Cards & Caravans (3 page)

The lock clicked.

Belinda gasped. “Magick.” She looked up at MacKay, a tremor rattling her bones. “That was real magick.” Her voice shook and she shrank back against the back wall of her cell.

He nodded. “Please don’t scream. I’m trying to save your life.” With another muttered incantation, the padlock on her cell popped open. His light blue eyes were almost mesmerizing—she couldn’t tear her gaze away from his.

She moistened her lips. “Why? What difference is it to you?” Was he a real witch—or warlock, or whatever? Did he have some nefarious purpose in mind for her? And if he did, would that be better than dying?

His smile was kind and perhaps a trifle sad. “I just don’t like seeing innocent people die. I’m taking you somewhere safe while your trial is investigated by the proper authorities.” He opened the grated door and held out a hand. “Now will you come? He won’t be unconscious for long, and once he wakes, he’ll likely start yelling. Sooner or later, someone will hear him and they’ll be after us. I’d rather not steal a horse, so we’ll have to flee on foot, at least to the next village—unless you have horses on your farm?”

She stood and took his hand, still clutching the blanket around her with the other. “Only an old mule. I sold the last of my horses last autumn, when my crops failed—again. But I’m healthy. I can walk.”

“Good.” He dragged her out of the gaol, closing the door behind them. The High Street was empty, but even in this weather, there were lights and noise coming from the pub. Someone could come outside at any moment. Being just a few inches over five feet, compared to his six feet and then some, she had to run to keep up with his long strides. “Which way is the nearest train station?”

“North or east,” she answered easily. “There isn’t one to the west for quite some distance, and not until you cross the border into England if you go south. You needn’t worry. I’ll go alone—that way they won’t come after you.”

“No.” He didn’t bother explaining his curt reply. “Now which direction is your farm?” A block past the gaol, he pulled her into the alley behind the greengrocer’s and the butcher shop and slowed his stride so she didn’t have to run.

“West,” she said, panting. “Just about a mile and half. But won’t they look there first?”

“Perhaps. I’d check the nearest stations first if it were me. That’s why I want to leave by a roundabout manner.” He glanced down at her. “Besides, we can spare a moment for you to put on dry clothing and a proper coat. It won’t serve anyone’s purpose but theirs if you catch pneumonia and die anyway.”

“True.” She quickened her pace again. “That lane over there leads to my farm.”

A man strolled down the street toward them so they lingered in the alleyway until he’d passed, then darted across the open village green into the lane. They hurried down it, keeping as close as possible to the shadows of buildings, and then, as the shops and houses petered out, to the trees and hedgerows that lined the muddy roadway.

The walk, which would take her fifteen minutes on a normal day, seemed to last forever, though they moved as swiftly as she was able, given her sodden shoes and the blanket dragging in the mud behind her. Sir Connor kept hold of her hand. He hadn’t bothered to put his gloves back on after working the magick on the locks, and his heat radiated all the way up her arm.

When they reached the farm, she heaved a huge sigh of relief to see the house still standing. “I was afraid they’d have burned me out.”

“They might,” Sir Connor agreed as he followed her into the parlor. “If there’s anything small you can’t live without, you’d better take it. Damn, I wish my steam car wasn’t being repaired this week. Life would be a lot easier if we had motorized transportation.”

Belinda stopped in her tracks so suddenly that he crashed into her, the weight of him making her topple at the base of her stairs. Strong hands caught her and steadied her against him, and he held on to her waist. She turned to look up at him but in the darkness, his face was little more than a pale blur. “I do have a conveyance.” She swallowed hard. The idea was ridiculous, but perhaps... “Of a sort.”

“Oh?” She could hear the grin in his tone and was reminded again of just how young he must be. Surely it was only gratitude at his rescue that made her heart beat faster than it had when they were running.

“It’s a steam-powered...wagon,” she said. “Under a tarpaulin in the barn. It takes two people to operate—one to drive and the other to shovel coal for the boiler.”

“Excellent, provided you can drive.” He squeezed her waist with his hands. “Shoveling coal is one of my specialties. Now let’s get you some clean clothes and anything else you can’t replace. I don’t think you can count on coming home to this village, Mrs. Danvers. The Or... I mean the Home Office will do what it can, but if I were you, I wouldn’t want to take a chance on returning.”

“Right.” She hauled in a breath and stepped back, up onto the first stair. “I’ll need to light a lamp in order to change. Will that be a problem?”

He shrugged. “If you can close the drapes or blinds, all the better. We don’t want anyone coming to see who’s here.”

“Right. Upstairs, then.” She fled toward her bedroom, Sir Connor at her heels, and pulled the shutters closed before feeling around for the candle and sparker she kept by the bed.

