Cards & Caravans (6 page)

“It’s home, that’s the main thing.” He squeezed her waist. “Pull up right in front of the drawbridge. We might as well park this thing in the yard now, rather than make someone move it later.” He dashed back to shovel several more scoops of coal. When she reached the drawbridge leading to the court and stopped, he kissed her cheek and hopped out.

He waved at the man in a squat tower guarding the gate. “Laren, I’m home. Let me in.”

“Master Connor. What the ‘ell ‘ave you there?” Even as he spoke, he pulled a lever and the mechanical winch lowered the bridge with a rumble. “Come on in, then. Your grandmother’s worrying a mite that you wouldn’t make it in time.”

“Just a mite, eh?” Connor laughed as he walked across the bridge and was immediately mobbed by the children. “Come now, out of the way. Let the lady in the gates, you little monsters.” He picked up a small boy and plopped him over his shoulders, then held a smaller girl against his chest before motioning to Belinda to drive on in.

“Gage, let’s go open the hay barn doors,” he yelled to a servant who’d come running out of the house. “Should be room for this monstrosity inside, shouldn’t there?”

“Aye.” The servant ran across the yard, while Connor handed off the little children to some older ones, and sent them scurrying out of the way of the wagon.

Soon, Belinda had the wagon parked in the barn, and Connor was there to help her down. He opened the back, grabbed her cloak and placed it around her shoulders, then allowed Lucifer to follow them out. At the sight of the dogs, Lucifer puffed up and hissed, but none of the enormous hounds approached too closely. “Someone please see to the mule in the back of the wagon,” Connor called over his shoulder as he took her arm. “His name is Nick.”

“Aye, sir,” chorused a handful of voices.

“Well, Mrs. Danvers, are you ready to meet my family?” As they approached the side door of the tower, it burst open and two pretty young women scurried out to grab Connor and hug him, chattering excitedly.

Belinda felt a stab of jealousy, before she noted the resemblance between the redhead and Connor. Another woman, in her fifties perhaps, who looked much like the darker of the girls, stood in the doorway holding a fair-haired infant. The man beside her could be Connor in another fifty years. They both arched eyebrows when they saw Belinda, but to their credit, neither smile wavered.

“Let’s move this inside.” Connor shooed the younger women toward the door. “And we could use baths. That caravan isn’t the cleanest thing to drive.”

“Tea first, in the kitchen,” the woman who had to be Connor’s mother decreed. “Then baths. Your grandmother wants to see your face and reassure herself that you’re still among the living.”

Connor bit his lip, making her turn to see what was wrong. “Nan worries,” he whispered with a shrug. He kept Belinda’s hand in his as they followed his parents inside.

Once they’d been ushered into a big, cheerful breakfast room, they were joined by a still-spry elderly couple, and served tea and scones. Connor kissed his mother and grandmother, hugged the older man, then sat beside Belinda to make the introductions.

“Belinda, meet my grandparents, Sir William and Lady MacKay. Nan’s first name is Evelyn, as opposed to my mother, also Lady MacKay, whose name is Maura. Awkward, having several generations of Knights in the family—but there you go.” He presented her to his family with as much dignity as if she were a queen.

Belinda smiled and nodded as Connor wolfed down scone after scone and rattled on. The tea was heavenly—a far better quality than she’d ever been able to afford¬—so she sipped it slowly, letting the taste coat her tongue. “These two hoydens are my sisters, Geneva, Lady Findlay and Miss Melody MacKay. The small fry is my nephew, Garrick.” Connor lifted the little boy from his mother’s arms and gave his grandfather a serious look even as he cuddled the babe. Watching him with the child brought a lump to Belinda’s throat.

Belinda greeted each one, her head swimming. Several curious eyes were raised to her, but at least they were all unfailingly polite.

“Connor explained the situation on the telephone this morning,” Sir William said. “I understand you’re in grave danger, young lady.”

“Yes, sir.” Belinda met the old gentleman’s eyes. “I’m sorry to bring it to your house.”

“My father will be along in an hour or two,” Connor said. “We’ll talk more once he arrives. Meanwhile, Grandfather, I want you to offer Belinda formal sanctuary on behalf of the Order. I suspect the men who want her dead won’t give up easily.”

