Could have been.
“Well. Good report, Joaquin. Thank you. Gives me the things I need to know and didn’t waste words. Glad to see you back alive, Morgan. Go and have a bath and get out of those filthy, bloody rags. Then we will be very pleased to hear your dark story in your own words.”
“Aye, Baron.” He slipped down and walked quickly toward the main building.
“Dismiss the men, Sergeant, and then come and see me in a half hour.”
Ryan and his companions moved out of the way as the horses clattered across the cobbled yard, through an archway that presumably led to the stables, leaving them waiting alone with Baron Sean Sharpe.
The moment grew longer, and the spots of rain became more insistent, but Sharpe ignored them, his eyes running back and forth along the line. Each time, Ryan noticed, he hesitated at both Krysty and Jak.
“Well, now. We will spend plenty of time while you tell me your fascinating tales. Perhaps while you lunch with us? But I would know your names and where you’ve come from. You,” he said, pointing unerringly at Ryan, “are the leader of this group, aren’t you? Introduce me.”
“Sure thing. I’m Ryan Cawdor, from the Shens. My son, Dean. This is Krysty Wroth from Harmony ville. Mildred Wyeth from out of Nebraska. Emma Tyler who comes from-” he faltered for a moment and knew that Sharpe had spotted it, “-Emma’s from the north end of the Shens. J. B. Dix from Cripple Creek. Jak Lauren from the bayou country. And-”
But Doc took over. “I am Dr. Theophilus Algernon Tanner, Doctor of Science from Harvard and Master of Philosophy from England. Born in South Strafford, Vermont, now a resident of the open highway. Delighted to make your acquaintance, Baron Sharpe. And may we now go in and get out of this damnably miserable rain, which seeks out the flaws in my poor old body?”
“In from the rain? Yes, of course. Most welcome. My people will show you to some rooms where you can make yourselves comfortable.” He turned away, then looked back at them. “And thanks for your help.” He frowned. “The pity is that it was so little and so late.”
For a moment Ryan stood still in the heavy downpour, watching the tall, handsome figure stride toward the main entrance to the house.
“Yeah, and fuck you, too,” he said quietly.
KRYSTY BOUNCED on the double bed in the third-floor room that a silent servant had showed them. Outside the mullioned window, the rain pounded against the small panes of glass. There had been two flashes of lightning, but they had been halfhearted affairs compared to the earlier storm.
“What do you think, lover?”
“The ville, Sharp, our situation, or Emma?”
“Yes.”
He grinned. “Which?”
“All of them. The ville?”
“Workmanlike is the word that kept comin’ to me. Not grand and not poor. Good sec men. Defense isn’t anywhere like as good as they think it is. I could get in and take it with half a dozen good men. Or women. Well organized, though.”
“Sharpe?”
“You feel anything about him?”
Krysty had found a brush lying at the vanity and sat down in front of a gilt-framed mirror, working the knots out of her bright hair.
“Nothing. Tough. Harsh. His comment about our saving Josh Morgan came as a shock.”
“And to me. Met a shitload of barons in my time. Sharpe’s one of those that I wouldn’t care to cross. My father used to have a saying that someone ran a tight ship. I guess he was thinking about a man like Sharpe.”
“How about our own situation?”
Ryan stood behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders, massaging the muscles in her neck. “That’s the odd thing about Sharpe. We saved one of his men. Put a dozen of potential enemies across the black water. Says we’re welcome and gives us good rooms. Invites us to stay awhile and eat with him. But there’s that bitter cold to him, like his heart had been carved from a slab of Alaska ice.”
“Best we don’t turn our backs on him, lover.” Krysty stood and put her arms around him, holding him tight.