Page 10 of A Slight Problem with the Wedding (The Farthingale #11)

Syd wanted their marriage to be real, but how could it be when she had come to Octavian with nothing? She might have gotten over her pride and agreed to try and make it work, if not for her own horrible family. How long before her father brought more shame upon them all?

Did Octavian not understand what a future with her would bring him?

Even if he could overlook the failures of her parents, he still had to deal with her own faults. Was she not too independent? Too stubborn and irreverent? In short, she was no prize. It was only a matter of time before he realized she was not what he had bargained for and wanted out of the marriage.

Why would he want to stay married to an unbiddable, opinionated ton misfit?

As for her, she longed for a happy family life with Octavian. How likely was it to happen? To make matters worse, she was already falling in love with him. Was this not a dangerous thing? How was she to maintain a happy marriage when she did not even know how to be a good wife? If her mother was to be believed, she had never even been a good daughter.

What had she done to bring her mother such disappointment? It was a mystery to Syd. She had tried so hard to gain her approval, but nothing ever worked. As for her hopes and dreams, both parents dismissed those as frivolous and irrelevant. "No man wants a wife more educated than him," her father had remarked, thinking to give her a kindly warning.

Yes, he was always kind to her, even as he wasted the Harcourt assets and made all sorts of idiotic decisions.

"Syd, you are fretting again," Octavian said when they stopped at a charming inn known as the Abbott's Cross located somewhere north of the town of Moffat.

She nodded. "I was thinking of you and what you said about making this real."

His hands stilled on her waist as he helped her descend from the carriage. "Have you come to a decision?"

"I haven't made up my mind yet, Octavian."

He sighed and helped her down. "All right. But try not to look so miserable on our wedding day. Can you pretend to be a happy newlywed until we are settled in our chamber?"

"I am happy," she insisted. "You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. But how can I ever be more than a curse to you?"

"Ah, Syd. It is shameful what your parents have done to you. They did not appreciate the gem they had in you, and now they have broken you."

"And you think you can fix me?" She tried not to sound hopeful because this was such a difficult task.

"I'm willing to spend a lifetime trying," he said in earnest.

This is why she was doomed to love him desperately and devotedly for the rest of her days. She gave him a playful poke in the ribs. "Then you may start trying after we eat. I'm starved."

He laughed and escorted her inside.

Syd watched as Octavian signed them in as Captain and Mrs. Thorne, surprised by the warmth that curled in her belly as the truth struck her. She was his wife, and Octavian wanted to make it a permanent arrangement.

She ought to be leaping for joy.

Well, she was.

But she was also scared to death his good intentions would fail.

This was ironic because Octavian believed she was fearless

Quite the opposite was true when it came to matters of love.

She quaked inside, her fear was that great she might lose him.

But she smiled at him when he set down the quill pen after inking their names in the register.

"You mentioned you are hungry, Syd. Shall I order supper sent to our room?"

"Would you mind if we ate in the inn's dining room this evening?" She was now his wife by law and wanted everyone to know she was proud of this fact.

"Dining room it is." Octavian now turned to the innkeeper. "Is it possible to have a tub brought up to our room straight away? We've been on the road since London and are in desperate need of cleaning up." To make his point, he gave his jacket a light pat. A cloud of dust wafted up from the fabric into the air.

"I'll have one of my maids freshen yer travel clothes while ye bathe. Aye, Captain Thorne. Won't be a problem."

"That was considerate of you, Octavian," Syd remarked once they were settled in their guest chamber and awaited the tub to be rolled in. It was a cozy room situated above the common room, but the noise did not carry upward from downstairs. The inn was sturdily built and had obviously been around for centuries. However, their quarters were well-appointed but small. Octavian could not turn around without bumping into something because of his size.

"Bollocks," he muttered, hitting his head on one of the low ceiling beams. The roof had a sharp slope to it, making it impossible for him to stand fully upright other than in the center of the room.

