An Arrangement of Sorts Page 8

  Nathan could not think of anything to say. No wonder she had been so keen to make friends with him when he had offered, and no wonder she had been so drawn to Charles Allenford.

  “What happened to you, Moira?” he murmured, half hoping she wouldn’t hear him.

  She would not meet his eyes. “Pass,” she whispered.

  Despite his anxieties, Nathan left the matter alone. But he watched Moira carefully until the shadows were gone once more.

  “I cannot believe you are making me wear a bonnet.”

  Nathan tried not to laugh, he really did, but Moira’s morose tone, combined with the triviality of the topic and the sudden downpour of rain made for quite the humorous situation. He could not hide the laughter that shook his frame as he tried to keep quiet about it, and received a vicious glare from his riding companion.

  “And now you are laughing at me!” she accused in indignation. She huffed and adjusted herself in the saddle. “Some husband you are,” she muttered under her breath.

  Nathan grinned, unable to help himself. “Come now, Moira, we are almost to the inn and you did say that it would be my turn to speak for us. Mr. and Mrs. Granger have come a very long way, and Mr. Granger is the type of man whose wife wears a bonnet in the rain.”

  “I do not care for this Mr. Granger at all.”

  “You had better forget that in the next few minutes,” he said with no small amount of warning in his smile, “or we will both be out of a place to sleep tonight.”

  She made a small noise of protest but said nothing further.

  They arrived at the small, but comfortable looking inn and Nathan was quick to dismount and head over to Moira. She glared daggers at him, but at his look, she allowed him to help her down. He set his hands on her tiny waist and lifted her down, still surprised by how light she was. And by the warmth he felt under his fingertips. Quickly, he removed his hands and turned, taking hold of her arm and placing a hand at the small of her back.

  “Now be quiet and look ill,” he hissed in her ear.

  She glared at him, but nodded once.

  He patted her on the back. “Good girl.”

  He could almost hear her bite her tongue. He forced himself not to smile at that. She very grudgingly let him lead her into the inn. The room was maybe half full and the group was rather quiet, in stark contrast to their lodgings from the night before.

  “Excuse me,” Nathan said pleasantly to the man behind a sturdy looking desk. “Are there rooms available for the night?”

  “Why, yes, sir, there are,” the man replied with a warm smile. “Would you and your lady like to wait out the rain here?”

  “Yes, we were hoping to,” Nathan said, pouring as much relief into his tone as he could muster. Then he stepped closer to the man and whispered, “My wife Celia is in delicate health, sir, and the rain does not help matters. Is there any way we can get a quiet room? Perhaps away from the rest?”

  Moira was going to throttle him later, he could see it in her face, but for now, she merely coughed weakly into her handkerchief and looked miserable. She played the sickly wife rather well, he thought. The innkeeper looked her over with concern, and nodded swiftly.

  “Of course, Mr.…?”

  “Granger.”

  “Yes, Mr. Granger, I will see what we can do. Let me call for my wife, and see if she can see Mrs. Granger situated with a warm bath and some fresh clothing while we have a lad bring in your bags.” He waved to a maid. “Lucy, go and get Mrs. Fletcher.”

  The girl nodded and ran off, and Moira brightened considerably at the mention of a bath.

  “Thank you, Mr. Fletcher, that is too generous,” Nathan said with a warm smile. He turned to Moira with a raised brow, and suddenly feared she would kick him in his shins. She handed him some coins from her purse and his eyes widened as he looked down at them. It was too much, nearly extravagant for such an establishment. His eyes met hers, questions written in them. She nodded and he shrugged, then handed them over to Fletcher.

  “You let your wife keep the purse, Mr. Granger?” Fletcher said with a smile.

  Nathan chuckled good-naturedly. “’Tis she who lets me spend it, Mr. Fletcher.”

  Fletcher laughed. “Well said, Mr. Granger, well said indeed. Ah, here is Mrs. Fletcher now.”

