Kelcey's laughter eased off slowly, and Max was only slightly mollified by the kiss pressed to his throat, the teeth that nibbled briefly on his ear. "I did not take you for the sort to read such books. You seemed more inclined simply to seek out pleasure when you wanted it, not the sort to prefer staying in and reading a naughty book."
"The books had their charms. Stop laughing!" He drove his elbow back again, squirmed to get away, and huffed when Kelcey just wrapped both arms around him and held him fast. "Unhand me, you bloody bastard."
"Not a chance. I can't get the image out of my head. This makes it vastly more interesting that you called me a highwayman."
The cool air washing over Max's hot cheeks did nothing to cool them. "I hate you."
Kelcey laughed, low and husky, in his ear. "Yes, I believe that's how all those naughty scenes begin. I do believe I have found a weakness to prey upon at a later time."
Muttering choice words at the effect those words were having, Max subsided with another huff and a good, hard smack to Kelcey's thigh. "I think right now you should probably focus on the real highwaymen, because they are much more likely to gut us than debauch us. One more word about my reading choices and those books are the only pleasure you'll be enjoying for a long time, sir."
"Yes, my lord," Kelcey said, and Max didn't need to see the unrepentant grin to know it was there.
"Be quiet and tell me what exactly is going on, and when we will be getting out of this damned forest."
Kelcey gaze his arms a gentle squeeze, then let go. "It's an old, but reliable trick. One member of the group, or a man they have bribed, takes the role of coachman. The coachman takes the passengers into the woods, or whatever, far enough along that help is difficult to reach. Once he reaches a predetermined spot, an accident occurs—broken wheel, injured horse, whatever forces the carriage to a standstill. After that … well, it depends entirely upon whom they've accosted. If the victim is wealthy, but unimportant, then they are either incapacitated or persuaded to walk back to town. Their belongings and money are stolen, but little to no harm befalls them unless they prove difficult, in which case they are definitely incapacitated, sometimes killed if matters go poorly. If the passenger is a valuable one, say for example the brother of a powerful Duchess … then the victim is almost always taken for ransom."
"I see," Max said quietly. He knew all too well what happened next. People taken for ransom usually wound up dead, because it was far too great a risk to let them live. He shivered. "I am grateful that you are here, sir, especially as they never would have been able to reach my sister to demand the ransom."
"Bah," Kelcey replied, voice full of bitter recrimination. "I should have been smart enough to have us remain in town for the night, and travel with the rest of our belongings in the morning. I am so accustomed to traveling alone that I forget at the worst times I am now married to a lord. I am sorry."
Max found the hand around his waist, tangled their fingers together. "There is no need to apologize, sir. I was the one who impatiently demanded we make for the hotel immediately because we are already two days late arriving. Without you, I would be in dire straits right now. Cease to be mad at yourself. How do we get out of here without running afoul of those scoundrels?"
"Unfortunately, the answer is 'we wait'. They will have to give up looking for us eventually, if only because they'll exhaust their horses, and men like that cannot afford to be cavalier with their mounts."
"Is it better or worse for us that they know we are aware of their scheme?"
"Better," Kelcey replied. "Men like that generally fall into two categories: mean and cowardly, or desperate. Mostly they are the latter, because most people are not criminals by choice. The mean ones will want to avoid a confrontation because our awareness means they are far more likely to get hurt, even killed. The desperate ones will avoid us because they do not want anyone hurt. They'll loot the carriage and hide away a few towns over for a week or so, until they are certain there is no longer a wrathful lord at their heels."
Max shivered as a cold breeze swept over them, pressed back further into Kelcey's large frame and body heat. "And until they are well gone, all the wrathful lord gets to do is cool said heels."
Laughing softly, holding him more tightly, Kelcey nuzzled against his head and replied, "I'm afraid so. On the positive side, the weather is not as terrible as it could be, and we should not have to wait more than a couple of hours."
It should not have been possible to fall asleep, but as the fear and tension faded off they left a heavy exhaustion in their wake, and coupled with Kelcey's warmth it was far too easy to succumb …
Max jerked awake with a gasp, and froze as he realized he was moving. Horse. Highwayman. Every single part of him was stiff and sore. He groaned, tried to rub sleep from his eyes. "Where are we?"