Syd had no problem because she was a full head and shoulders shorter than him. But this did not stop her from taking command. "Sit on the bed and let me have a look at your forehead, Octavian."

"It isn't necessary."

"Sit," she repeated, nudging him lightly onto the bed. It was not very large, which meant they would have to sleep curled against each other. Her heart fluttered, for she looked forward to sleeping beside him as his wife. "Is it the same spot bruised when you fell off Sir Henry's roof?"

"No, a new spot." He winced as she gently examined the area. "That other one is fully healed. Do not start fretting again, Syd."

"Should I not worry about my husband? Especially when I have some medical knowledge and can help ease your pain?" She grabbed a clean cloth beside a basin and ewer filled with fresh water atop their bureau. "Stay seated, Octavian.

She moistened the cloth, then returned to his side to press it gently against his forehead. "Octavian!" She had yet to place it on his brow before he pulled her onto his lap, a big grin on his face. "What are you doing, you big ox?"

"You'll be more comfortable working on me while seated on my lap."

She laughed softly, relieved the bump was not all that severe. He would have been moaning and not at all playful if it hurt like blazes. "Fine, but stop grinning at me. What do you find so funny?"

"You called me your husband." He cast her a devastatingly appealing smile. "I liked it very much."

"Should I not call you that? This is what you are to me, no matter what happens in the coming year." He might even be hers forever, if she did not anger him to the point he gave up on her and wanted out of the marriage.

Losing him once she got used to falling asleep every night in his arms would be so hard for her.

Devastating, actually.

He made her feel safe.

He understood her better than anyone ever had, even better than her dearest friends, Adela, Gory, and Marigold, the youngest of them who had recently been added to their trusted circle. They were the sisters she had always wished to have. They shared similar academic interests, and refused to abide by Society's strict rules on appropriate feminine behavior.

Their friendship meant everything to her, and she intended to seek their advice on how to build a successful marriage when she returned to London. Adela and Marigold had husbands who understood their hopes and dreams, and encouraged them with their full support.

She never thought Octavian would be such a man because he liked to be in command and also had very strong protective instincts. For this reason, she assumed he would want to keep her under his thumb. She had been so wrong about that. Yes, he was demanding, but he was also very thoughtful and often gave into her ideas. He was protective, but how could she fault that trait when he had saved her from a horrific marriage to Sir Henry?

He was fierce, and yet always gentle with her. This was important because he could otherwise be quite intimidating.

Not that she would ever buckle to intimidation.

For a strong man, he was remarkably averse to using his fists. She'd noticed how often he managed to talk his way out of a situation rather than fight, even when he had the better odds on his side.

Was it shameful that she had gotten into more tavern brawls than he had?

This said something about her, did it not?

He cast her a soft look as she tended to the lump on his brow. His lips were so close to hers, she wanted to lean in the littlest bit and kiss him. Did she not have the right to kiss him now that she was his wife?

"Syd, are you fretting again? You do that a lot, you know."

"I do?" She nodded, realizing she had been nibbling her lip while tending to him, thinking about him, and debating whether or not to kiss him. "Yes, I do. You seem to bring it out in me. Not on purpose, mind you. The blame is on me. I don't know what to do about you."

He had been surprisingly agreeable for much of this trip, but would it always be this way between them?

"Don't think too hard, Syd. Open up your heart and allow your feelings to flow. The rest will take care of itself."

She groaned. "That requires letting down my guard, and I'm not sure how to do that. I've spent my life worrying about what calamity might happen next. I've built this protective shell around me ever since I was a child. My parents could never be described as doting. I think I often disappointed them."

"They were in the wrong, Syd. It wasn't you."

She wanted to believe him, but did it matter now? The damage had been done to her and the past could not be changed. "Because of my father's profligate ways, I was raised to always been on alert and ready to run at a moment's notice when creditors bore down on us. Did you know they often come around at night?"

"No, I did not. My family has little experience with debt collectors because we always pay our debts."

