Gasps sounded from the others.
"I am worried about having you alone with him." The hefty man turned to the Scarlet Demon.
The woman's lips wobbled. "He's harmless. He couldn't hurt a fly."
"Oh." The men tilted their heads and stroked their chins, the prospect of believing him apparently impossible.
"The man's perfectly safe. You mustn't harm him. Never even learned how to fire a musket."
"You're insane." Percival frowned. "I lost my leg in the war."
"Farming accident." The woman turned to the others. "One of those dreadful new machines-far too complex for the man. Certainly not a duke."
"I would never have married you," Percival grumbled.
The woman drew in her breath sharply, but then smiled. "Are you saying a demon must have arranged it?"
Percival glanced at the determined faces of the men, so eager to fight injustice, which apparently he embodied. He sighed. "I'll come with you."
"Good." The woman's shoulders slumped though, and her lips fluttered downward.
"It is a crime to abandon your wife in a strange place," the hefty man growled.
"I forgive him," the scarlet-haired woman said.
"You should be in church!" one of the men on horseback said, "Praising the lord that you have such a good wife."
"Come on, darling," the Scarlet Demon said. "Will someone take the man's coach? I'm afraid he must have taken the mail coach by accident."
"We won't report him," the white-headed gentleman said kindly.
Percival cast a mournful look in the direction of London.
Chapter Nine
Fiona exhaled as Percival stumbled toward her through the thickening snow. His gloved hand tightened around his cane, and his wooden leg thumped against the floor of the sleigh. Mr. Nicholas rose and offered Percival his seat beside Fiona, and a man returned the mail coach.
Percival's gaze remained fixed away from her, and something in Fiona's chest constricted as the sleigh sped back over the hills.
They weren't far from Cloudbridge Castle, but Fiona couldn't show up so late with a stranger, even a supposed fiancé, in tow. At least she'd told Grandmother she was visiting her sister.
She glanced at Percival. The man's face was as stony and hardened as a statue, and she averted her eyes. She shouldn't have done it. She shouldn't have gotten him involved, and goodness, she shouldn't have gotten the tavern-goers involved. She wrapped her arms together and pressed her eyes shut, but she couldn't stop the occasional brush of his arm against hers in the jostling sleigh, reminding her of his presence.
Finally, the sleigh pulled up at the Old Goblet Lodge and the men toppled outward, hollering something about rewarding themselves with cider and ale.
She cast a glance at Percival's ashen face, and her stomach tightened as if pulled into one of the more complex fishermen's knots. "Forgive me. I-I won't hurt you. You must know that."
Mr. Nicholas snorted, and Fiona frowned.
"Sorry, love. It sounded like you were apologizing to him. After he gone and done a runner on you." His voice sobered, and he shook a finger at Percival. "Young man. You may have lost your leg, but you should be shouting to the heavens in joy that you still have the affection of such an enchanting woman."
Percival's features hardened.
"Mr. Nicholas," Fiona ventured, but the man merely waved his gloved hand at her. Snow continued to topple onto his hair, the thick white flecks giving him a sage-like appearance the man might appreciate, even if she was sure he didn't deserve it.
"You're lucky to have her in your life," Mr. Nicholas continued. "You certainly shouldn't be worried she'll hurt you. Why, this sweet woman is the mother of your children."
Fiona squirmed.
"Let's see if the tavern has a room for you. Bringing another life into the world should be cause for joy," Mr. Nicholas grumbled. "It's a good thing she came after you when she did. That coach wouldn't have made it to the next town, and you would be an ice block."
Percival tensed beside her, and Fiona fought the urge to loop her arm with his and seek to bring him some comfort.
"And where would your lovely wife and children be then?" Mr. Nicholas shook his head. "Ice blocks make even worse husbands than cripples."
Percival flinched.
"You mustn't speak of him in such terms!" Fiona exclaimed.
"Cripple?" Mr. Nicholas raised his eyebrows. "Just saying it how it is. I leave all the gentlemanly nonsense for those men in court with their silk pantaloons and their white wigs."
Mr. Nicholas pushed open the door to the pub, and Fiona and Percival followed him. The men in the carriage seemed well on their way to working through their first celebratory round.
"To the reunited couple," Mr. Potter cheered and thrusted a half-empty tankard in their direction. "We've got you the best room in the tavern."
"That's not necessary." Percival eyed Mr. Potter, as if assessing the likelihood that the man would direct his pistol at him again.
Mr. Potter's eyebrows narrowed. "You want to take this splendid woman to a room that isn't the best?"
"I-"
"Because this tavern ain't the place to go for second-rate rooms. You'd be battling the bed bugs enough as it is in the best room. But there's a bloody blizzard out there, and cripples can't be choosers." The man chortled. "Get it? Like beggars, but you're a cripple, see, so-"
"I get it." Percival's voice was flat, and Fiona's chest twisted.
"I think my husband was hoping we could have two rooms," Fiona said finally.
"When you should be busy reuniting? Absolute nonsense." Mr. Potter leaned toward Percival and winked. "You can't worry about getting with child if one's already on its way."
The other men roared, and Mr. Potter downed the rest of his cider before slamming it against the bar.
"Besides. This place is filled. None of us are leaving tonight. So you've gotta share. Better for love-making anyway." Mr. Potter elbowed Percival, and the man stumbled, jabbing his cane into the floor to regain balance.
Percival frowned. "You're right. Naturally, my marvelous wife and I will share a room."
Fiona stilled. Women did not share rooms with men. Women like her weren't even supposed to stay in places like this. "Wait. Maybe-"
"Come on, dear," Percival said.
"Don't worry. We'll notice if he tries to escape again, love." Mr. Potter grinned.
"Th-thank you," she stuttered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Give her a kiss," one of the men shouted, and Fiona stilled.
"Can't have you upset at each other before bed." Mr. Nicholas's eyes softened. "That's what me wife always said, bless her soul."
"Aye, aye," someone said. "A kiss."
Fiona's eyes rounded, and she was careful to avoid meeting Percival's gaze. "I think we require a bit more privacy for such an action."
"Nah, those rules are just for unmarried people." Mr. Nicholas laughed. "No formality here, right boys?"
"Aye, aye!" The men roared their assent.
"The way I see it," Mr. Potter said, "We reunited you. So we need to make sure you're happy."
"How gallant of you," Percival murmured dryly.
"Now if I was she," Mr. Potter said, "I wouldn't be hanging around with a man without a leg. But that's me. People are different."
"That's big of you," Fiona said.
"Nice, that's what it is." Mr. Potter flashed her a toothy grin.
"Half an hour ago, you were trying to kill me," Percival said.
"Threatening to kill you," Mr. Potter corrected. "It's different."
"Oh, yes," Mr. Nicholas said. "Mr. Potter threatens to kill people all the time. It's his way of making conversation. Practically."
Fiona smiled tightly.
"But maybe your husband here is just not the kissing type," Mr. Potter mused. "Rather a waste of a wife if you ask me."
"I'm not asking you," Fiona said.
Mr. Potter stepped toward her, and his dark eyes flickered. "Perhaps you should. I guess a man without a leg can't be expected to know what to do with a woman."
In the next moment a strong hand gripped her, and she found herself staring straight into Percival's blue eyes. Her heartbeat quickened.
"My wife is completely content," Percival said.
"Y-yes," she squeaked.
Percival pulled her toward him, and Fiona's world shifted. Broad shoulders filled her vision, and her hands itched to touch chestnut hair and high cheekbones.