“Here.” A small orb of blue light appeared in Sir Connor’s palm, throwing the room into shadows. She gulped at the reminder of his magick, so much more powerful than any piddling gift she might have. “Now light the candle. I can’t maintain this forever.”

She obeyed, then tugged a carpet bag from under the bed and shoved in the wedding photograph she kept on her bureau and a small portrait of her grandparents. Things that couldn’t be replaced, he’d said. Her few photos were at the top of that list.

“You should probably change clothes first,” he said calmly. “You need to get dry.”

She jammed another photograph in along with her small jewelry box and her mother’s silver-handled hairbrush before turning to him. “Fine. While I’m dressing, if you want to be useful, go down to the kitchen and put all the bread, cheese and so on into a hamper. You’ll find one in the closet under the stairs.”

“As milady wishes.” He bowed, but paused before he left the room. “Do you need any help with your laces?”

“No.” She lived alone, so she always dressed herself with no help from a maid. Grabbing the patchwork quilt off the bed, she shoved it toward him. “Go on and take this. My grandmother made it. There’s money in the jar in the pantry labeled
coffee
, if they haven’t stolen it.”

He accepted the quilt, folding it as he spoke. “Take a change of clothes if you have them, and a warm coat, but hurry, and take only what you absolutely can’t bear to leave. I’m sorry you don’t have time to pack more.”

She nodded again, fumbling with the buttons on her shirtwaist. “I don’t have much that matters.”

He paused in the doorway. “Well, then, I’m sorry for that too.”

* * *

Connor made his way down the stairs without a light. His senses were keener than those of most humans, and he acknowledged the cat, easily the size of a small lion, staring at him haughtily from the back of a sofa. “I suppose she’ll want to take you.” This was rapidly turning into a farce. What was going to happen next?

He found the kitchen. Something had been left on the stove, although at least the fire was out. The pantry door hung ajar, so it was quick work to light a candle and find the hamper. After blowing a thick layer of dust off the covered wicker basket, he loaded it with her modest supplies. The coffee tin was present and still jingled, so he added that and the one actually full of tea. A pretty painted vase sat on the kitchen window, so Connor wrapped that in a tea towel and stuck it in as well along with the few other knickknacks. He didn’t see a basket for the cat, so he moved back to the parlor to see if anything there would fit in the hamper or his pockets.

“The mantel clock, please,” Belinda said as she came down the stairs. “My parents gave me that as a wedding gift. And oh, heavens, I almost forgot my grandmother’s cards.” She opened a drawer and withdrew a packet wrapped in cloth, which she shoved in the larger of her two carpetbags. “There. That’s most of it.” Her voice was thick as she looked around at her home for probably the last time.

“Do you have a basket for the cat?” Connor looked at the beast in question, swallowing the lump in his own throat.

She sniffed and chuckled. “What? Put Lucifer in a basket? Please. He’ll come along on his own, never worry. He’s smart enough to know they’re after his blood too. After all, he’s the witch’s familiar.” She clicked her tongue and the enormous cat jumped down and padded behind her as she moved toward the kitchen door.

“Right.” Connor hefted the hamper and nicked one of the carpet bags when she set it down to pull on her heavy boots at the back door. “Are you sure this will all fit in your wagon?” Hopefully, they wouldn’t be taking a tractor or something else with an open driver’s box.

“Oh, there will be plenty of room.” She made a sound suspiciously like a giggle, then took an umbrella and led the way outside, her cat trotting at her heels.

The barn, like the house, was beginning to fall into disrepair. The door creaked and sagged as she pushed it open. An old tin lantern hung from a hook inside the wall, and Connor used a spell to light it, illuminating the inside of the barn. Aside from some dusty tools, most of the available space was taken by a single large object—easily eighteen feet long, eight feet high and six feet wide—covered by several tarps sewn together. Whatever it was, it would certainly hold two people and a cat. If it worked. He was pretty sure the old mule snoozing in the corner of the barn was going to have to stay.

“We need to open the big doors at the far end,” Belinda said. She set down her bag and moved toward them. “Can you uncover the wagon?”

Connor obediently dragged the heavy tarpaulin away from the wagon. Once he did, he stared at the vehicle beneath for a moment, then leaned back against the wall of the barn, laughing so hard he thought he might burst.

The widow’s steam-powered conveyance was an enormous, vividly painted horseless circus wagon.

Chapter Three

“I don’t see why you find it humorous.” Belinda got the wide double doors open and turned, just to find her so-called rescuer laughing his fool head off at the sight of her grandfather’s caravan. “It was the very top of the trees just three years past.”

“I believe it was.” He sobered quickly and quirked up one dark eyebrow. The lamplight cast copper highlights into his dark hair, showing it as auburn rather than black.

She shrugged and strode to the rear door of the steam-powered caravan, Lucifer at her heels. “My grandfather left it to me. I still don’t see why it’s funny.”