"Your family is wonderful. So are you." She cast him a worried smile. "Octavian, what's going to happen tonight?"

He arched an eyebrow. "In the marital bed?"

She nodded.

"Oh, Syd. We are husband and wife, not debtor and creditor. Whatever happens tonight shall be whatever you wish to happen."

She released a breath, but was not truly relieved. Their marriage ought to be a partnership, and yet he was conceding everything to her on their wedding night. "What about your wishes? They ought to matter, too."

He cast her a remarkably affectionate smile. "You surprise me. That is quite a wifely thing to say."

She looked up at him.

He appeared so pleased by her simple remark. "Is it? I should think it was common courtesy. Oh, and I am so rarely courteous. Is that what you mean?"

She tried to scramble off his lap, but he would not release her. "That is not what I said or ever meant. Why are you twisting my words?"

"How am I twisting them?"

"First of all, you are courteous and know how to comport yourself like a lady. However, there are times you get a bug up your arse and?C"

"Octavian!"

"You know this what you do, Syd. You are quick to toss courtesy aside whenever someone says or does something that is not to your liking. I am not faulting you for standing up for yourself or others."

"Sometimes you do."

"Only when you disregard obvious dangers. Otherwise, I like this trait in you. There are many things I like about you in addition to your being beautiful."

She blushed.

He really thought she was beautiful? More than merely pretty? He had once told her she was prettier than Lady Clementine. Had he truly meant it?

"You are intelligent, resourceful, honest, and you are not afraid to stand up to me. I admire this so much."

Her eyes widened. "You do?"

He nodded. "As for your wifely comment, I have already told you that you are a traditional girl at heart. You would make any man a good wife, if only you were not so prickly all the time. All I meant by my remark is that I did not expect you to let down your guard and be kind and nurturing so soon. I thought breaking down your defenses would take longer."

"Well, obviously I have not broken them down since I was ready to poke you in the nose for your remark. Sorry, Octavian." She removed the cloth from his brow and rose to dampen it again. "This is why I fear our marriage will not work out. The fault lies with me, not you."

He stretched out on the bed and regarded her while she wet the cloth and returned to his side. "You are a work in progress, Syd. Don't give up on us before we've ever gotten started."

They said nothing more as there was a knock on the door.

"That's our tub." Octavian rose to answer the door.

"Look out for those low beams or you'll bump your head again," Syd warned.

He smiled. "Another wifely comment. See, it comes naturally to you."

She snorted in dismissal.

He gave her cheek a light caress. "Only a few hours married and you are already invaluable to me."

She gave him a playful shove. "Answer the door, you big ox."

But she was smiling.

Two men rolled in a hip tub and then carried in buckets of hot water. When they left, Octavian secured the door latch and then returned to her side. "I can leave, if you prefer privacy. I'll grab an ale and return in half an hour. How does that sound to you?"

"A good plan." She turned her back to him. "Would you help me out of my gown first?" "With pleasure. I've quite enjoyed undressing you."

"Octavian!" But she tingled as he moved closer and placed his hands on her body to loosen her ties.

"What? Am I not permitted to enjoy my wife? Seems a shame to get dressed again to dine in the common room," he muttered. "Are you sure you want to bother, Syd?"

"Yes, but it isn't to avoid being alone with you. I want to enjoy being lawfully married to you, having us step out together as husband and wife without it being a lie." She glanced at him, wincing as she met his gaze. "And yet, I am giving you an awful time about our marital situation. I don't know what you must be thinking when I am as inconstant as the shifting winds."

He gave her a light kiss on the neck as he undid the last hook and helped her slip out of her gown. "I'm a patient man. In truth, I am not giving our situation any thought right now. Nor should you. We have nothing to prove to anyone here in Scotland. Nor do we need to fool anyone here. So, enjoy these next few weeks. That's what I plan to do."

"You are right. I'll try my best to enjoy our time together and not worry about everything that could go wrong." She sighed. "But I am sure I will do something to get you angry. It seems to be what I do best."

