resist going to the bed and sitting down.
She sat up and pulled her knees to her chest, covering her flimsy chemise with the blankets. “I know you told me not to apologize for everything,” she said, her voice quivering slightly, “but I have to this time.”
“No, you don’t,” he urged, putting a hand on her foot. “I was out of line, I am the one who should apologize.”
She shook her head and sniffed. “You were right to be cross. I was dreadful.” She groaned and put her face in her knees.
He couldn’t help it; he smiled. “You were,” he agreed.
She turned her head to glare at him with one eye. “You could pretend and say ‘Oh, it wasn’t that bad ’, you know.”
“But it was.” He shrugged, still smiling. “I cannot help but be honest, Moira.”
“Well,” she huffed, setting her chin to her knees, “I am sorry that it was so dreadful. Next time you can do the talking and I shall be the meek little mouse of a wife.”
“I would be happy to do the talking,” he said, tilting his head to look at her more closely. “But I don’t want a meek little mouse of a wife.”
A small smile played at the corners of her mouth. “You don’t or Rupert Lancaster does not?”
He groaned, but grinned at her. “Rupert Lancaster just received more sympathy from the men of this inn than some people receive at funerals.”
She snickered. “I bet he did. I hope it fares better for him in the future.”
“It had better. He is not returning.” His look turned severe. “Ever.”
She nodded, wiping at her cheeks. “I understand. No more Rupert Lancaster. And no more Margaret, either.”
“Thank heavens.”
Her smile turned rueful. “And what about Nathaniel Hammond? What does he want in a wife?”
“Well, he doesn’t want Margaret Lancaster, that is certain,” he said with a shudder. “But he doesn’t want a mouse wife either.”
“What, then?”
“A partner,” he admitted, no longer looking at anything. “Someone to work with me, beside me, and ease the burden of life. Competent, caring, and companionable.”
“And what about love, Nathan?” she asked in gentle tones.
Nathan sat back in thought. “Love. It’s an intriguing idea, but I can hardly require or expect that. Love can grow with time, after all, and the heart is not always as sensible as the head.”
“Love is not sensible. If it were, the poets would have nothing at all to write about.”
He smiled faintly. “Perhaps you’re right.”
The silence stretched between them for a moment, and it was the most comfortable silence he had ever experienced. Far too comfortable.
“Well,” she said lightly, patting her hand on his where it sat on her foot, “I think you will make someone a very fine husband someday, Nathan Hammond, despite Rupert Lancaster.”
He chuckled and brought her hand to his lips and kissed it quickly. “Thank you, my dear. Maybe next time we can have more fun with our marriage, eh?” He grinned and got up, letting her hand fall back to the bed.
“Take an extra blanket, Nathan,” she hissed as he stepped onto the window sill. “It’s freezing out there.”
He snatched one up and stuffed it under his arm. “Pull up the sheets when I’m down. I will walk in tomorrow morning.”
She nodded. “Watch out for droppings. I would hate to have a smelly husband in the morning.”
He rolled his eyes and adjusted his grip on the sheets. “Thank you. Anything else, wife?” he asked, with a grin.
She smiled and shook her head. “No, I think that is all I had to say, husband. Enjoy the hay.”
He smirked, then grew serious. “No more tears, Moira. I mean it.”
She wiped at her cheeks again and nodded. “No more tears, I promise. Good night, Nathan.”
“Good night, Moira.”
Nathan walked back to the inn early the next morning, hoping that he would be able to avoid seeing anyone, and thus have to answer some rather awkward questions about why Mr. Lancaster had been
She sat up and pulled her knees to her chest, covering her flimsy chemise with the blankets. “I know you told me not to apologize for everything,” she said, her voice quivering slightly, “but I have to this time.”
“No, you don’t,” he urged, putting a hand on her foot. “I was out of line, I am the one who should apologize.”
She shook her head and sniffed. “You were right to be cross. I was dreadful.” She groaned and put her face in her knees.
He couldn’t help it; he smiled. “You were,” he agreed.
She turned her head to glare at him with one eye. “You could pretend and say ‘Oh, it wasn’t that bad ’, you know.”
“But it was.” He shrugged, still smiling. “I cannot help but be honest, Moira.”
“Well,” she huffed, setting her chin to her knees, “I am sorry that it was so dreadful. Next time you can do the talking and I shall be the meek little mouse of a wife.”
“I would be happy to do the talking,” he said, tilting his head to look at her more closely. “But I don’t want a meek little mouse of a wife.”
A small smile played at the corners of her mouth. “You don’t or Rupert Lancaster does not?”
He groaned, but grinned at her. “Rupert Lancaster just received more sympathy from the men of this inn than some people receive at funerals.”
She snickered. “I bet he did. I hope it fares better for him in the future.”
“It had better. He is not returning.” His look turned severe. “Ever.”
She nodded, wiping at her cheeks. “I understand. No more Rupert Lancaster. And no more Margaret, either.”
“Thank heavens.”
Her smile turned rueful. “And what about Nathaniel Hammond? What does he want in a wife?”
“Well, he doesn’t want Margaret Lancaster, that is certain,” he said with a shudder. “But he doesn’t want a mouse wife either.”
“What, then?”
“A partner,” he admitted, no longer looking at anything. “Someone to work with me, beside me, and ease the burden of life. Competent, caring, and companionable.”
“And what about love, Nathan?” she asked in gentle tones.
Nathan sat back in thought. “Love. It’s an intriguing idea, but I can hardly require or expect that. Love can grow with time, after all, and the heart is not always as sensible as the head.”
“Love is not sensible. If it were, the poets would have nothing at all to write about.”
He smiled faintly. “Perhaps you’re right.”
The silence stretched between them for a moment, and it was the most comfortable silence he had ever experienced. Far too comfortable.
“Well,” she said lightly, patting her hand on his where it sat on her foot, “I think you will make someone a very fine husband someday, Nathan Hammond, despite Rupert Lancaster.”
He chuckled and brought her hand to his lips and kissed it quickly. “Thank you, my dear. Maybe next time we can have more fun with our marriage, eh?” He grinned and got up, letting her hand fall back to the bed.
“Take an extra blanket, Nathan,” she hissed as he stepped onto the window sill. “It’s freezing out there.”
He snatched one up and stuffed it under his arm. “Pull up the sheets when I’m down. I will walk in tomorrow morning.”
She nodded. “Watch out for droppings. I would hate to have a smelly husband in the morning.”
He rolled his eyes and adjusted his grip on the sheets. “Thank you. Anything else, wife?” he asked, with a grin.
She smiled and shook her head. “No, I think that is all I had to say, husband. Enjoy the hay.”
He smirked, then grew serious. “No more tears, Moira. I mean it.”
She wiped at her cheeks again and nodded. “No more tears, I promise. Good night, Nathan.”
“Good night, Moira.”
Nathan walked back to the inn early the next morning, hoping that he would be able to avoid seeing anyone, and thus have to answer some rather awkward questions about why Mr. Lancaster had been
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