Pendragon. Catherine Coulter

Meggie jumped when more thunder rolled overhead. Rain slashed hard against the windows. “I’m all right, Thomas. Don’t be frightened.”

But he was. After he’d shown Dr. Pritchart out, he sat beside her on the bed and pulled her into his arms. He pressed his face into her hair. He kissed her temple, said low and deep into her ear, “You scared every ounce of wickedness out of me. I will become more reverent than your father. He will be so impressed with me he will ask me to give one of his sermons.”

She turned her head slightly, moving very slowly, and kissed his neck. “I should like to see you in my father’s pulpit. Please don’t lose all the wickedness, Thomas. I do like it. I can’t bear this either. Don’t leave me, please don’t.”

He closed his eyes as he held her, kissed her hair, the tip of her nose, felt the softness of her through her muslin gown. “Let me get you into your nightgown.”

* * *

Chapter 27

MEGGIE WATCHED MISS Crittenden run to the end of the long kitchen, come to an almost instant stop, then wheel about and race back toward her.

“By all that’s wonderful,” Meggie said in awe to Mrs. Black, “that was amazing.”

“Demned Cat’s been acting like that since the big torn, McGuffy, went to sea with the Midland’s youngest boy, Davey,” Mrs. Black said, narrowing her eyes to better see Miss Crittenden flashing by, but it didn’t help much, and Meggie saw that it didn’t. “Running everywhere to find him, but he’s no where to be found. And now it’s just habit with her.”

“So she started all this marvelous running trying to find Davey. Hmmm. Maybe you’ve hit upon a new training technique. Mrs. Black, have you asked Dr. Pritchart about glasses?” she asked.

“Oh aye, my lady. Dr. Pritchart has tried everything. He says it’s the cataracts that are like veils over my eyes, that they will just thicken and thicken until there won’t even be shadows. He calls it white eyes.”

“I’m very sorry.”

“It’s just that I would like to see Miss Crittenden race about Cook’s jugs of flour and sugar. Many the times I’ve nearly tripped over her. So many changes you’re bringing, my lady, and all of them exciting. Do you know I can smell how clean Pendragon is now? It’s a blessed thing, it is. Now, why are you interested in Miss Crittenden and how she runs?”

“Have you ever heard of cat racing?”

Cook came into the huge kitchen and said, “Cat racing? Now, that’s a loony thing, it is.”

“Not at all, Mrs. Mullins,” Meggie said, and since neither of them had heard of such a thing, for the next ten minutes, Meggie told them about the history of cat racing, begun at the Mountvale Mews in the last century, brought to its premiere place in the racing world by the Harker brothers, the major trainers for two decades now. “The McCaulty Racetrack is the major venue for cat racing,” she said. “The meets are held from April to October. Mr. Cork is the current champion. He from the Vicarage Mews and I trained him.”

“You really trained a cat to race?” Barnacle said, dragging himself into the kitchen, and one eyebrow arched up so high he looked like a bit of a demon, in agony, of course.

“I most certainly did. I think Miss Crittenden just might take to the sport. What do you think? Cat racing at Pendragon?”

“Oh, aye, that would be something, now wouldn’t it?” Mrs. Black beamed.

Cook harrumphed. “It’s loony, now isn’t it?”

“There’s nothing like seeing those sleek bodies flying by,” Meggie said. “It makes your heart gallop.”

“Meggie.”

She turned to see Thomas striding into the kitchen. He was carrying a package under his arm. “Here you are.” He didn’t sound at all surprised. During the past week, once he’d let her out of bed, she’d been everywhere in Pendragon, overseeing everything and everyone, and that pleased him all the way to his gut.

“Oh, my lord,” Barnacle said and creaked into a semblance of a bow, adding a little moan as he straightened, his face a hideous mask of pain. “Mrs. Black, it’s his lordship.”