12. From Snowballs to Snabbled

12

FROM SNOWBALLS TO SNABBLED

"Your friend," she gasped, the second Leo turned from bolting the door after the mad, circuitous dash toward safety he'd made the moment she'd pointed and tapped his cheek twice, mouthing, "Go!"

Wild-eyed and woefully out of breath, even though he'd been the one running, she grabbed up the lantern and held it near her face. "Friend," she repeated, more terror lining her features than he'd seen all evening, even when she had been the one under attack.

"Take a couple breaths. Talk soft," he instructed, telling his own thundering heart to calm. "Tell me, what friend?"

"Squirrel Beard." Exaggerated circular motions in front of her face made it clear.

"Benton. What about him?"

"Danger…no…" Or was it know ? "…suspect…not…"

"All right. Deep breath, little one." She did as bade, lungs heaving as she looked to him for reassurance. "They know—or suspect," he hazarded, "that he is not who he seems?"

"I do not know!" Another breath that blew against his chest. "Mad." She scrunched her face in anger. Then relaxed it to finish in a rush, "…he…enter rupted…" Interrupted. "…said whore it…"

Whore it? Lost, Leo motioned for her to repeat. "Whore-if-ick. Whore-it. Id."

Whoreifick…? Whore-id? He kept sounding them out in his head until… Ah!

Horrifically horrid. Not good. "Do you hear them now? Were we pursued?"

"No. Nay…distance…barking…shouts…not…"

"Not coming near?"

She aimed her palm toward the door he'd heaved to and motioned it forward several times.

Going away? "The sounds. They are receding?"

A nod.

"What else? Tell me all you remember."

A quick grapple for her pencil and another hastily unfolded letter. She balanced it against the carriage's exterior as he held the lantern aloft while she scribbled phrases around and in between the inked lines, occasionally pausing before writing with fury again.

"Good. Good girl," he murmured as he praised, not wanting to distract her, to crowd or hover, but more and more impressed with every word she recalled, every phrase she jotted.

Not four minutes later, she looked up, almost seemed lost. "Here." She handed him the page, took the lantern from him. "…everything. All I heard."

In his grip now, he scanned her words. "Susanna, you are a jewel. Still no sounds? Beyond us?"

"A wine, I think." She pretended to drink, pointed to the bolted door. Then held two fingers up high on either side of her head…like ears? Ah, a whine ?

"Reaver? That you?" The dog must have answered because she sped past him to the door.

He was on her just as fast. "Hold up, now."

Hands to her waist, he lifted her to the side. "Stay put a moment, hmm?"

He eased the bolt aside and slid the door open a thumb's width, ready to brace it against intruders if need be. But when he peeked out, he was met with a welcome sight indeed.

Reaver's tail fanned out in the snow, wagging a welcome and obliterating any obvious prints they might have left.

In fact, the entire area was littered with so much zigzaggery that any human trail had been long obliterated. Instead, slushy indentations hashed the grounds going from north to south, east to west, and every direction in between, such that no one would be able to make heads nor fairy tales of the direction most recently traveled.

With a happy hop, the dog burst through as Leo widened the door before securing it behind the canine.

Who promptly jumped up and landed huge, muddy paws on the front of his shirt. "You big galoot." Quick hands made short work checking the damp coat and body beneath for damage, then lingering to scratch behind the ears, one upright and the other, torn one slouched. "You know better than to jump. Have you met our lady, Susanna?"

Shite. Our lady. He'd not meant to introduce her as theirs , but the words tumbled out before he thought to stop them.

Flushed—from the excitement? The race to safety? Or his claim?—she dropped to her knees, uncaring of soiling either his other shirt or her own pristine self (which made him smile for some reason) as she gave Reaver an enthusiastic embrace, no hesitation whatsoever despite his dirty fur and fearsome appearance. No notion what she told the dog, lips buried against Reaver's coat, but the sight of them together, of her instant acceptance, did something to him. Something that felt peculiarly… permanent?

"What a wonderful puppy you are, saving your master and me." Holding the wet yet warm body against her own proved remarkably comforting. She'd never had a pet of her own and, other than Faith's kittens this past summer, had spent little time with animal companions. "Even though you stink."

She laughed when the dog took one step back, cocked his head and angled one ear as if to say, Well, human, mayhap you do not smell so inviting yourself.

Could one be fraught yet exhilarated too?

Gripping tight to Leo, listening with all her might over the savage rampage of her heart, aiming to commit to memory anything at all the captain and his partners might find useful, she had concentrated beyond her fear. Because aye, she recognized the contempt in Haggart's speech. Along with two others, and then for a short while, Leo's friend Benny as well.