"You are kicking yourself again," he remarked, pulling something out of the travel pouch he had brought in for himself. "Soap," he said, in response to the questioning arch of her eyebrow. "For us to share."

She took a sniff when he handed it to her. "Is it sandalwood?"

He nodded. "There was nothing else available at the coaching inn where we stopped at midday. We'll shop for something more suitable for you when we reach Greenock, although they won't have the variety of choices that are available to us in London. You'll also need a few more gowns, especially warmer fabrics as the weather turns cold."

She listened to him plan out their next few weeks.

As he spoke, the one thing that struck her was how dependent she was going to be on him. Not his fault, of course. "You'll need pin money," he said. "And I'll arrange credit with the local shops as soon as we arrive in Greenock."

She pursed her lips, feeling quite awful that her father had left her with nothing. Octavian was not blaming her or looking down on her in any way, but this only made her feel worse.

"Syd, what have I said now? You are fretting again."

She shook her head vehemently. "No, I was just giving thought to what I would need while in Scotland. Will we have to find private lodgings? The Admiralty must have expected you to stay in the local military barracks. Do they have separate lodgings for the officers?"

He nodded. "Yes, they do. But these are not meant to house their wives, too. I'll settle you comfortably at one of the local inns and then we can figure out what to do next."

"Will you leave me to myself at the inn?"

"And spend my nights on a mangy cot with a regiment of snoring Scots? No, I'd rather sleep next to your sweet body." He kissed her on the nose before crossing to the door. "Latch it after me. I'll knock twice sharply when I return. All right, Syd? Two quick knocks, then a pause, then two more quick knocks."

Syd stared a moment at the door after latching it, her thoughts on Octavian and what he had just said about wanting to sleep with her.

That was nice.

She liked the idea of curling up next to his body, too.

However, she did not dwell on the thought, instead concentrating on washing the road dust off her skin and out of her hair. Since Octavian would bathe in the same water after her, she decided to use the ewer and basin to wash her hair first. She then lightly rinsed off her body using a wash cloth. Only afterward did she step into the bath. She hoped it would remain fairly clean for Octavian's use.

Well, this was just her being fussy.

She doubted Octavian would think twice about sinking into the same water she had used since he was accustomed to far greater battlefield hardships.

She eased into the water with a sigh of relief, allowing the warmth to soak into her bones.

Oh, it felt so good.

But after a few minute of luxuriating, she realized that she was taking too long and hurried out of the tub to dry herself off. She had just donned her shift and was combing out her hair when she heard a sharp knock at the door. Three sharp raps. Hadn't he said that he would knock twice?

What did it matter?

He must have forgotten.

"Just a moment." She hastened to unlatch the door. "Come in, Octavian. I was?C"

The breath rushed out of her.

Sir Henry pushed his way in and slammed the door shut behind him. "Did you think your farce of a wedding ceremony would be the end of it, my little dove? Your husband shall return to find you a soiled dove."

Syd backed away from this man with wild, gleaming eyes, hoping to reach the fire irons beside the hearth before he realized what she intended and stopped her. "Where's my father?" she asked, glancing over his shoulder. "He would never allow you to harm me."

"Your father is a fool. We parted ways outside of Gretna Green," he said, advancing on her as a predator would advance on his prey.

She continued to back up as he stalked closer, trying not to exhibit fear. But her heart was in her throat and she was trembling. "Parted ways? How?"

By the menacing emphasis he'd placed on the words parted ways, she feared Sir Henry had injured her father. He must have been livid when seeing her wed to Octavian and had then taken his fury out on her father.

She would never forgive herself if that evil man injured him...or worse, killed him. "What have you done to my father?"

Sir Henry sneered. "Oh, he'll make his way back to London one way or another...eventually. As for you, I've saved the best of my anger for you."

He turned to fasten the door latch.

Syd took advantage of his momentary distraction to grab one of the fire irons. At the same time, she began to shout for help.

