seat as he remembered something more, gritting his teeth at the jolt. “Bloody hell! The rein is cut. I’m going to have to…”

  “All done,” I interrupted. “You were right. You told me the regular coachman probably carried a spare, and sure enough, he did. All I had to do was buckle it on, so we’re all ready to go. The thing that worries me now is whether you remember the way to Exeter—or even how to drive the coach.”

  “You fixed the rein?” He asked on a rising note of amused astonishment. He shook his head and gave a half lau
gh. “Anyway, one drives the horses, Boothenay. The carriage just kind of follows after.”

  “Whatever,” I said, returning his smile. “Just as long as nobody expects me to drive either one. A girl has to draw the line somewhere.”

  I didn’t feel as cold now. Having Caleb back was a warming experience. That was emotional warmth, though, and I knew we both needed to find shelter as soon as possible. While England in winter may be a far cry from the December blizzards of Spokane, Washington, the cold still permeated a person’s bones. And at least Washingtonians had enough sense to dress for winter in something other than flimsy dresses, or coats made up of a single layer of woolen material. Down, Gore-tex, and insulated long underwear came to mind. And waterproof boots.

  Caleb gathered himself and thrust open the door, stepping to the ground.

  I followed, my hand hovering above his elbow and hoping he wouldn’t topple over. I didn’t know if I had the strength to pick him up again.

  He didn’t fall. Instead, he waited a moment while he regained his equilibrium, and peered off into the darkness. Then he whistled. “Well, well, will you look at that? Not only the rein, but you really do have us ready to roll. You did all that, Boothenay?”

  “If not me,” I said, “then the good fairy must’ve been here.”

  “I’m impressed.” He picked the lighted lantern from the hook, carrying it with him as he limped to where the horse with the bullet-singed hide was standing. The horse shied away from Caleb’s gentle probe and kicked out at him.

  My heart jumped with fear. All we’d need now is for Caleb to go down with a broken leg. Far from being disturbed by the fractious horse, Caleb just murmured, “Easy, boy,” like you hear all the old cowboys talk, and the animal quieted with no more than a toss of his head. Ethan or Caleb, it seemed he was a horseman.

  “He’s all right as far as I can tell.” He came back to the carriage, reached into the boot and pulled out my portmanteau, setting it inside the carriage. “You’d better travel inside now, Boothenay. Change into something warm and dry. You do have other clothes, don’t you?”

  At the wry twist of my mouth, he grinned. “I’ll bet you’re wishing you had a pair of jeans packed in this bag.”

  “You’re reading my mind. But what are you going to do? You can’t sit outside in the cold and wind wearing those wet things. You’ll catch your death!” I knew he should be taking things easy after being cold-cocked. And I’d noticed he was still afflicted with Ethan’s game leg, even if he had gained the psychic upper hand.

  He shrugged. “I’ll be all right. I found a horse blanket in the back and my coat is dry. Don’t worry about me.”

  Don’t worry about him? Easy for him to say. Still, with nothing much in the way of an alternative, I did as he told me by clambering into the carriage and digging out my dry dress. This gown was no thicker than the one I took off and I had a little trouble drawing it over my damp, cold-puckered skin. I thought longingly of Caleb’s horse blanket.

  Competence is competence, whether practiced by Caleb or by Ethan. I didn’t know if Caleb’s expertise at the reins was now owed to Ethan’s experience, or if somehow Caleb already knew how to drive a coach and four. Certainly he hadn’t been dismayed by the prospect of doing so, and his confidence must have stemmed from some inner knowledge. We tooled along at a great clip, the horses going all the better for their break.

  I gathered my feet under me, secured them from drafts by tucking the skirt of my dress in around them, and piled on every dry thing from my luggage. After a while my teeth stopped chattering and even though I was still cold, and getting dreadfully hungry once again, I managed to drift off to sleep as Caleb steered us through the night. Rain fell in a soft drizzle.

  Caleb, I had discovered, was a very enduring man.

  I dreamed. In the farthest reaches of my subconscious, Belle stood by an ocean shore wringing her hands. Silent tears dripped over her cheeks. This is a play, I remember thinking, even as I dreamed. I knew that because at any given moment I could have named at least three plays, each with a scene similar to the one I witnessed here. Old stuff, timeworn, a cliché, with a young woman waiting, ever waiting, for her lover who never returns.

  Yet surely this pain I felt squeezing at my own heart came from an emotion strong enough to pass between the dream woman, Belle, to the dreamer, me.

  “Belle,” I said to her, through the raggedy shreds of time. “What’s wrong? Why are you mourning?” I knew she grieved. Her agony was soul deep and permanent…everlasting…infinitely more than mere depression or sadness. Those are emotions of the moment no matter how deeply felt. At some time, they would pass. Belle’s would not.

