“My concern is where Morgan is hiding. Unless he has somehow found a priest hole in the manor and is coming out to push women around, I’m inclined to believe Miss Vivien is an hysterical attention-seeker who stumbled and screamed.” Fletch was in a hurry to grab the pendulums before Kate left. He supposed the weights were safe enough on the landing, but he itched to examine them. “If he’s in the manor, he has to come out to eat.”
“I’ll talk to Lady Elsa, see if any food has gone missing.” Rafe looked as if he’d rather pull hair than speak to the manor’s lady cook.
“Have Verity do it.” Hearing women’s voices approaching, Fletch cursed inwardly and glanced up the hill. Lavender’s sewing ladies were already departing for the day.
Leaving Rafe to his problems, Fletch trotted up the hill. Maybe Kate would dally at the inn, talking with Verity, and he’d still make it back in time.
He dismissed the women hurrying toward home. He heard their calls but he was searching for Kate. Why wasn’t she with the rest? Didn’t the fool woman know a madman was after her? He stomped on, cursing her cork-brained foolishness, wondering if he could pick up the pendulums while locking her in a room until he could walk down with her. . .
He growled when he finally saw her strolling alone, carrying her enormous sewing basket, lagging far behind the others. The evening air was cooler than it should be this time of year, and she was struggling with her cloak—with one hand. He rolled his eyes and broke into a lope.
He was within a few yards of her when a jingle of harness and an indignant bray caused him to glance up.
At the top of the manor’s drive, mules hitched to a cart carrying feed for the stable kicked their heels at an unseen tormentor. Before Fletch could find the perpetrator, the team broke into a gallop. With the reckless speed of angry animals, they raced straight downhill. . . toward Kate.
Fletch broke into a run, smashing into her, grabbing her with his one free arm, and tumbling onto the grassy verge in a muddle of blankets and basket. The mules and their disintegrating cart sailed past. As he hit the ground, a broken wheel flew over their heads.
Screams further down the hill indicated the rest of the women were still alive. A one-wheeled cart didn’t roll fast.
The screams forced Fletch to register the plushness of his landing. Hastily, he rolled off before she beheaded him. They lay side by side, staring at the cloudy twilight sky, letting the shock of their near demise roll over them.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” he said, because his head didn’t work right.
“I. . . You. . .” She half sobbed, half laughed. “Do you still have an arm?”
“Probably. I don’t intend to chase after it, if I don’t.” He thought he might be hysterical. She definitely was. So, what was he supposed to do now?
Laughing, sobbing, she sat up and leaned over to pat his bandaged appendage. “Meera did a good job wrapping you up.”
Now he ached all over. All over. Damn. Pain ought to overrule perfume. The beds of lavender he’d encountered on the Continent hadn’t been as heavenly as her scent.
“Could we play dead?” He didn’t want to sit up, but he could hear shouts from all directions. Even his addled garret knew he ought to be doing something useful, but he couldn’t quite find his breathing apparatus. Maybe his skull wasn’t completely cracked if it was preventing him from grabbing all those soft, welcoming curves and rolling over on her again.
“Excellent solution. If we’re already dead, we can’t be killed.” She lay back down beside him. “If I’m dead, will someone else put my basket together again?”
He laughed. It hurt. “If I’m dead, how will they put the clock together?”
They were both roaring helplessly by the time half the village raced up to put their pieces in place again.
Fourteen
Kate
“I don’t think I’ve heard Kate laugh since we were children.” Brydie sounded amazed. “It takes nearly dying to awake her humor?”
Lying on a bed, presumably at the inn, Kate didn’t think she was that bad. Surely she’d laughed with the children? Her sister simply didn’t remember.
“I’ve never heard Fletch laugh,” Rafe declared. “Are you sure they’ve not knocked their noggins senseless?”
Kate mentally explored her brain to see if she was senseless. Might have been. Wasn’t now. She must have fainted though. She didn’t remember being placed in bed.
“People react differently to shock.” Apparently having decided Kate didn’t need her services, Meera’s voice drifted from the hall. She seemed more pragmatic than concerned. “I’ve rewrapped the major’s shoulder, but he needs a fresh sling. The one he’s wearing is grass-stained. I doubt the fall did him much good.”
“He fell on me.” Kate called to whoever was out there. She thought it best to join the conversation before they bundled her up and hid her in an attic. “I make a good mattress.”
Startled silence instead of laughter. Oh well. Apparently only Fletch recognized her warped wit.
“I am fine, I told you.” An irritable male voice entered the conversation—Fletch.