Would anyone hear her?

Were any of the adjoining rooms occupied? Would those occupants respond or merely ignore her?

She knew her voice would never carry into the common room.

Octavian, where are you? Come upstairs.

Sir Henry reached into the lip of his boot and withdrew a pistol.

At the same moment, Syd lunged forward and struck him with the fire iron. The blow grazed his head, but it was enough to bring him to his knees and momentarily stun him.

Since he still blocked the door, she dared not run past him.

Nor could she bring herself to hit him again and crack his skull open.

Instead, she threw open the window, tossed down the fire iron, and then climbed down a conveniently placed rose trestle beside her chamber. Thorns dug into her hands and feet, but she ignored the pain. It was nothing compared to what Sir Henry meant to do to her.

She picked up the fire iron the moment her feet touched the cold ground, and quickly looked around for any rogues Sir Henry might have brought along with him.

But there was no one else around.

She started to run back into the inn and immediately stepped into a puddle of mud.

So much for bathing.

Her hands and feet were dirty again...and she was wearing nothing but a thin shift that hid little from view.

Well, there was nothing to do but brazen it out.

She entered the now crowded common room and desperately searched for Octavian. The place quieted as everyone turned to stare at her.

She must have looked like a demented harpy.

Feet covered in mud, half-combed wet hair, dressed shamelessly and too much of her body revealed. She was gripping that fire iron with hands torn up by those thorns.

Perhaps she ought to have taken a moment to find the proprietor or even a cloak room where she might grab something to cover herself. But she hadn't thought of it, and now there was no time to spare. Sir Henry was hobbling down the stairs, pistol in hand, and mad enough to breathe fire.

"Octavian!" Syd cried. "Where are you?"

Octavian had just finished his ale and was tossing a coin to the serving maid when she had rushed in. "Syd! What the...?"

He immediately removed his jacket and wrapped it around her, pushed her behind him, and in the same motion retrieved his own pistol just as Sir Henry stepped through the door. The patrons all scrambled as far away from her and Octavian as possible.

"Put your weapon down, Sir Henry," Octavian said with a remarkably calming voice of authority. But Syd knew Sir Henry was too enraged to listen to reason.

"She's mine! You stole her from me!" He snarled like a vicious dog and aimed his weapon at Octavian's chest.

Syd tried to step around Octavian to stand in front of him, but he kept pushing her behind him. "Don't be a fool, Sir Henry. She was never yours and never will be. Put down your pistol. Don't make me have to kill you."

This seemed to be Octavian's way, always preferring to come to terms without need of resorting to violence. Syd adored him for it, but was worried. Sir Henry was a snake and had no code of honor.

"Get down, Syd," Octavian whispered urgently.

She crouched behind a sturdy wooden chair and closed her eyes just as two shots were fired.

She screamed.

Before she could move, Octavian's arms came around her. "Syd, are you all right?"

She let out a sob. "Are you?"

"Yes, love."

Not ready to believe him, she ran her hands up and down his body. His arms, his chest, his legs. His face. She felt no blood. Maybe she had missed something. "Did he hit you, Octavian? Please, tell me the truth. I need to tend to you right away if he did."

"Love, I'm fine. The same cannot be said of Sir Henry."

She peered over Octavian's shoulder and caught a glimpse of the evil man lying motionless on the floor. "Is he dead? He looks dead."

The inn's patrons were now starting to gather around the body, obscuring her view.

"Yes, he is," Octavian said. "But I didn't shoot him."

"You didn't? Then who did?"

The proprietor, who had been standing over Sir Henry's body along with his fellow countrymen, now came toward them. "The man attacked one of my sons and left him for dead in the stable. My ten-year-old was doing nothing but tending the horses, his nightly chore before retiring to bed, and that beast bludgeoned him."

Syd emitted a soft cry.

"My eldest found him and his ma's tending him now. Are ye all right, Mrs. Thorne? Did he harm ye? Och, yer hands are all cut up. Did he take a knife to ye?"