  A plump woman with a kind smile approached, as she wiped her hands on the apron she wore, and tsked at Moira’s drenched and ill-looking state. “Oh, you poor dear! Let me get you set up properly with a bath and some fresh clothes. Mr. Fletcher will make sure some food is sent up to you.”

  Moira nodded meekly, even as her stomach rumbled.

  “The room does face the stables, I am afraid, Mr. Granger,” Fletcher said with a worried expression. “The smell, I fear, might…”

  “Not to worry, Mr. Fletcher, that will be more than adequate.”

  “My lads will bring the bags up straightaway, sir.”

  “Thank you very much,” Nathan said with a nod.

  Moira tugged on his sleeve and, in a weak, weary sounding voice that was not like hers at all, whispered, “Fred! Fred!”

  He nearly burst out laughing, but managed to keep a straight face as he leaned down to her. “What, my love?”

  She put her lips near his ears and hissed, “If you let them bring me nothing but broth, I can assure you that a live flaying and being covered with honey will be the very least of your concerns.”

  He swallowed back another laugh, but nodded. “As you wish, my love. I will see you later.”

  She gave him another fierce warning with her eyes, and then allowed Mrs. Fletcher to take her up to their room.

  Nathan turned to Fletcher. “I think a tray should be sent up to her, Mr. Fletcher, when she has finished her bath. But she does not handle broth well, so perhaps something hearty? I worry for her constitution, and anything of substance would do her some good, I should think.”

  “Of course, Mr. Granger, of course,” Fletcher said, nearly stumbling over himself in an effort to be of use. “And now would you please let me get you a drink, sir? Something to warm your bones?”

  “That would be excellent, thank you, Fletcher. And will someone see to our horses?”

  “Of course, Mr. Granger,” Fletcher told him, bowing slightly.

  Nathan nodded in approval. “I thank you, Fletcher. It is so rare to find such excellent service and comfort.” A bit over the top, but not untrue.

  Fletcher grinned so wide Nathan was afraid his face would crack under the strain. “Thank you, Mr. Granger, that is such a comfort to me. May I have some food brought to you? And would you care for a seat near the fire? We have a few other patrons staying with us this evening, many of them very pleasant indeed. You can be assured of some fine company.”

  Now that was what Nathan was looking for. Time to spin the Granger’s story a little bit deeper.

  “I confess, I had hoped for some. You see, Fletcher, my wife and I are traveling in search of her brother. She has not heard from him in some time, and they were so very close. She is making herself sick with worry over him.” Moira was going to kill him if she found out what he was saying, but if he could get some good information on Charles’ possible whereabouts, he might have something to placate her with.

  “Last we heard, he had been in this area,” he continued, speaking in a low, but earnest voice. “Do you think that some of these good people might be able to assist us?”

  Fletcher’s eyes widened and he nodded repeatedly. “Oh, I am sure they could, sir, I am sure they could. Come, let me introduce you to them. Such fine men and their manners are so engaging, sir, I feel certain that they will be most obliging.”

  Nathan smiled to himself as he allowed the still-talking Fletcher to lead him towards the small group of men by the fire. Regardless as to the outcome of his search for information tonight, they were at least certain to be well treated and cared for.

  And he was fairly positive that was one more thing that he and Moira could agree on.

&nbs
p; Chapter Seven

  “What in the name of all that is holy are you wearing?”

  Moira turned at Nathan’s shocked and very nearly screeching voice. She looked down at herself, then back up at him. “A shirt and breeches. Why?” She tugged the cap on her head into place and put her hands on her hips, staring at him with concern.

  He could not manage to close his mouth, and staring at her seemed quite rude, so he just covered his face with one hand. “Why are you wearing a shirt and breeches, Moira?” he asked from behind his hand, his voice muffled.