“Did you do it?” Connor’s grandmother asked in a matter-of-fact tone, as if questioning someone about murder was part of everyday conversation. She also passed a plate of scones toward Belinda.

“And if you did, was there a good reason?” That was the younger sister, Melody. The two sisters were both lovely young women but very different. Geneva was tall, with auburn curls like Connor and Sir William, while Melody was petite and dark like her mother. Both seemed to have hearty appetites, undiminished by the turmoil Belinda had brought to their home. Apparently Connor’s enjoyment of sweets was a family trait.

Several of the others began to talk at once. Belinda nibbled on a lemon scone, but her stomach was so tied up in knots she could barely swallow solid food.

“She didn’t do it.” Connor’s voice cut through the chatter and he wrapped an arm around Belinda’s shoulders. “It was a cholera outbreak. They’re claiming death by witchcraft.”

“Well, that’s just silly.” It was the older Lady MacKay who shook her silver head. “No self-respecting witch would resort to something so erratic, not when they could simply induce heart failure or a convenient accident. More likely, the silly people fouled their own well or drank from a contaminated stream.” She gave Belinda an assessing stare. “Are you a witch, dear?”

Belinda shrugged. “I am Romany. I can read cards, tea leaves and such. My herbal tinctures work well for coughs and bruises.” That was the extent of her power. In some places, that would be enough to get her hanged as a witch.

“She doesn’t have the kind of power to cast that sort of spell,” Connor said to his grandfather. “Surely you can see that?”

“Of course.” The older man nodded. “I spoke to Fergus half an hour ago and he concurs that the situation is bollixed up. I’ll go give the order to seal the gates.”

Belinda gaped. They would do that before they’d even spoken to her? Tears pricked at her eyes as Connor’s mother stood and took her arm. Only reluctantly did Connor nod and let go of Belinda’s hand.

“Come along, Mrs. Danvers. Why don’t you let me show you to a room?” With that, Belinda found herself separated from Connor. One look in the younger Lady MacKay’s eyes told Belinda that she, at least, would have no qualms throwing a stranger to the dogs if it meant protecting her son. Belinda couldn’t fault her for that.

Belinda returned the strained social smile and followed along. Only once she was alone in a sumptuous guest room did she shiver and hold Lucifer close to her chest.

* * *

Shortly after noon, Connor looked around the MacKays’ dining table at his family. Only the adults were present, and the doors had been shut even to the servants. This was less of a luncheon and more a council of war. More than one eyebrow had been lifted at Belinda being included, but Connor wasn’t about to let them get away with snubbing her. He had plans. What had been a germ of an idea last night was now fully developed. The only one who would have the power to change his mind was Belinda, and he fully intended to win her approval. He reached under the table and squeezed her thigh, just for the pleasure of touching her, even through layers of skirts and petticoats.

“After you phoned this morning, I had Alisdair search parish court records and local newspapers,” Fergus said about halfway through the main course. “You were right. There have been a number of other witch trials in a handful of small villages in the south of Scotland and the north of England. As far as our records indicate, none of those executed was known to have significant magickal ability. Many of those accused were Romany, Hebrew or immigrants. We might be looking at some kind of religious crusade or attempt to rid England of immigrants. Furthermore, one known wizard—a man who has assisted the Order in the past—has also gone missing near Newcastle. His mother was from New Delhi, which matches up with the other victims. Our findings indicate that something on a larger scale is going on.”

“It really does appear to be a hunt and I don’t think they care how they get rid of the so-called witches. I don’t believe the charges and trials are being handled in a legal manner,” Connor said. “I’d like the Home Office to invalidate Belinda’s death sentence as soon as possible. There’s no way she has the power, let alone the desire to cause a cholera outbreak.” Odd how it had never occurred to him she might be guilty of something, if not actual witchcraft. Yes, her gift was a soft shimmer rather than the hot glow of real power, but that was no guarantee a person was good. Something in him rejected the idea of Belinda being evil. Certainly her fear had been genuine when she’d been planning to kill herself rather than be burned and again when she’d offered to flee alone, on foot, rather than put him in harm’s way. He shuddered at either thought. The world would be just a little less bright without Belinda in it.

