He must not have liked her jest either.
“I heard her speaking. Let me in.”
She tried to remember a time when a man showed concern because she didn’t rise from bed. In her experience, ill health made them uncomfortable. Even after she’d given birth, no one but Brydie had stayed at her side.
Out of politeness, she probably ought to show them she hadn’t expired. Did she want to sit up? Various aches protested, but if nothing else, she ought to save Meera from Fletch’s terrible language. She struggled up on one elbow. “I like you better when you’re laughing, Major.”
Fletch shoved into the room looking haggard and vaguely desperate. “Ha, ha. Do you mean to bibble-babble all night? Tonight’s supper is going cold and your children look as if I’ve put the eyes out on their puppy.”
She couldn’t help it, even though it hurt her ribs, Kate laughed at his aggrieved expression.
“She’s not going anywhere,” Rafe warned. “We’re surrounding the inn with guards.”
Kate straightened in indignation and threw her legs over the side of the bed. “I am not abandoning my home to a lunatic! We are going home, to our own beds. Let him just try to come after me!”
“He did, gudgeon.” Dirty and rumpled, his day-old beard giving him the appearance of a highwayman, Fletch offered his good arm to help her off the bed. “He whacked the mules hard enough to even make a stubborn ass gallop.”
Someone hissed at his language but he was speaking hers. Deep buried anger emerged in different ways, and obstinacy was how she dealt with it. “He’ll go to ground again, waiting to see what we do. Lynly and Rob will feel more secure in their own beds. You fixed supper?”
Ignoring protests and Brydie’s wails of distress and offers of accompaniment, Kate wobbled out of the Russells’ bedroom. The children, all of them, including the Russells’ pair, ran down the hall to escort her, their relief evident. She ached in every bone of her body but smiled at their administrations, such as they were. “My sewing basket?”
“Major Fletcher picked it up,” Lynly answered happily. “We helped. He saw your pistol and said a lot of bad words.”
Kate bit back another inappropriate laugh. She was starting to understand the major’s grumpiness. After years of being under attack, he was entitled to peevishness. And it wasn’t as if she was the helpless female he’d prefer. “Then I believe we should let him come with us again tonight. What do you think?”
“Can I drive the carriage?” Rob asked, unconcerned by any other issue.
“He can use my quilt again!” Lynly ran ahead.
Kate winced. She cherished her daughter’s childishly-stitched quilt so much that she’d hung it over the bed’s end rather than wear it out using it. So now the beautiful gift would be rolled up on the floor with the major. Well, there were worse alternatives, she supposed.
Damien insisted on riding out with them so he and Fletch could search the house and grounds before letting anyone inside. Kate let the men play their games. She needed a hot soak in her tub, but she suspected Fletch needed it more. He was favoring his shoulder more than earlier. That had been a mighty lunge he’d performed, enough to knock the breath out of them. He had to be hurting.
She’d had a heavy man crushing her and she’d laughed instead of panicking. She wouldn’t ponder that now.
After they’d declared the house safe, Damien beckoned Kate to follow him inside while Fletch and the children hauled food baskets and the box of lumpy rags the wretch had evidently installed in the carriage, anticipating her capitulation.
“I had Upton and the blacksmith install new locks.” Damien handed her the key. “And heavy bolts for front and back doors.”
Mr. Upton, the curate, was a carpenter and had become something of an expert on installing bolts lately. She wanted to object to Damien’s highhandedness but she wanted her children safe too.
Damien led her to the front room where a large, raw wood bolt held the door shut. Solid pieces of metal held the bar in place. They were practically prisoners in what had always been her haven from the world’s cruelty.
He crossed to the front window that Fletch had leapt out last night. “We’ve added stronger hooks inside the shutters on all the downstairs windows. They won’t stop a determined thief, but they’ll rattle enough to give one second thoughts.”
“That’s thoughtful of you,” Kate responded politely. As a lawyer and too newly wed to understand that he was no longer in charge of his domain, Damien meant well. A man of his size and confidence didn’t know how to be helpless. “Tell Brydie to sleep well tonight. We’ll be fine.”
Neighbors all their lives, Damien was like the brother she didn’t have. He heard the lie in her voice and glared. “Brydie and I have talked about it. You should move into town, find a tenant to run the farm, bring in an income.”
So easy for a man of the world to say.
Fletch barged in before she could formulate a polite reply. Carrying his big box of parts, he glanced around, looking for a place to set it. At Damien’s words, he glared. “Right, the way you’ve found someone to buy your place. With crops failing across the country, the price of grain soaring, no one wants land or can afford animals. Farmers are working in manufactories these days.”
Kate offered a faint smile of approval and pointed at the door to their former dining room. “There’s a table we don’t use. Set your messy bits in there, please.”
“Messy bits, hmpf.” He stalked off.
“We’ll find tenants for both properties,” Damien insisted.
