An Arrangement of Sorts (12 page)

“You let your wife keep the purse, Mr. Granger?” Fletcher said with a smile.

Nathan chuckled good-naturedly. “’Tis she who lets me spend it, Mr. Fletcher.”

Fletcher laughed. “Well said, Mr. Granger, well said indeed. Ah, here is Mrs. Fletcher now.”

A plump woman with a kind smile approached, as she wiped her hands on the apron she wore, and tsked at Moira’s drenched and ill-looking state. “Oh, you poor dear! Let me get you set up properly with a bath and some fresh clothes. Mr. Fletcher will make sure some food is sent up to you.”

Moira nodded meekly, even as her stomach rumbled.

“The room does face the stables, I am afraid, Mr. Granger,” Fletcher said with a worried expression. “The smell, I fear, might
…
”

“Not to worry, Mr. Fletcher, that will be more than adequate.”

“My lads will bring the bags up straightaway, sir.”

“Thank you very much,” Nathan said with a nod.

Moira tugged on his sleeve and, in a weak, weary sounding voice that was not like hers at all, whispered, “Fred! Fred!”

He nearly burst out laughing, but managed to keep a straight face as he leaned down to her. “What, my love?”

She put her lips near his ears and hissed, “If you let them bring me nothing but broth, I can assure you that a live flaying and being covered with honey will be the very least of your concerns.”

He swallowed back another laugh, but nodded. “As you wish, my love. I will see you later.”

She gave him another fierce warning with her eyes, and then allowed Mrs. Fletcher to take her up to their room.

Nathan turned to Fletcher. “I think a tray should be sent up to her, Mr. Fletcher, when she has finished her bath. But she does not handle broth well, so perhaps something hearty? I worry for her constitution, and anything of substance would do her some good, I should think.”

“Of course, Mr. Granger, of course,” Fletcher said, nearly stumbling over himself in an effort to be of use. “And now would you please let me get you a drink, sir? Something to warm your bones?”

“That would be excellent, thank you, Fletcher. And will someone see to our horses?”

“Of course, Mr. Granger,” Fletcher told him, bowing slightly.

Nathan nodded in approval. “I thank you, Fletcher. It is so rare to find such excellent service and comfort.” A bit over the top, but not untrue.

Fletcher grinned so wide Nathan was afraid his face would crack under the strain. “Thank you, Mr. Granger, that is such a comfort to me. May I have some food brought to you? And would you care for a seat near the fire? We have a few other patrons staying with us this evening, many of them very pleasant indeed. You can be assured of some fine company.”

Now that was what Nathan was looking for. Time to spin the Granger’s story a little bit deeper.

“I confess, I had hoped for some. You see, Fletcher, my wife and I are traveling in search of her brother. She has not heard from him in some time, and they were so very close. She is making herself sick with worry over him.” Moira was going to kill him if she found out what he was saying, but if he could get some good information on Charles’ possible whereabouts, he might have something to placate her with.

“Last we heard, he had been in this area,” he continued, speaking in a low, but earnest voice. “Do you think that some of these good people might be able to assist us?”

Fletcher’s eyes widened and he nodded repeatedly. “Oh, I am sure they could, sir, I am sure they could. Come, let me introduce you to them. Such fine men and their manners are so engaging, sir, I feel certain that they will be most obliging.”

Nathan smiled to himself as he allowed the still
-
talking Fletcher to lead him towards the small group of men by the fire. Regardless as to the outcome of his search for information tonight, they were at least certain to be well treated and cared for.

And he was fairly positive that was one more thing that he and Moira could agree on.

C
hapter
S
even

“W
hat in the name of all that is holy are you wearing?”

Moira turned at Nathan’s shocked and very nearly screeching voice. She looked down at herself, then back up at him. “A shirt and breeches. Why?” She tugged the cap on her head into place and put her hands on her hips, staring at him with concern.

He could not manage to close his mouth, and staring at her seemed quite rude, so he just covered his face with one hand. “Why are you wearing a shirt and breeches, Moira?” he asked from behind his hand, his voice muffled.

“I should think that obvious,” she said with a snort. “I do not think the patrons, nor the Fletchers, would approve of a woman in a skirt climbing out of their window and sleeping in their stables.”

Now Nathan could not ignore her indecent clothing. He removed his hand and stared at her in horror. “What?”

“I am sleeping in the stables tonight,” she said slowly, as if he were the sick creature in the marriage and not she. She gave him a bemused smile as she picked up the sheet rope she had made.

“No, you are not!” he said coming towards her.

“Yes, I am,” she argued, as she danced out of his way and up onto the windowsill, rope in hand.

“Moira, be reasonable!” he protested as he watched her, more than a little nervous about her being on that ledge, and more than a little disturbed at her wardrobe, and even more than a little outraged by her statement.

“I am being reasonable, Nathan,” she said calmly as she opened the window and leaned out, tugging slightly on the sheet rope to test it.

“This is the furthest thing from reasonable,” Nathan said coming over and taking hold of the rope. “This is the definition of lunacy.”