"No, Mr. Douglas. I struck him with this," she said, glancing at the fire iron Octavian had just taken out of her hands, "and escaped by climbing out the window."

"Then that beast followed ye down here? And pointed his pistol at ye, Mrs. Thorne? Well, he'll never do that in my place again, will he?"

"Mr. Douglas, I'm so sorry," Syd said with unmistakable anguish. "This is all my fault."

"Syd," Octavian said with a wrenching ache, wrapping his arms around her. "He was mad and determined to hurt you. None of this is your fault."

She was not convinced, but Mr. Douglas seemed to side with Octavian and not blame her. Still, she felt the need to apologize to him. "I am truly sorry. I never thought he would follow us here. Will you let me look at your son? I have some medical knowledge."

He shook his head. "My wife is a healer. She'll look after him. Besides, ye're a bit of a mess yerself, if ye pardon my saying."

Syd laughed. "I was shaken, but I will be all right."

Octavian gave her a heartfelt hug. "Love, one of the maids will take you back to our room. I'll have her stay with you until this ugly business is finished down here. The authorities must be called in and told what happened."

"All right, but I'll get dressed and come back down to join you."

"Syd, you're trembling and overset. Can you not let me handle it?"

"No, he came after me. He tried to attack me. And what of Mr. Douglas's poor boy? I need to see him, too."

Octavian sighed. "All right. I'm so sorry, Syd. I should have realized he was not going to give up even after we were married. I should have stayed upstairs with you and protected you."

"Don't you dare blame yourself for Sir Henry's evildoing." She placed a hand on his cheek to stroke it lightly, but Octavian caught her hand in his and then held up the other, too. "These cuts and scratches on your hands, did he do this to you?"

"No, those happened while I escaped. They're from climbing down the rose trestle, that's all. You know how good I am with scampering up and down roofs and such."

"A veritable little squirrel," he remarked affectionately and hugged her again.

"The cuts aren't serious. A little bit of good Scottish whiskey will cleanse them adequately."

"I'll fetch a bottle at once. My wife can tend to?C"

"No, she's busy with your son. I'll see to these myself. My medical training, you know."

Octavian let out a breath. "I'll take you upstairs and make sure there's no one lurking nearby. He might have an accomplice."

"I doubt he did. He would have had the man hold me down while...never mind." She emitted a ragged breath and gave silent thanks that he did have no one with him or else she would not have escaped the fate he had intended for her. "But he was on his own."

"I'll search anyway." He swept her up in his arms.

"Octavian! What are you doing?" Had they not attracted enough attention? "Put me down! I am not helpless. I can walk."

"You are barefoot and probably have cuts on your feet, as well." He ignored her and told one of the maids to grab the unopened bottle of whiskey the innkeeper had set on the table beside them. He then ordered her to follow him up to their chamber. "Make certain my wife tends to her wounds before she returns down here."

"They are tiny scratches," Syd muttered.

"They are cuts that drew blood and need to be properly cleaned out," he said with a low growl to mark his frustration over the situation. He turned once more to the maid. "My wife is stubborn. Keep a sharp eye on her and make certain she takes care of herself properly."

"Yes, Captain Thorne," the girl said, bobbing a curtsy.

Syd knew she looked a fright.

The proprietor was not going to let her near his son.

So she did not make a fuss.

Once in her chamber, she set to work cleaning her hands and feet quite thoroughly, placing the whiskey on each scratch and cut, and repeating the process again before she donned her gown and slippers.

The maid assisted her with the fastenings of her gown and then helped her pin her hair in a simple bun at the nape of her neck. "It ain't anything fancy, m'lady."

"Moira, it is perfect. Thank you. Let's join the men."

The shy girl nodded and followed her out. "You were very brave, m'lady."

Syd shook her head. "I was scared out of my wits. But I did my best to hold myself together and find a way to escape. I should have been more careful. I thought it was my husband knocking at the door, so I did not think twice before I let him in."

