Page 33 of Not a Fine Gentleman

She cast an anxious look at the sky and back at him. “We need to find shelter. It’s going to rain.”

Connor cursed under his breath. “It’s not going to rain. It’s just a bit of wind.”

Except for a few sagging huts, he’d seen little in the way of structures. A village lay nearby somewhere, he was sure of it.

“Hold on tightly,” he said to Meg.

She wound her fingers in Ginger’s mane. Clicking to the horse, Connor lengthened his stride. The nag obligingly kept up with him. As if she rode a fine side-saddle on a lady’s horse, Meg moved with the horse’s gait.

“Are you sure this is the right way?” she shouted over the roaring wind.

“I’m sure!”

Thunder rumbled in the distance like a great wheel rolling. Birdsong silenced, and a rabbit fled across their path. Connor fell into a comfortable pace, sweeping his gaze from side to side. Fields stretched as far as he could see, nearly touching the foothills.

Rain pattered. Not only would the rain slow them down and make travel even more uncomfortable, but Meg now had something to gloat about.

He glanced at the frustrating woman. She leaned forward, speaking quietly to the nag, whose ears swiveled back to hear her. They reached a low stone wall, crumbling and broken, and followed it along until they arrived at a ramshackle stone cottage. Truthfully, cottage was too generous a term for a structure little better than a hut.

Rain pelted them, and Connor squinted to see through the downpour. Thunder split the air. Meg flinched. The horse reared, but Connor grabbed her head and kept her steady. The nag danced against his hold.

“Easy now, Ginger,” Meg crooned, all the while shooting frightened looks around them.

Connor dashed to the cottage, leading the horse who probably would have been fighting him if they hadn’t been at a near run. Behind the cottage sat an even more rundown structure built of the same rocks, but smaller. Further beyond stretched a paddock with a broken fence.

Connor stopped outside the front door. “Ho there!” he called.

The door opened, and the barrel of an ancient bayonet slid out. “Go ’way,” shouted a male voice.

“We seek shelter from the rain!” Connor held up his hands to show he carried no weapons. At least, nothing in his hands.

Rain turned into a deluge.

“Please,” said Meg. “We mean you no harm. May we stay in your barn?”

The gun made a shooing motion. “Barn. Till rain lets up. Then leave.”

“Thank you.” Connor backed away, keeping an eye on the barrel and the weathered hands that held it. At least the finger didn’t rest on the trigger. Yet.

He guided the mare bearing Meg to the smaller structure and pushed open a sagging door. Inside, darkness met his eyes. Pale light coming between cracks gave little illumination. Still, he entered all the way and pushed the door closed behind them. Birds fluttered overhead, and a soft crunching noise, like that of a cow chewing, came from one corner. The nag nervously stepped from side to side.

“There now, Ginger,” Meg soothed. “All is well.”

Pushing his dripping hair from his face, Connor peered around, noting items that took shape as his eyes adjusted. Meg slid off the nag’s back and hissed in a breath the instant her tender feet touched the ground. Silently, she unwound her shawl from her shoulders and shook it out. Water droplets landed on his cheek.

Meg laughed apologetically. “Sorry.”

He shrugged. “I’m already soaked; a little more won’t hurt.”

While Meg tied Ginger to a nearby post, Connor prowled around the barn until his eyes adjusted to the dim interior enough for him to locate a pair of rough, tattered blankets.

He showed them to Meg. “Here, I found these.”

“Good thinking.” She took one of the blankets. Rather than wrapping it around herself, she used it to rub down the nag. Once she’d finished, she draped the blanket over a stall.

Thunder deafened him and shook the ground. Meg let out a cry and covered her ears. When all fell silent, she found a place to sit on a pile of straw, which smelled as if it had needed to be replaced a year ago, still darting anxious glances around.

He sat next to her on the hay and held out the remaining blanket. “It’s dry.”