“We’re sneaking out of town in the brightest, biggest, probably loudest conveyance possible. That doesn’t strike you as amusing?” Still, he craned over her shoulder as she opened the wide door to the stall area at the back of the caravan. “It doesn’t have a calliope attached to the boiler, does it? That would be a bit much.”

“Perhaps a little.” Who was she fooling? It was ludicrous. “There’s no organ. Put the luggage in here. There’s even straw in the stalls, so we can take old Nick.”

“Your cat is Lucifer and your mule is Old Nick and the villagers aren’t supposed to think you’re a witch?”

She winced. “That’s a coincidence. I got Lucifer as a kitten and originally named him Lucinda, and my husband had Nick long before I married him.”

“Right.” Connor eyed the geriatric mule and looked back at the divided sections in the caravan. “I suppose I can’t say anything, since my favorite stallion is named Mephistopheles. This area is designed for horses?”

“Lions, actually,” she said. “My grandfather was a lion tamer.”

“Of course he was.” The burly Scot only laughed. “But my own family tree has some odd nuts, so I can’t turn up my nose. At least with these wide studded wheels, the wagon shouldn’t have any trouble staying on the road, even if the rain gets worse.” Without argument, he loaded her measly possessions while she got Nick and led him into the caravan.

With the utter nonchalance of any feline, Lucifer hopped in and claimed the smaller stall as his own. Well, if there were mice in the straw, at least he’d be fed.

They both moved swiftly about their tasks, and just a few moments later Belinda struggled to light the boiler in its small compartment beside the driver’s position.

“Allow me.” Connor muttered a quick incantation and pointed his finger at the burner valve. The flame ignited instantly. He used another spell to speed up the steam compression, so they’d be able to leave about twenty minutes sooner than normal. She shivered, not sure she’d ever get used to someone who could genuinely cast spells.

He quirked his eyebrow again. “Complaining?”

“No.” She was lucky to have him, and she knew it. Most gentleman of his station wouldn’t know a coal shovel from a fire poker.

Next he lit the lamps, and removed his frock coat. Belinda hung it beside her own cloak in the cabin area.

“Now, milady, shall we be off? Before the clowns and acrobats catch us up?” He began shoveling coal into the boiler.

Whoa
,
lassie
. His damp shirt revealed his powerful arms and shoulders, making Belinda’s mouth go dry. For the first time since her husband’s death, she felt something like lust curl through her belly. It had clearly been too long since she’d been with a man. Seven years, part of her brain responded. Why on earth had her body decided to wake up now, when she was running for her very life?

Despite her desperation to be gone, Belinda laughed at his enthusiasm. “Yes, sir.” She snapped him a salute and moved past the thin partition to the driver’s station. She knew which pedals and levers to use. Grandfather had made sure of that when he’d brought her the caravan a month before his death.

“I hope to hell the water tanks are full.” Connor’s voice carried over the sound of the boiler and the now working steam engine as she put the big vehicle into gear. With a belch of steam, the caravan crept forward on its massive wheels.

“They are. I promised my grandfather I’d always keep it ready. Fresh oil once a year, full water tanks once a month. Actually, even the straw is only a couple months old.”

“We’re going west, correct?” he shouted. “They’ll check the nearest stations. We’ll make for one a little farther away.”

“All right,” she said. “There’s an old farm road we can take toward Dumfries.”

“On the other hand, if we go east, we could reach my family home by morning. You’d be safe there. And the sheriff is in Dumfries. I don’t think we want to head right toward him.”

“Against the full force of the law? I don’t think so,” she shouted back, warmed by his offer, even if she couldn’t accept.

“My father and grandfather are both Home Office as well and both outrank me considerably. They’ll be able to get this all sorted out. Trust me, you’ll be fine. My word as a gentleman.” Even over the engine’s din, she could hear the certainty in his strong voice.

“We only have enough coal for about twenty or thirty miles.” It was tempting to believe there was somewhere she could safely relax. She had stayed in Shadwick for so long—which had proven in the end to be a mistake.

“Most inns offer coal for sale,” he yelled. “I can afford to pay for fueling. Do your villagers know to look for a circus wagon?”

“I don’t think so.” It was a valid question, so she stopped to think before responding. “They know I was a gypsy, but not any more than that. My grandfather left it to me, but I never thought I’d use it so I certainly didn’t tell anyone about it.”

“Then we should be safe, once we’re on the main road. Keep a watch in the mirror. If anyone is following, we’ll trade places and I’ll speak to them.” For just a moment, his voice lost all trace of youthful frivolity and he sounded positively dangerous. At that moment, she noted again just how large a man he really was, despite the cheerful and irreverent demeanor which made him seem less imposing. Had she traded the frying pan for the fire? A shiver ran down Belinda’s spine, this time one not based on the proximity of an attractive young male.

