“Someone’s wedding breakfast it would seem,” Richard remarked as they paused just outside the festivities. “Perhaps this latest joy shall see them in a good humour?”
“Richard,” she pressed, her hand firm on his arm, “it is not proper.”
Chuckling, he set a hand atop hers, “Little we have been through since we were taken has been proper.”
Nodding, she allowed him to lead them into the throng of people, her head lowered until he, with his held high, remindedher that she was a gentleman’s daughter who had taken on armed men single-handed.
Forcing an air of confidence onto her features, Mary continued to grip his arm as they made their way forward, many of those in attendance taking a step back at the sight of them.
A few more steps and the crowd grew silent, the attention of all turned to them; the majority uncertain.
“May we offer our best wishes for the happy couple?” he began lightly. “It is well the autumn is fine, for, as you can observe from my appearance, being caught in inclement weather does nothing to improve one's looks–at least for us gentlemen, a lady ought never be seen as less lovely, only recast by wind and water.”
“I told you that only last week, Hamish,” a woman stated.
“You said the weather enhances a lass ‘cause of her reddened face, you said nothing about being ‘recast.’”
“The meaning is the same.”
“Well,” another man said as he drew near Richard, his English accent at odds with the Scottish ones around them, “anyone who has the appearance you do must be in want of a fine meal. I welcome you to celebrate my daughter’s marriage. You and your misses are free to help yourself at our tables. Now!” he shouted to the crowd. “Let us be merry!”
A roaring shout from the men arose, the ladies clapping excitedly as a fiddle began to play, and a great many couples joined in a lively dance. Finger tapping in time to the music, Richard smiled down at Mary, every temptation to dance with her present, save knowing neither of them would have the strength. Instead, he led her toward the nearest table of food,their eyes widening at the sight of pork and pies and bread and all manner of rich, warm fare.
A half hour later, thoroughly stuffed and huddled with Mary by a large bonfire, Richard’s muscles eased as cold and danger each appeared to vanish with the waning sun.
“Do you think we shall have to walk the whole way?” the soft voice of Mary asked.
“Not if it can be helped,” he answered. “As long as we can find someplace safe to remain, a letter might be posted to my cousin and money or a carriage sent within a matter of days. I would happily work to earn our passage, yet I fear it would take far longer… particularly as there is every likelihood I will have to work to see a letter posted and shelter found. Still, as long as we can secrete ourselves away for a time while I earn shelter and food, we shall be well–with no more miles to tread.”
Taking a sip of her drink, she smirked, “No more walking… That is a lovely thought.”
“Lovely indeed,” he nodded, his eyes fixed to her as he watched the worries of their ordeal begin to pass away, the brightness of her face a welcome sight.
“But you know I must help in earning our keep,” she amended. “We are in this together, you see.”
Though loath to have her toil after all they had been through, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam knew better than to question a determined woman, especially one he had committed to facing every hindrance with.
“Always together,” he agreed, his smile broad at her continual reminders of their not facing anything alone.
Perhaps one day,he thought happily,all the successes and failures of life might be shared? Far less dramatic or dangerous hopefully, and at times unremarkable, but always together.
Always.
∞∞∞
“Come,” the Englishman who had welcomed them said, “the hour is late.”
Hesitating, Richard stared up at the man, uncertain if they were being expected to leave their village at such a late hour or not. “Might we find shelter somewhere? A barn? A small cover for your animals?”
Hands raised, he shook his head, “Please, you misunderstand, I am offering you a room; now that my daughter has a home of her own, my wife and three younger children can offer you her former room. True, the two youngest might balk because they expect to no longer share, but they have endured it for these many years, surely they might endure it a little longer.”
“We have no money,” Richard admitted, “almost all our possessions were taken, but I am willing to work.” Observing Mary’s eyes upon him, he amended, “Weare willing to work. For shelter, for food, and hopefully, for the cost of enough paper, ink, and post to write to my cousin.”
“I had expected it to be for one night,” the man hummed, his eyes casting back toward a woman, “still, my wife would expect me to offer you hospitality, and I admit your strength is well needed, sir. My eldest son injured his arm less than a week ago and he has not been able to help much since. Further, my wifeis likely to feel the loss of our daughter’s presence keenly, what with naught but a household of men for company. Now, then, excuse me while I check with my wife before agreeing. I expect her answer to be favourable, yet a good man always asks.”
“That he does,” Richard agreed as the man hurried over to who was sure to be the man’s wife; the pair in short discussion before she motioned toward them with a broad smile–her answer favourable.
“There,” he said as he returned, “it is all agreed. You two are welcome to remain with us!”
