“Mr. Brady.”
“Sir?”
“Is this your first trip to Wiltshire?”
“Yes. I have not traveled even a mile west of London before. Why?”
“Perfect. I want to show you something.”
“What?”
Steadman shook his finger. “And ruin the surprise? Indeed not.”
As they rode away from the Broken Cauldron toward the west, Steadman could not stop marveling over how Morgan drew him into friendship despite his best efforts to shun it.
***
Morgan stared with reverence as the sun settled behind the massive stones, casting shadows that consumed the landscape behind her acre by acre. In the growing dusk, the great monoliths of Stonehenge could be gateways to forgotten faerie kingdoms, silent sentinels of magical worlds long crumbled to dust. Her sense of time and space collapsed into a pinprick of a moment while whispering promises of eternity.
“Magnificent, is it not?”
She nodded in agreement. “Who built it? And how?”
“No one knows. Older than history, it is.” He smiled. “I am pleased that it impresses you. I thought it might.”
“It does.” She began to smile at him, only just remembering restraint. “Thank you for sharing this. I hate to leave it behind.”
“Then we should take it with us.”
“Perhaps. I look forward to learning how the great Sir Steadman packs Stonehenge onto a horse.”
A grin stretched his cheeks, kicking up a flutter in Morgan’s chest. “The task would prove more of an undertaking than packing personal baggage. Although one time I managed to secure ten thousand gold guineas onto a packhorse in less than three minutes. This might require, say, half an hour. With your help, of course.”
“No, sir. I would rather stand idly by and watch while mocking your efforts.”
“How would that be different to now?”
She raised an eyebrow. “For one, it would dirty your hands and soil your fine suit.”
He made a great show of flicking a speck of dust from one shoulder. “Can’t have that, now. Who is the Beau Monde Highwayman if not a man of clean suits and spotless hands? Besides, I don’t think the Duke of Queensbury would appreciate us absconding with his ancient relic.”
With that, he began untying his baggage and bedroll from his horse. Morgan frowned.
“We are sleeping here?”
“Why not? Are you afraid of ancient relics?”
“No. I likeyou, after all.” She began removing her baggage as well. “But the Duke of Queensbury gives me cause for concern.”
“Fear not. He’s a decent sort for a nobleman and rarely comes this way. You have more to fear from the druid behind you.”
She flinched and glanced furtively over her shoulder to find nothing but grassland. Steadman laughed.
“Too gullible by half, Mr. Brady. You must cultivate a healthier measure of skepticism.”
She snorted in a manner universal to men and women. “Perfect. I will begin discounting every word you say.”
“Again, how would that be different to now?”