  “I should think that obvious,” she said with a snort. “I do not think the patrons, nor the Fletchers, would approve of a woman in a skirt climbing out of their window and sleeping in their stables.”

  Now Nathan could not ignore her indecent clothing. He removed his hand and stared at her in horror. “What?”

  “I am sleeping in the stables tonight,” she said slowly, as if he were the sick creature in the marriage and not she. She gave him a bemused smile as she picked up the sheet rope she had made.

  “No, you are not!” he said coming towards her.

  “Yes, I am,” she argued, as she danced out of his way and up onto the windowsill, rope in hand.

  “Moira, be reasonable!” he protested as he watched her, more than a little nervous about her being on that ledge, and more than a little disturbed at her wardrobe, and even more than a little outraged by her statement.

  “I am being reasonable, Nathan,” she said calmly as she opened the window and leaned out, tugging slightly on the sheet rope to test it.

  “This is the furthest thing from reasonable,” Nathan said coming over and taking hold of the rope. “This is the definition of lunacy.”

  “Poor Mr. Granger has a lunatic wife,” she pitied with a smile. “What will he do?” She started to ease her way down.

  “Moira, please,” Nathan begged, everything in him knowing this was beyond wrong.

  She gave him a look. “Nathan. Today you said you accept that we are equals. Equals take turns. You slept in the stable last night, I shall do so tonight. I have no qualms about this, so I do not see why you do.”

  “You don’t have qualms about anything,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Moira, it is not proper!”

  Her look turned even more severe, if that were possible. “Surely we have argued on that topic enough for one day. I have left you some stew and bread, if you are hungry. I will be back up in the morning, so you may leave the rope as it is. No one will see it back here, and the rain has stopped.”

  “Moira…”

  “Good night, Nathan!” And without another glance up at him, she very skillfully made her way to the ground and headed for the stables.

  Nathan watched her go in anguish. How could he possibly let her sleep in the dirty, dank stables and hay while he enjoyed the comfort of a room and a bed? It went against every principle that he held close to him. But how could he fight a woman who was so infuriatingly determined to do exactly what she wanted when she wanted and without any consideration for the inconvenience of others?

  He ran a hand through his hair and turned away from the window, agitated and anxious. What if she was discovered in there? What if something happened to her? What if their whole scheme was found out because they were no longer convincing as husband and wife? What if…

  He had to stop with the “what if” scenarios or he was going to drive himself mad. Moira would be fine. She was clever enough to avoid discovery; she was indomitable enough that anyone who may come across her and wish her harm would flee in the face of her wrath. She would be fine for one night.

  He knew all of this was true, but it only served to make him feel guiltier than he already did. He moved to the window again, and shut it only slightly, keeping it open enough so that he could hear if anyone would shout for help. He would be able to get to her quickly if she needed him, and that, at least, was a comfort.

  He looked around the room for some sort of distraction, anything to take his mind off of the woman that was surely going to be the death of him and her incredible ability for conceiving foolhardy ideas. He saw her dress from the day spread out before the fire, no doubt nearly dry already, and the hated bonnet on the floor next to it, along with her jacket. Next to them was a neatly folded nightgown, no doubt the best the Fletchers had to offer. That was apparently not to be used tonight.

  Involuntarily, his thoughts went back to the extraordinary ensemble Moira had chosen to don that evening. He had to swallow in spite of himself at the memory of how her legs looked in those breeches. They had not been a tight fit, thankfully, but even so, he had never imagined how long and trim her legs would actually be. He had not thought of her legs at all before now, and it seemed a perfectly good waste of human creation to hide them.

  “Steady there, Nate,” he muttered, desperately trying to clear those less than appropriate thoughts from his mind. Moira deserved better than his gawking. Then again, she did bring it upon herself. “Oh, now really,” he scolded aloud, “it’s not as though she wore them so you could stare like an idiot.”

  That was true, but even so, he was a man.

  “I am a gentleman,” he reminded himself aloud as he paced a bit.