You
keep
telling
yourself
that
,
lassie
.
Then
mayhap
you
won’t
embarrass
yourself
.

Odd how it sounded like Micah’s voice in her head, teasing her for being attracted to another man.

Well
,
do
you
think
I’d
want
you
to
grieve
forever
? Hearing his voice in her head again startled her into releasing the throttle, and the powerful engine stuttered.

“Everything all right?” her rescuer called through the dividing wall.

“Fine. My hand slipped.” More like her mind had slipped. Why, after all these years, would she be hearing Micah’s voice in her head?

Blast
if
I
know
.
Must
have
something
to
do
with
the
wagon
.
Your
abilities
could
be
strengthened
by
the
connection
to
your
ancestors
.

That was definitely Micah’s voice. And his words made sense. She did feel an increase in her minimal powers here inside the caravan.

I’ve
been
around
,
lass
,
but
not
for
much
longer
now
.
You’ll
be
on
your
own
soon
.

“I thought I was for years,” she muttered. It didn’t seem fair that he’d finally spoken to her right as he was leaving.

“What was that?” her companion yelled.

“Just talking to myself,” she shouted back. “Nothing to worry you.”

“As long as you don’t answer yourself back.” Despite the danger of their situation, he laughed.

“I make no promises.” For a moment, Belinda almost laughed too. A strange giddiness filled her at the thought. Certainly, she’d laughed with one of the other village women from time to time, but with a man? No, none under seventy or over seven, not since Micah’s death.

“Have you family to go to? Your uncle’s circus perhaps?”

That question sobered her right up. “No.” The circus had stopped being her home ten years earlier, and once her grandfather had passed, any appeal to going back had ended. “I’d rather not.”

They chugged along steadily with no further conversation until she made out the crossroad rapidly approaching. “East or west?” she called.

“Kay’s Tower is east,” he replied. “Maybe thirty miles, then another five north.”

“You’re sure about this?”

“I am,” he replied with no trace of hesitation.

Trust
him
,
Linnie
.

Oh, blast it, even her dead husband agreed with the man. Who was she to argue with that? Slowly, mindful that the rain made the roadway slick, she turned the wagon to the right. The wheels slipped a bit, and Belinda let out a long breath when the caravan began once again chugging forward. Toward the rail station, or toward Connor’s home? And his wife? She wished that thought hadn’t occurred to her.

He’s
not
married
.
Leastways
,
I
don’t
think
so
.
I
can
only
pick
up
a
few
of
his
thoughts
,
enough
to
know
he’s
honorable
and
able
to
defend
you
if
needed
.

Thank
you
,
Micah
. It was disconcerting to talk to him in her head, but she didn’t want Connor to overhear.
Do
you
know
if
the
squire
and
his
men
are
following
us
?

I’m
sure
they
are
, Micah replied.
Soon
,
if
not
yet
.
But
I
can’t
see
anything
more
than
a
few
hundred
yards
away
from
you
.

And
you’ve
been
near
me
all
along
? She thought about the nights when she could have sworn she almost felt him beside her in the bed, only to open her eyes and find it empty. Had he actually been there?

Not
all
the
time
,
but
in
and
out
,
yes
.
My
presence
here
is
weakening
,
however
.
Once
you’re
past
this
crisis
,
I
suspect
you’ll
be
on
your
own
.
But
you
can
do
it
.
You’re
a
strong
woman
,
Linnie
,
but
that’s
no
reason
for
you
to
be
alone
the
rest
of
your
life
.

I’m
almost
thirty
,
barren
and
a
Rom
.
Not
exactly
prime
marriage
material
.

Lassie
,
you’d
be
surprised
.
I’m
not
the
only
man
who’ll
see
past
your
ancestry
. Affectionate laughter laced his tone.

“Does the house belong to you, or were you a tenant?” Connor asked as they chugged along.

“It’s mine,” she said. “My husband was a gentleman farmer—it belonged to his grandparents. I hope the townsfolk don’t burn it down or tear it down.” It was a good house. Someone should live there and love it. Just not Belinda.

“You don’t have any children?”

“No.” That came out sharper than Belinda would have liked. “We were never blessed.” It had been the one great sadness in their marriage. They’d both wanted a family so badly, but she’d never conceived. In truth, that was part of why she’d married Micah. She wanted to be settled somewhere, with a good man and a houseful of children. She’d loved him, in a quiet, affectionate way, and he’d loved her.

“I’m sorry.”

Belinda sighed. Even this stranger picked up on her deficiency. Fabulous.

After another half an hour of travel, they passed a small village. Belinda almost forgot to breathe as they drove through. As late as it was, the High Street was deserted, and if a few people opened their curtains and pointed at the wagon, she pretended not to notice. All she cared was that there was no squire with his outriders, waiting to stop them.