"Ye weren't to know it was that devil."

Syd nodded. "Mr. Douglas's boy is most important now, that is my greatest concern."

"Och, aye. We are all worried about him. He looked lifeless as his brother carried him in."

Syd gasped. "Then I must go to them at once."

She hurried to the innkeeper's private quarters, eager to look upon the injured lad and do anything she could to help. "Mrs. Douglas, how is he?"

The innkeeper's wife cast her a kindly smile. "He'll recover. He has a small lump on his head and will no doubt have a headache for the next few days, but I have him resting comfortably now. Come, look for yourself."

Syd did, but she cast one look at him and frowned. "He also has marks around his neck. Dear heaven! Did Sir Henry attempt to strangle him?"

The woman nodded, hastily wiping a tear from her eye. "But my eldest boy must have interrupted them when he walked into the stable and called out for him. Thank the Good Lord. As he spotted his brother and knelt to take care of him, the villain must have run off to go after you next. My eldest did not realize something foul was afoot at the time. He thought his brother had fallen and bumped his head. My husband realized what must have happened when you came into the common room in hysterics."

Syd nodded, although she did not think she had been in the least hysterical. Yes, she looked like a mad woman living in a swamp, but...well, it did not matter now. "Any nosebleed? Bleeding from the ears?"

"No, Mrs. Thorne."

"Good. May I check his eyes?" At the woman's nod she raised a finger and asked the boy, who was thankfully conscious now, to follow her finger as she moved it around. He seemed to do it without much difficulty. "You're a very brave fellow," she said kindly. "What's your name?"

"Matthew," the boy replied with a promptness that eased her mind. One of the ways to determine the severity of a blow to the head was to test someone's acuity. The lad's eyes were clear, he knew his name, and now engaged her in conversation without a hint of slurred speech or confusion. "Matthew, you'll need to rest for several days."

The boy grinned and glanced at his mother. "I can do that. Right?"

His mother chuckled. "Yes, my love. We'll take good care of you."

When Syd was ready to join the men in the common room, Mrs. Douglas walked her out. "I'll sit up with him tonight and tomorrow as well," she assured Syd. "It is plain to see ye've done a bit of healing, as well."

Syd nodded. "Although it is not appreciated in London as it seems to be here. I am more often ridiculed than welcomed."

"Our menfolk are about as stubborn as they come, but they are also very practical. Anyone with a useful talent is accepted and appreciated."

She took the woman's hands in hers and emitted a shaky breath. "I am so relieved your boy will be all right, Mrs. Douglas. Please do not hesitate to wake me if he takes an unexpected turn for the worse. My husband and I are at your service."

"Oh, ye dear thing. I shall, if it is needed. That boy is our heart. We'll do everything we can to protect him. Ye just let yer husband take care of yerself now. Matthew will be fine. Ye saw that his eyes were sharp and in focus, and his words weren't slurred or thoughts jumbled. These are very good signs."

"Yes, they are. I can only repeat how sorry I am for what happened tonight."

"Tush! Go back to yer husband who must be worried about ye."

Syd nodded and hurried into the common room. Octavian rose to escort her to a chair, relief washing over his face when she entered.

Sir Henry's body was still on the floor where he had been shot, so she kept clear of it. However, the sight of him stirred up a well of ugly feelings. Anger, frustration, rage, and resentment. "Is it wicked of me to want to kick him?" she muttered.

Octavian grunted as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Not at all. I wish he was still alive so I could kill him with my bare hands. Love, the constable has some questions for you."

She liked that he was using the endearment, but they were both shaken and Octavian's protective instincts had to be on fire at the moment. She could see that he was blaming himself for what happened tonight, thinking he had let her down.

How could he ever believe he had failed her when all he had done and continued to do was aimed at keeping her safe?