“At the very least, she deserves a proper trial,” William, Connor’s grandfather, said. He shot Belinda the piercing gaze Connor knew all too well from childhood, the one that William’s children and grandchildren swore could see into your soul. “Why don’t you tell us what happened, Mrs. Danvers? Why do you believe you were accused?”

Belinda repeated her tale is a calm, no-nonsense voice, her spine straight and her eyes on William. Connor slid his hand under the table again, this time to cover hers, which were knotted together in her lap, her only obvious sign of discomfort as she recounted what he already knew about her arrest and incarceration.

“With regard to why,” she said at the end, “all I have is supposition. I will say that one of our village aldermen, Mr. Ian Douglas, is a vindictive brute. He’s always believed that because I was a gypsy, I ought to be...available, particularly after I became a widow. I managed to avoid his veiled suggestions and snide propositions for several years, largely by pretending not to notice and by staying away from the man, even though I was a friend of his wife’s. Last spring, his wife passed away in childbirth, leaving behind a baby girl and an older boy. Over the summer, Douglas renewed his attentions to me, growing more and more insistent that I become his mistress. Three weeks ago, he came out to my farm and cornered me in the barn.”

Connor saw red, literally. A crimson haze filmed his vision for a moment.

“Were you able to escape?” Geneva asked, the compassion that made her such a good doctor evident in her gaze. Connor could have hugged her for her kindness to his bedraggled blackbird.

“Yes.” Belinda’s smile held a grim resolution. “I hit him over the head with a water bucket and kicked him in the privates.”

“Good for you.” Connor squeezed her hand. “So he went away?”

She nodded. “I ran and locked myself in the house. After that, I let it be known that I carried Micah’s revolver with me to guard against ‘snakes’ in the barn and fields.”

“Go on,” Fergus said. “What happened then?”

“About ten days after that, his four-year-old son Johnny died of cholera, along with two other children in the village. His cousin, Mr. Engle, arrived in time for the funeral. In less than a week, he proclaimed himself a bona fide witch-finder, and managed to convince the entire village that I caused the epidemic to punish the alderman for coming out to the farm to discuss the perilous state of my soul.” She used a deep voice on the last few words, obviously quoting the so-called witch-finder.

Connor forced down his temper and asked, “And the magistrate, Squire MacLellan, how does he come into this?”

“He and the alderman have been friends since their school days. For what it’s worth, I think the squire actually believes I’m a witch, unlike the alderman, who bloody well knows better.” She wrenched one hand away from his and clapped it over her mouth. “Pardon my language, my ladies.”

“Not to worry, dear,” Evelyn said. “We understand that you’re exhausted and overwrought from you ordeal.”

Belinda shook her head. “Still, that’s no excuse for poor behavior. Thank you for your indulgence.”

“It sounds like sufficient grounds for requesting an appeal to be heard by the High Court,” William said. “I’ll telephone the Home Office and begin the process. Connor, Fergus, after the party tomorrow, I’d like you to continue to look into this witch-finder business. If we have someone deliberately killing off people with talents, we need to know about it.”

“Yes, sir.” Connor tipped his head to his grandfather.

“Of course,” Fergus said. “One thing that might be a problem, here, Father, is that the squire Connor talked to was correct on one count. Witchcraft is still defined on the books as a parish matter. Legally, if they find her before the appeal is granted, they could have standing to carry out the sentence. We’ll need to keep Mrs. Danvers well hidden for the time being.”

“I’ve been thinking about that.” Connor drew in a deep breath. “Also, based on that, she may not have formal grounds for an appeal, which would be a nightmare.”

“True, unfortunately.” William studied Connor’s face. “What’s your solution?”

Connor looked around the table, then at Belinda. “I believe Belinda and I should marry, immediately.”

Belinda choked on her tea.

Around the table, shocked silence reigned. Connor patted her on the back until she stopped coughing.

“You’re mad,” she finally sputtered once she’d gasped in some air.

Everyone else seemed to hold their breath.

Finally, Evelyn nodded. “He’s right. It’s the perfect solution”

“That’s ridiculous.” Maura turned to Connor’s father for support. “Tell him, Fergus. This is lunacy.”

Fergus, however, looked across at his own mother. “Are you certain?”

Evelyn shrugged. “It’s the Sight, not a science. But Connor is a grown man with a sharp mind and fine instincts. Don’t discount them because he’s young.”