She knew not what to listen for, so made notes mentally, counted on her fingers anything that might be of interest to tell him as soon as she could.

But when Reaver burst into the throng, growling and snarling, distracting the men away from them, and she'd caught one last sentence, terror had shredded composure and she could not return them to safety and light fast enough.

But now she had shared what she needed to. So 'twas time for the energy clogging her limbs and riling her heart and stuttering her lungs to quiet before she breathed herself into a faint. Hugging the dog helped. His long wet tongue licking her cheek? Not so much, but it did make her laugh. "Shall I bathe in bacon grease for you, hmm? Would that?—"

"Susanna."

The rumbled timbre snared her full attention and she rose, keeping the tips of her fingers on the dog's neck as he sat on his haunches now, glancing between the humans who stood over him.

Holding the words she'd written toward the light, her captain took up her free hand in his, threading their fingers and giving hers a light clasp as he studied the page.

She leaned into him and glanced again at what she'd written. Was it helpful at all?

Haggart and 2 others (not Toothy) + S.B. for part; one spoke with more refinement than the others (not S.B.)

-Lord (never named that I could discern)

-"sparring match" (Boxing Day?)

-Lady Diamond or Diamond's Lady

-Portsmouth

-"2 more" (of what, I do not know)

-London

-hairy (or Harry?)

-bitch from earlier (me?)

-damn bridge

-cart

-more trouble than worth

-plans to demand more money (did not hear who from)

-"time to snabble S.B., too g— d— peery" doesn't like face

-17 or 17th (uncertain if number or date or ￡ or ?)

She was brilliant. Bloody brilliant.

Leo tightened his hand around hers before releasing her to fold the page and snug it in a pocket. "Can I keep this? Give it over to?—"

Had her nod been any more fervent, he feared she might flail her head from her neck.

"I need to share what you learned. Will you be all right?"

A calmer nod. A swift look at the bolted door, then she pretended to lift a watch face from the nonexistent ribbon at her waist, where ladies often carried their timepieces.

"How long?" he surmised. "Ten minutes." She appeared relieved. "Barring trouble." Then scowled at him.

She flashed five fingers at him, her hand going from fist to wide and back again, three separate times, then indicated racing after him, head down, both arms bent and powering at her sides. "You will grant me fifteen minutes and then come after?"

A brisk nod, hands on hips now. Eyes determined. Chin defiant.

Why did that warm his lonely soul? The idea that this young female, so recently met, standing there, facing him down in naught but his shirt and coat would chase after his hide if she deemed it tardy? "Have you a watch?"

She frowned at him. "No."

He chuckled. "Me neither.

"Give me twenty, twenty-five. I will scout our surroundings before venturing afield. Ensure no one is near. Reaver will keep guard and set up a cacophony if anyone but me tries to enter."

He paused, but rather than reply, she slid her arms from the voluminous great coat that swallowed her and rose up onto her toes to swing it about his shoulders.

Without a word (he knew, because he kept sight of her mouth), she flew round to his side and held up the shoulder, so he could easily tuck his fist and arm inside. Once the effort had been duplicated and he wore his coat for the first time since it had graced her body, she leaned in and hugged arms about his waist, then stepped back with a decisive nod.

Feeling strangely bereft, he wrapped one hand about her nape and tugged her forward to place his lips against her forehead. "Go ahead and sleep. You have endured enough excitement for the day. I shall return soon. Watch over you till morn."

Watch over me till morn?

Go ahead and sleep ?

Pesky, attractive, annoying, glorious man.

Sleep was not what she wanted to do with him.

Nor could she fathom anything of the sort: bedding down, alone and oblivious to whether he had returned safely; not with him gone—outside—where danger lurked, as well she knew.

Her thoughts much too heated at the moment for her to take chill, she tidied their surroundings, first outside the carriage, and then taking better care with her wet things, draping her damp dress and stays, shift and stockings over the carriage wheels and across whatever she could find so they had at least a modicum chance of drying—rather that than wadded as they had been, with no chance at all.

She then put the inside of the carriage in order (which did not occupy her nearly long enough, taking all of ninety seconds), encouraged Reaver to jump up and dispatch a couple of crumbs she saw on the floor between the squabs, and collected all the pages she'd written over?—

Stopped to pet the dog who watched her humming-accompanied activities with a curious sort of pleasant expression hinting a curve upon his doggish lips until she just knew it had to be over eighteen minutes?—

Didn't it?

Where was Captain Tucker?

Was she being impatient? Had it really been nearly twenty minutes? Why, it felt like two hundred. But what if it had only been twelve? What if it had been twenty-five and he needed her help? What if?—

The infernal lantern sputtered to fumes.

Leaving her in utter darkness. And the seconds passing slower than ever.