Octavian gave her hand a light squeeze to regain her attention since her thoughts were obviously wandering. He introduced her to another man with the surname of Douglas who turned out to be the local constable, and no doubt related to the innkeeper. When the constable drew up a chair beside her, Octavian did the same for himself. He took a seat beside her and kept hold of her hand while the man asked his questions.

Syd tried to keep calm as she detailed everything that happened. "He knocked three times. I should have paid more attention."

She turned to Octavian with a look of apology. "I wasn't thinking and just let him in believing it was you."

Octavian gave her hand another light squeeze. "It's all right, love. You couldn't have known. I should have kept closer watch on who was coming in and out of the inn. It is more my fault than yours."

"It is Sir Henry's fault," the constable replied. "Neither of ye should cast blame on yerselves. He must have been following ye, Mrs. Thorne. Were ye aware?"

"Not that he had followed us into Scotland beyond Gretna Green," Octavian said. "This surprised us. You see, he and the Earl of Harcourt, who is my wife's father?C"

"Yer father's an earl, m'lady?"

She nodded.

The man now looked worried.

"But Sir Henry is merely a knight. Somehow rewarded with a knighthood for his shady dealings," she muttered.

Octavian cleared his throat. "The pair chased us to Gretna Green from London. But they caught up to us too late to prevent our marriage. We thought they had returned home. We watched them leave and believed that would be the end of it."

"But I think Sir Henry may have harmed my father, too."

Octavian frowned. "What makes you think he did? What reason would he have to hurt him when he knew I was going to pay off his debt?"

Syd felt her heart twist as she turned to the constable and related what Sir Henry had growled at her. "It was in the way he said they had parted ways. It made my skin crawl. My husband and I will have to go back and search the area just south of Gretna Green."

"What? No, Syd. I cannot go back," Octavian said with a groan. "I have to report to Greenock no later than Friday morning."

"That gives us two days to return and search." She did not understand why this would be a problem.

Octavian's expression turned stubborn. "It will take us a full day to return, and then it will be too dark to search by the time we arrive. We'll have to wait until the following morning. By then, we'll have no more than two or three hours at best to look for him before we have to head north again."

The constable left their side a moment, no doubt eager to keep out of this marital dispute.

Octavian drew her into the opposite corner of the room to be sure they were out of everyone's hearing, and then continued to argue the matter. "Syd, not only will we have little chance of finding your father in that limited time, but we will also be heading straight back into Armstrong territory. Who knows what they will do to us if they see me again without their promised sheep?" He motioned to his uniform, his jacket now back on so that he looked every inch the dashing Royal Navy captain. "I am on assignment. This is not a holiday for me."

Syd did not want to hear his excuses.

This was her father.

He could be injured and lying helpless.

Every moment lost in saving him was precious. "The Admiralty would not penalize you if your carriage broke down or a torrential storm slowed you down, would they? How could they punish you if you stopped to save an injured man?"

"I will have word sent to the Gretna Green constable to conduct a thorough search of the area. If a broader search is necessary, I'll see if a scouting force can be spared from the Greenock barracks to be sent down there."

"If necessary? If they can be spared? What are they doing other than whiling their time away doing marching exercises? No one is attacking Greenock." Syd tried to remain calm, but did a dismal job of it. "How can you be so casual about this? Time is precious."

"So is my career. I am not going to jeopardize it for your arse of a father. He's cost me enough, as it is. Not to mention, he almost cost you your life tonight."

She gasped. "He is not...all right, he is not the best father, I will grant you. But he is my father and I love him despite his numerous faults. Why will you not do this for me? I am begging you."

His eyes turned as cold as ice. "If you were the object of my search, I would move heaven and earth to find you. But your father is not you. He is a selfish, inconsiderate excuse for a man, completely useless and worthless. I will do all I can for him, but not at the peril of my Royal Navy obligations. Enough, Syd. You are not going to change my mind."

"You think he is worthless."

He gave her another cold, hard look. "I will not deny it."

"Do you think I am worthless, too?"