”Mal– Mr. Moore,” she amended hastily, “are you carrying a firearm?”
He glanced swiftly at her. “Whatever brought on that question?”
”You just sounded like Ms. Mulhaney, about keeping firearms clean or losing the use of them. So then I wondered.”
”One generally doesn’t ask a gentlemen, `Sir, are you armed? As it happens, I am. I never travel to London, never mind outside it, without a good revolver on my person.”
”Isn’t that illegal”
His lips twitched faintly. “Not yet.”
Oh.
”There are a few things about down-time cultures,” Malcolm said with a sigh, “that are vastly preferable to up-time nonsense. Self-defense attitudes being one of them. Let’s turn about, shall we? I believe he’s cooling out nicely.”
Margo turned the horse and they returned to the hired carriage, where she tied the reins and draped a warm blanket over his back. She then watered the animal from a pail John produced
”Thank you, John,” she smiled
”Me pleasure, miss.”
Margo grinned, but refrained from comment, since they were supposed to stay “in character” as much as possible to avoid slip-ups.
Lunch was simple but good: slices of beef and cheese on crusted rolls and red wine in sturdy mugs. John had built a warm fire and spread out a blanket for them.
Margo relaxed, draping her heavy cape around her shoulders and leaning close to the fire to keep from catching a chill. Clouds raced past through a lacing of barren branches above their little fire. She couldn’t identify the tall tree but sunlit filtering down through the spiderwork of twigs and branches was wonderful.