fall asleep and drown in the bathtub.”
“That’s my girl.” He tousled her hair as if she were a child, then, whistling, strode out of the room.
* * *
“Word came over the old teletext machine,” the barkeeper said when Connor came in from watering the mule and settling him down for the night. “Seems folks are looking for a gypsy witch and a man named MacKay.”
“MacKay, huh.” Connor kept his face impassive. “Isn’t there a family named that hereabouts?”
The barman nodded. “Old Sir William up at Kay’s Tower, near Bellston. He’s a good man. Helps out the locals, from what I understand. I’ve got a sister up that way. Lady MacKay always comes around if someone’s sick or in trouble.”
“Well, that’s good to hear. So if someone did pass through here, say with a steam wagon that’s to be a gift for Sir William, that someone might be able to count on a safe night’s sleep?” He accepted the pint the other man handed across the bar and waited for an answer.
“Aye.” The barman shrugged. “Can’t say I pay attention to names and descriptions. A man pays his money and doesn’t cause any trouble, I leave him alone. Especially with a wife who looks like she’s dead on her feet.”
“My thanks.” Connor paid for the room, the ale, and made arrangements for coal and water to be loaded at first light. Finally, he added a hefty gratuity. “The wife’s in a delicate condition and she’s really feeling the cold and damp. Any chance of an extra blanket?”
“Cupboard’s at the end of the hall, help yourself.” With that, the barman moved off to tend someone else.
Connor found the blanket cupboard and returned to their room, hoping Belinda was asleep. It wouldn’t be the first or last time Connor had slept on the floor. The blanket was a boon, as was the indoor plumbing. Even in this era of high technology, not every country inn had bothered with such conveniences. He let himself into the room as silently as possible, not wanting to disturb Belinda’s sleep. He glanced at her, curled into a ball under the covers. She’d had one hell of a difficult day.
Despite the horrendous situation, he had to admit, he liked Belinda and had no qualms taking her back to the Tower where his family would be gathered. He couldn’t wait to see her with his sisters. Belinda might be expecting a snooty bunch of upper gentry when she reached the Tower, but that was so far from the truth it made Connor laugh. Geneva, Baroness Findlay of Torkholm, was a no-nonsense physician, and Melody, Connor’s twin, worked as a dirigible engineer for the Order. Both were graduates of Lovelace College for women in the sciences. The renowned Lady Lovelace, who had invented the machine code to operate Lord Babbage’s famous analytical engine—the machine that had changed the world—had also opened up Oxford University to females.
As he washed, he thought of Wink Hadrian, Melody’s dearest friend. Connor had considered Wink the love of his life. When she’d rejected his proposal, he’d been devastated. Now, he thought perhaps she’d been right. Maybe they were meant to be friends rather than lovers. She’d certainly never stirred him anywhere near as deeply nor as quickly as the curvy widow asleep on the other side of the screen. And he barely knew Belinda at all.
After scrubbing his skin nearly raw to remove the soot and coal, he dragged on a clean pair of smalls from his portmanteau to sleep in. Then, carrying his blanket, he crept around the dividing screen and prepared to bed down on the rug in the center of the room.
“Sir Connor?”
Shite, just hearing her say his name while she was in bed was enough to have him hard as an axe handle.
“What?” He hoped she didn’t need to be held again. He didn’t think he could stand it without either making love to her or dying. “And just call me Connor. We’re supposed to be married, after all.” Which made no sense, given that he’d shamelessly used
“That’s my girl.” He tousled her hair as if she were a child, then, whistling, strode out of the room.
* * *
“Word came over the old teletext machine,” the barkeeper said when Connor came in from watering the mule and settling him down for the night. “Seems folks are looking for a gypsy witch and a man named MacKay.”
“MacKay, huh.” Connor kept his face impassive. “Isn’t there a family named that hereabouts?”
The barman nodded. “Old Sir William up at Kay’s Tower, near Bellston. He’s a good man. Helps out the locals, from what I understand. I’ve got a sister up that way. Lady MacKay always comes around if someone’s sick or in trouble.”
“Well, that’s good to hear. So if someone did pass through here, say with a steam wagon that’s to be a gift for Sir William, that someone might be able to count on a safe night’s sleep?” He accepted the pint the other man handed across the bar and waited for an answer.
“Aye.” The barman shrugged. “Can’t say I pay attention to names and descriptions. A man pays his money and doesn’t cause any trouble, I leave him alone. Especially with a wife who looks like she’s dead on her feet.”
“My thanks.” Connor paid for the room, the ale, and made arrangements for coal and water to be loaded at first light. Finally, he added a hefty gratuity. “The wife’s in a delicate condition and she’s really feeling the cold and damp. Any chance of an extra blanket?”
“Cupboard’s at the end of the hall, help yourself.” With that, the barman moved off to tend someone else.
Connor found the blanket cupboard and returned to their room, hoping Belinda was asleep. It wouldn’t be the first or last time Connor had slept on the floor. The blanket was a boon, as was the indoor plumbing. Even in this era of high technology, not every country inn had bothered with such conveniences. He let himself into the room as silently as possible, not wanting to disturb Belinda’s sleep. He glanced at her, curled into a ball under the covers. She’d had one hell of a difficult day.
Despite the horrendous situation, he had to admit, he liked Belinda and had no qualms taking her back to the Tower where his family would be gathered. He couldn’t wait to see her with his sisters. Belinda might be expecting a snooty bunch of upper gentry when she reached the Tower, but that was so far from the truth it made Connor laugh. Geneva, Baroness Findlay of Torkholm, was a no-nonsense physician, and Melody, Connor’s twin, worked as a dirigible engineer for the Order. Both were graduates of Lovelace College for women in the sciences. The renowned Lady Lovelace, who had invented the machine code to operate Lord Babbage’s famous analytical engine—the machine that had changed the world—had also opened up Oxford University to females.
As he washed, he thought of Wink Hadrian, Melody’s dearest friend. Connor had considered Wink the love of his life. When she’d rejected his proposal, he’d been devastated. Now, he thought perhaps she’d been right. Maybe they were meant to be friends rather than lovers. She’d certainly never stirred him anywhere near as deeply nor as quickly as the curvy widow asleep on the other side of the screen. And he barely knew Belinda at all.
After scrubbing his skin nearly raw to remove the soot and coal, he dragged on a clean pair of smalls from his portmanteau to sleep in. Then, carrying his blanket, he crept around the dividing screen and prepared to bed down on the rug in the center of the room.
“Sir Connor?”
Shite, just hearing her say his name while she was in bed was enough to have him hard as an axe handle.
“What?” He hoped she didn’t need to be held again. He didn’t think he could stand it without either making love to her or dying. “And just call me Connor. We’re supposed to be married, after all.” Which made no sense, given that he’d shamelessly used