Gingerbread Bride

Chapter Two: Part 2

Mary and the horse went down the path first. She waited at the bottom, trying not to let her anxiety show as Rick slowly and carefully worked his way from rocky step to rocky step. He was pale and pinched when he reached the bottom, but made a brave attempt at his usual jaunty grin.

"There. That is the worst of it. Lead us to the inn."

They took the last one hundred yards slowly, he leaning at least some of his weight on the horse, she matching her pace to his without comment.

The innkeeper took the news of a stranded coachload of passengers in his stride. "Some of the men will 'ave to double up, sir, but I've a good suite for you and your sister: two bedchambers and a private sitting room." He looked at the two of them suspiciously. "And will Miss Reid's maid be arriving with the others?" Reid was the surname Rick had written in the register.

"My maid, unfortunately, was taken ill and was not able to accompany me," Mary said.

"You should not have gone on without her, sister, dear," Rick scolded. "Fortunately, I was at home to receive your message and was able to follow after you before any harm was done."

My goodness, he sounded exactly like a patronizing older brother. She snapped back, "All would have been well, if the coachman had not landed us in a ditch."

He opened his mouth to say something more, but his leg suddenly gave way, and he lurched, catching her shoulder as she moved to support him, her irritation forgotten.

"Rick, you've overdone things. Oh, dear, I should never have let you walk. Innkeeper, you take his other side, and we'll get him to his room. Oh, dear, why did you not say?"

Together, she and the innkeeper supported Rick up the stairs to a small but comfortable suite, leaving a servant to bring her luggage and Rick's modest saddle bags.

"I just need to sit for a while," Rick insisted. The innkeeper helped him to the room's sofa, where he was able to stretch out the damaged leg.

Mary ordered water for washing, brandy for Rick, and a glass of negus for herself, to be delivered immediately. "And we shall want a hot meal, innkeeper, but that can wait until..." She looked at Rick uncertainly. A lifetime on shipboard had taught her that men needed to be fed regularly, but she also knew that pain suppressed the appetite.

"An hour, perhaps?" Rick suggested. He was lying back on the cushions, his eyes shut.

"An hour," Mary confirmed to the innkeeper. After she had settled on a selection of dishes from those the inn offered, she kept herself busy to avoid thinking about the fact that she was alone with the man they called Rick the Rogue. Not that he'd ever been anything but a gentleman with her. And she was pleased about that. She was.

In the bedchamber allocated to her, she removed her bonnet and turned down her sheets, slipping a hand between them to check for damp. She then set out clothes for the next day, arranged her hair brush and tooth powder on the night stand, rearranged the screen in the corner, and used some of the water a servant brought to wash her face and hands.

She didn't quite dare to enter Rick's room, but she instructed the servant who arrived with the hot water to turn down Rick's bed, and she stood in the doorway while the servant tested the sheets.

"Now put Lieutenant Rede... Lieutenant Reid's bags on the coverlet so he can easily reach them. There."

Rick was propped on the sofa cushions, his brandy cradled in both hands, his eyes still closed. Every few minutes, he would lift the glass and take another sip. She bustled around the small sitting room, moving the fire screen so he wouldn't get too hot, placing a small table conveniently close to Rick's elbow for his brandy and later his dinner plate, moving a light wing chair for herself, so he could easily see her without turning his head.

When she ran out of things to do, she sat and watched him. He really was devastatingly attractive. For a moment, she let herself dream she had a right to sit here opposite him, studying the planes of his face, the lock of hair that had escaped his ribbon and was teasing the side of his cheek, the broad shoulders in the uniform jacket he had loosened but not removed.

A knock on the door broke her reverie. Dinner. Yes. No more of this nonsense, Mary Pritchard. As if Lieutenant Richard Redepenning, Rick the Rogue, could ever be interested in someone like her!