“Poor Mr. Granger has a lunatic wife,” she pitied with a smile. “What will he do?” She started to ease her way down.

“Moira, please,” Nathan begged, everything in him knowing this was beyond wrong.

She gave him a look. “Nathan. Today you said you accept that we are equals. Equals take turns. You slept in the stable last night, I shall do so tonight. I have no qualms about this, so I do not see why you do.”

“You don’t have qualms about anything,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Moira, it is not proper!”

Her look turned even more severe, if that were possible. “Surely we have argued on
that
topic enough for one day. I have left you some stew and bread, if you are hungry. I will be back up in the morning, so you may leave the rope as it is. No one will see it back here, and the rain has stopped.”

“Moira…”

“Good night, Nathan!” And without another glance up at him, she very skillfully made her way to the ground and headed for the stables.

Nathan watched her go in anguish. How could he possibly let her sleep in the dirty, dank stables and hay while he enjoyed the comfort of a room and a bed? It went against every principle that he held close to him. But how could he fight a woman who was so infuriatingly determined to do exactly what she wanted when she wanted and without any consideration for the inconvenience of others?

He ran a hand through his hair and turned away from the window, agitated and anxious. What if she was discovered in there? What if something happened to her? What if their whole scheme was found out because they were no longer convincing as husband and wife? What if…

He had to stop with the “what if” scenarios or he was going to drive himself mad. Moira would be fine. She was clever enough to avoid discovery; she was indomitable enough that anyone who may come across her and wish her harm would flee in the face of her wrath. She would be fine for one night.

He knew all of this was true, but it only served to make him feel guiltier than he already did. He moved to the window again, and shut it only slightly, keeping it open enough so that he could hear if anyone would shout for help. He would be able to get to her quickly if she needed him, and that, at least, was a comfort.

He looked around the room for some sort of distraction, anything to take his mind off of the woman that was surely going to be the death of him and her incredible ability for conceiving foolhardy ideas. He saw her dress from the day spread out before the fire, no doubt nearly dry already, and the hated bonnet on the floor next to it, along with her jacket. Next to them was a neatly folded nightgown, no doubt the best the Fletchers had to offer. That was apparently not to be used tonight.

Involuntarily, his thoughts went back to the extraordinary ensemble Moira had chosen to don that evening. He had to swallow in spite of himself at the memory of how her legs looked in those breeches. They had not been a tight fit, thankfully, but even so, he had never imagined how long and trim her legs would actually be. He had not thought of her legs at all before now, and it seemed a perfectly good waste of human creation to hide them.

“Steady there, Nate,” he muttered, desperately trying to clear those less than appropriate thoughts from his mind. Moira deserved better than his gawking. Then again, she did bring it upon herself. “Oh, now really,” he scolded aloud, “it’s not as though she wore them so you could stare like an idiot.”

That was true, but even so, he was a man.

“I am a gentleman,” he reminded himself aloud as he paced a bit.

Gentleman or not, they were some exceptionally fine legs…

“I’m a gentleman, I’m a gentleman, I’m a gentleman,” he mumbled over and over, pacing and rubbing his hands through his hair in agitation. This was getting entirely out of hand. “I am a bloody gentleman!” he finally bellowed, his voice ringing off of the walls.

Faintly, he heard from somewhere else in the building, “Well, all right, then! Don’t get so excited!”

He growled in frustration and moved quickly around the room. Excited, that was a good way to put it. He was too excitable, he needed to be controlled. After all, Moira was not something to stare at; she was a curse sent from all of his enemies past, present, and future to torment, agitate, and infuriate him. She tested his patience, his resolve, and his character, and he did not know how long he could last under these circumstances. There was only so much a man could be expected to endure before enough was enough!

Rationality soon swept over him as he sat down moodily in a chair before the fire. There would be no giving up, there would be no abandonment, and there would be no overpowering her opinions and claiming authority over her. She had spirit, that much was evident, but it was fragile, much more so than she probably thought. Any overbearing actions on his part would send her storming off on her own. And he would no longer be able to help her. She would be closed off to him forever. He could not do that to her.

And so he would just have to endure her maddening traits, wearing breeches and sleeping in stables now being added to the ever-growing list.

He groaned and pushed himself out of the chair. There was a pitcher and bowl of water in the corner, and he took the chance to splash some of the cool water on his face. If Moira was so determined to be equals, he would let her sleep in stables. He would act as though he had gotten over it, pretend as though he did not care what she did. He could fight down his desire to shake her, though it was becoming a more tempting thought by the minute. She could think that she had everything in control, that would not trouble him.

But so help him, if at some future day, someone said “There goes the appalling Earl of Beverton, who once let a woman sleep out in the stables while he himself took the only bed,” he would hunt down Moira and, married or not, would put her over his knee and give her a paddling that would surely send him to prison.

He stripped off his shirt and loosened his trousers, then sat on the bed and removed his boots. Well, if Moira was the least bit cross tomorrow morning, he would be only too happy to remind her just whose idea it had been for her to sleep out there.

It would serve the hellion right.