  “Are you watching?” I heard her accusatory voice roaring in my head, a crescendo of sound so loud I covered my ears in pain. “Why aren’t you ready? This is why you are here. Don’t you know that?

  Don’t let this happen, Boothenay. Don’t-let-this-happen-again.”

  She knew me, knew my name. Isn’t this silly? I thought. I’d believed for a while that she and I were one and the same. I didn’t believe it now. Don’t let this happen again, she said. Let what happen?

  If I am Belle, why don’t I know what this portends? Because all this had only been a ruse, a way of reaching me and making sure I knew what I needed to know.

  But I didn’t know! I didn’t know enough.

  “Let what happen, Belle? What should I watch? Belle? Belle?” Too late. She had turned her back on me, walking away until she faded into nothing more than a feeling of sorrow and—and, yes, rage. Suddenly, I realized her rage is what had carried her emotion to me, resonating in my head. Her rage that had filled Caleb’s guns with power and carried me to this time. Her magic—not mine.

  I just wished I could understand what she was trying to tell me.

  The dream faded, thank God. Dreams always do. I made the transition from sleep to waking without missing a beat. Ink black night hovered outside, just beyond the coach windows. I stared into the darkness, trying to make up my mind the visitation had been no more than a dream, or at least a hallucination. Funny, though—I still felt Belle’s harrowing presence, and her words echoed in my head. I had the uncomfortable feeling I’d just seen a ghost.

  “Watch him,” she’d demanded. Watch whom? Did she mean Jonathan Harriman? Did she mean Ethan Delaney? Or did she mean my own Caleb Deane?

  When had I started thinking of him as mine?

  Chapter 15

  The next thing I knew the rocking of the carriage had stopped and I felt Caleb’s hand, warm and smelling of horse and leather, on my cheek as he tickled me awake. I opened my eyes, losing myself in his clear, green gaze only inches away. I had a hazy remembrance of his kiss, and my lips felt alive with a sensation full and soft. I touched them with one curious finger. Perhaps I dreamed his kiss, I thought. Unless my imagination was working overtime.

  “Boothenay… time to wake up,” he said and waited until a semblance of intelligence came into my bemused expression. He held a lantern in one hand, and I was aware of the darkness beyond the edge of his light. “Hello,” he whispered.

  “Hi.” I smiled at him, wanting to stay lost in his dream kiss, if indeed, that’s what it had been. Wonder at how could I have gone to sleep while he sat outside on the driver’s seat nagged at my conscience, especially since I knew he must feel sick as a dog. “How are you feeling? What time is it? How long have I been asleep? Have you been driving all this time?”

  He put a finger over my lips to stop my questions.

  “Hush, sugar,” he said. “Take it easy. I’m all right. I haven’t come down with galloping consumption as yet. At least I managed to get us here without driving into any more ditches.”

  All right? He looked dead tired and I saw where a streak of blood had left a stain on his collar. His buckskin breeches were mottled and stained.

  I gave him a narrow-eyed stare before trying, only semi-successfully, to stifle a yawn behind my hand. I’d let him think I believed hi
s cock and bull story—for now. “Where, exactly, is here?”

  Caleb’s jaw cracked with an answering yawn.

  “We’re at an inn. I thought we’d best stop a spell and rest the horses.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him.

  “Yeah, all right. Me, too,” he conceded.

  He drew me out of the carriage holding me upright as, clumsy with sleep, I staggered against him. For a moment we stood close together, propping each other up. Then I got my legs under me, which allowed Caleb to regain his balance.

  I sighed. “What kind of inn is this? An inn where we can sleep, or an inn where we can eat? I’m hungry.”

  Caleb smiled. “I hope it’s both. Although I must say the place looks deserted. I hear animals in the stable, though, and smell wood smoke, so I think they’re just closed for the night. We’ll have to wake the proprietor.”

  “Is it late?” Had I slept the night away with Caleb frozen at the reins? I didn’t hear the animals Caleb said he heard. The stable yard was so quiet I thought it must be the middle of the night until Caleb drew a big silver watch from his pocket.

  “My watch says only eleven-thirty. I’d have thought later, wouldn’t you?” He turned the watch over a couple of times, holding it up to the yellowish light of the still burning topside lantern. His eyes narrowed.

  “Humph,” he said, a grunt of surprise.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing wrong, just …oh, well. Probably just my imagination.”

  “Are you sure it hasn’t stopped or gotten water-logged or something? Don’t forget you have to wind those babies up.” He’d seen something on the watch. Something that startled him which he didn’t want to share with me. What, I wondered?

  “I remember,” he said, rolled the little stem between his fingers and put his ear close. “It’s ticking.”

  I stood on tiptoe and craned my neck, trying for a look over his shoulder. The glimpse I caught didn’t show anything particularly startling, only an old-fashioned silver pocket watch without a fob. I shrugged a dismissal.