Page 90 of Wicked Designs
In the parlor, Cedric and Godric laughed about something. She lingered for a brief painful second.
Goodbye, my League of Rogues.
She slipped down the servants’ stairs and out a door that led to the stables. The urge to look back just once was strong, but she resisted. She would take only memories. On cold nights she’d sink into those blissful moments and find herself here again, even if it was only in her dreams.
Jonathan sat impatiently on the cart seat, his face dark. He scowled when he saw her, as though he’d hoped she wouldn’t have come. He raised his hand, motioning for her to hurry. A basket lay next to him. It contained a drowsy Penelope.
“What’s wrong with her?” Emily hissed as she climbed up into the seat next to him.
“Nothing. When Libba brought her down I fed her warmed cream. It’ll keep her quiet until we reach the village.”
Emily relaxed, but the pup was more than just drowsy. “Just warm cream?”
“Well, there might be a pinch of something stronger to make sure she didn’t run off. Needs must as the devil drives, as they say.”
Emily knew that only too well.
Jonathan slapped the long reins against the bay’s back and the cart jerked into motion. When they reached the road, Emily breathed a sigh of relief, one shadowed by sadness.
On to Blackbriar…
Rain pelted Emily’s face, soaking her clothes. She cursed herself for not bringing a wool hooded cloak to wear.
“How much farther is it?” The heady scent of wet grass and wool surrounded her. She shivered, and her skin iced over with the rain.
“Not far,” Jonathan said. “We’ll have to get a room at the inn. You can’t travel in this weather, and I can’t return tonight. The food might spoil.” His beautiful mouth twisted in an unpleasant frown.
She trembled again. “I suppose you are right.”
Jonathan put his arm about her shoulders to pull her closer. He was just as wet, but much warmer.
“Th-thank you.” Her teeth clicked together as a bone deep chill sank into her.
“Don’t mention it, Miss Parr.” His eyes were on the road, not on her.
Emily relaxed a little and Penelope stirred beneath Emily’s black skirts. She dropped a hand down near the hound and the pup anxiously licked her fingers.
“There, there, darling,” she murmured.
They rode in silence the rest of the way. The drive to the village stole much time, since the road skirted around Godric’s lands and the lake.
The village itself seemed nearly deserted. The cart creaked and groaned as it rode over the rough uneven stones of the main street, echoing in the midst of the storm’s rumblings. Jonathan guided the horse towards the tall barn next to an inn called The Pickerel.
“Take Penelope inside. Wait for me near the bar.” Jonathan didn’t wait for her to protest.
She took the hound and her cloth bag, and dodged through the rain into the inn. Oil lamps were lit on the tables and several villagers huddled around the main fireplace, warming their hands. They all turned their heads at her entrance. A plump woman wiping the bar with a cloth smiled, then seeing her, drenched and shivering, immediately changed to concern.
“You poor lamb!” She rushed around the counter to get a better look.
“M-May I wait here?” Her teeth chattered so sharply that her jaw ached.
“Of course, dear!” The woman took a fresh towel and dried Penelope. “Caught in the storm without a proper coat? Here, let me help you.”
“Th-thank you.”
Jonathan came in, shaking his sandy hair.
“Jonny, love!” the woman greeted him.