  Gentleman or not, they were some exceptionally fine legs…

  “I’m a gentleman, I’m a gentleman, I’m a gentleman,” he mumbled over and over, pacing and rubbing his hands through his hair in agitation. This was getting entirely out of hand. “I am a bloody gentleman!” he finally bellowed, his voice ringing off of the walls.

  Faintly, he heard from somewhere else in the building, “Well, all right, then! Don’t get so excited!”

  He growled in frustration and moved quickly around the room. Excited, that was a good way to put it. He was too excitable, he needed to be controlled. After all, Moira was not something to stare at; she was a curse sent from all of his enemies past, present, and future to torment, agitate, and infuriate him. She tested his patience, his resolve, and his character, and he did not know how long he could last under these circumstances. There was only so much a man could be expected to endure before enough was enough!

  Rationality soon swept over him as he sat down moodily in a chair before the fire. There would be no giving up, there would be no abandonment, and there would be no overpowering her opinions and claiming authority over her. She had spirit, that much was evident, but it was fragile, much more so than she probably thought. Any overbearing actions on his part would send her storming off on her own. And he would no longer be able to help her. She would be closed off to him forever. He could not do that to her.

  And so he would just have to endure her maddening traits, wearing breeches and sleeping in stables now being added to the ever-growing list.

  He groaned and pushed himself out of the chair. There was a pitcher and bowl of water in the corner, and he took the chance to splash some of the cool water on his face. If Moira was so determined to be equals, he would let her sleep in stables. He would act as though he had gotten over it, pretend as though he did not care what she did. He could fight down his desire to shake her, though it was becoming a more tempting thought by the minute. She could think that she had everything in control, that would not trouble him.

  But so help him, if at some future day, someone said “There goes the appalling Earl of Beverton, who once let a woman sleep out in the stables while he himself took the only bed,” he would hunt down Moira and, married or not, would put her over his knee and give her a paddling that would surely send him to prison.

  He stripped off his shirt and loosened his trousers, then sat on the bed and removed his boots. Well, if Moira was the least bit cross tomorrow morning, he would be only too happy to remind her just whose idea it had been for her to sleep out there.

  It would serve the hellion right.

  Moira woke refreshed and cheerful the next morning, and stretched amidst the hay, rolling a bit. She was quite used to sleeping in such conditions, a
s she enjoyed sleeping in the fresh hay of her neighbor’s barn on a regular basis. If one knew how to make the accommodations comfortable, one could get a perfectly good night’s sleep in such.

  She sat up and pulled at some stray pieces of straw that had embedded themselves in her hair, wondering if Nathan had gotten over his shock. She grinned at the image of his expression last night. She wondered which had surprised him more: her outfit, or her determination to sleep in the stables. Whichever it was, he would have to get over it.

  She picked up her blanket and shook it out, sending bits of hay flying off in every direction, which made her giggle, for some reason. Then she tucked it under her arm and walked over to the inn, where her sheet rope could still be seen hanging from the window. It was still fairly early, so she did not expect that many of the patrons would be stirring as yet. She did hope Nathan would be, however. It would be a trifle awkward to be sneaking back into their room while he was still asleep.

  At least he had kept the window partially ajar. She had fully expected him to shut it in protest of her actions. That would have made things difficult, but not impossible.

  It just went to show what a decent man Nathan was, and reaffirmed to her once again that she had made the right choice in choosing him as her travel companion.

  She took hold of the sheet rope and began to climb, thankful that the brick of the building was rough enough for her to get a decent grip with her boots. They were not exactly designed for such activity, and it would be far too easy to slip if she were not careful.

  She reached the window and opened it the rest of the way, then peeked at the bed. Sure enough, it was empty. She grinned and hauled herself into the room, landing rather inelegantly on the floor, which made her snort in laughter again. She quickly stood and pulled the sheet rope in. She could unknot it later, right now she was famished.