Page 74 of The Boxing Baroness

“I did,” Elliot said. “I think we can make it to a town called Longuenesse by dark.”

Ahead of them, the back window on the women’s caravan slid up and Josephine Brown stood in the opening with her raven Angus on her shoulder. Her lips curled into a slight smile.

Sin couldn’t see where she was looking, but suspected Elliot was her target.

“What is it with you and that woman?” Sin asked. “You never took your eyes off her at breakfast this morning.”

“There is something . . . off about her,” Elliot said in a musing tone.

Sin barked a laugh. “There are about a dozen somethings off about her. Starting with that beast of hers.”

As if the raven heard him, it turned its head and made a rusty-sounding quork, quork that was audible even over the rumble of the wagons.

“I’ve never known anyone to keep a raven as a pet before and I had no idea they could talk,” Sin said. The bird sounded exactly like his mistress when he spoke; it was more than a little disturbing.

Elliot chuckled. “Angus is her familiar.”

Blade leaned toward her bird, her lips moving.

The big black creature hesitated a moment and then launched itself into the gloomy, drizzly day, disappearing into the dense trees on the side of the road.

“Now, what was all that about, I wonder?” Elliot asked.

Blade gave them a last look and then slammed the window shut.

Sin couldn’t help noticing that his normally serious friend was smiling, his sharp, speculative gaze lingering on the caravan.

Chapter 19

There were three inns in Longuenesse, the town where they were forced to stop for the night, and all of them were small. So they split into three groups: Barnabas, Sonia, the duke and his two friends, and Marianne and Cecile took rooms at the first inn; Jo and the three jugglers shared rooms at the second; and Nora, Lucy, and Ted took the last two rooms at the third inn.

“What were you and Guy arguing about all day long?” Marianne asked as she stripped out of her soaking wet clothing.

“That one! He thinks he knows everything.”

Marianne smiled at the irony of Cecile making such a statement; it was like the pot and the kettle since Cecile was a bit of a know-it-all herself and would argue about anything and everything.

“If he bothers you so much, why didn’t you ride inside the caravan with Blade?”

Cecile snorted. “What? And talk to myself all day? At least I get some conversation if I sit up front.”

It was true that Blade was extremely reserved. Angus was probably more talkative than his mistress.

“Besides,” Cecile added, “arguing helps to keep one warm and also makes the day go faster.”

Marianne glanced at the pile of luggage Cecile had brought up to the room. “Why so many bags for just one night?” she asked. But before Cecile could answer, she laughed. “Wait—I know. You had Guy bring up every single bag you packed, didn’t you?”

Cecile, who was sitting at the dressing table repairing the minimal damage to her hair and clothing, smirked faintly. “It is what he is good for, that one.”

“That’s not really fair—he’s amusing and rather pretty to look at, too.”

“Pfft.”

That was one of the Frenchwoman’s favorite responses for those times when she was finished with a subject.

Marianne pulled out one of her gray wool dresses.

“Oh, no,” Cecile said, shaking her head. “Please. Not that—that—chiffon hideux.”