"Finally awake, my lord?" Kelcey asked with a chuckle. "We are very near the city, and soon you will have a clean, warm bed to sleep in, and whatever else you desire."
"
We
will have a bed. I'm sorry I fell asleep and left you alone out here."
"Hardly alone. You mutter in your sleep, and you sound rather bossy about whatever it is; it's rather endearing. I'm glad you were able to rest."
"You must be exhausted."
"I would not protest a chance to sleep, but I've endured worse. Ah, and there is the city."
Noisy and cluttered and made of so much white stone that it was hard to look upon when the sun struck it. Once they reached the gates, it still took the better part of an hour to locate their hotel, get the room sorted out as they were three days late arriving, before Max was finally able to collapse into a mercifully soft chair.
He scowled when Kelcey did not follow suit, but instead turned right around to leave, pausing only because a footman arrived with soap, hot water, and food. "Where are you going?" Max demanded when the footman had gone.
"To see that something is done about those bandits. I should be back in a few hours."
"But—" Max sighed when the door closed sharply behind him. "Idiot. Fine, then." Continuing to mutter about stupid husbands, he stripped off his clothes and washed up, annoyed that yet again he had arrived after a long journey with not a stich of clothing to his name past those he wore.
Leaving them outside for staff to take away and clean, he shrugged into a robe hanging on the back of the door and then sat down to eat. He had emptied only half his plate when he grew too sleepy to continue. Surrendering, he trudged across the room to the bed, climbed in, and fell asleep almost immediately.
When he woke again, it was to the late afternoon sunlight slowly fading into dusk and the sound of Kelcey swearing quietly. Rolling over, yawning, he dragged himself up and glanced around the room. Kelcey sat at the table … surrounded by bandages and a basin full of bloody water, bloodstained rags beside it. "What in the
hells
." Throwing back the blankets, Max strode across the room. "Are you all right?" Kelcey's lip was split, and there was a nice bruise forming on one cheek and a nasty-looking cut over one eye. There seemed to be another bruise forming on his collarbone, and from the stains on his shirt there was at least one more cut that Max couldn't see. "You were supposed to make certain they were stopped, not go back out there and stop them yourself, you bloody idiot!"
Kelcey looked up at him, exhausted but faintly amused. "I'm fine."
"Fine does not involve copious amounts of blood."
That time Kelcey did laugh.
Max narrowed his eyes. "Pray tell, sir, what is so amusing about me being upset at seeing you covered in blood?"
"I'm not
covered
in blood, nor are there copious amounts of it," Kelcey replied, setting aside a bloody rag and picking up a jar of the same unguent he had used to treat Max's hands back when he'd been accosted outside the bookshop.
Sitting down in the other chair, Max asked, "What happened?"
Kelcey finished treating the wounds on his face, then stripped off his shirt and set to work on the one low on the right side of his ribs. "Not much, no matter how dramatic I look. I went to get information on the highwaymen, since it seemed far likelier they would fence their goods here. The supposition proved correct, and I found them quite quickly after speaking with their fence and a pub they frequent. They were less than pleased when I told them to stop robbing people, and that if they ever tried to hurt you again they would not get a chance to make that mistake a third time."
"Fat lot of good that does when they hurt
you,
" Max said. "I do not mind you playing the hero, sir, but I would prefer you do it because somebody served me the wrong dinner." He reached over the mess on the table and lightly touched the back of Kelcey's hand. "I dislike seeing you hurt, even only slightly, though I maintain this is not
slightly
."
Kelcey kissed his cheek. "I promise this is nothing. No one shot at me, which is always a nice turn of affairs. How long are we staying here?"
"It was supposed to be a month," Max replied. "But—" He broke off as someone knocked. Getting up, he crossed the room to open the door, let in the staff who came in bearing a tray of food and tea as well as the rest of their belongings. Thankfully the belongings seemed intact. "I'm glad they did not manage to steal everything, though I'm annoyed enough by what they got from our carriage."
"They'd already sold off most of it by the time I found them, but I got back some of it."
Max poured a small measure of cream into his teacup and then filled it with dark, fragrant tea. He drank half of it before going to his trunk and pulling out clothes. "Should we cut our stay here short and continue forth?"
"Perhaps," Kelcey said, but the word was spoken slowly, heavily.
Max rose from where he was bent over the trunk and turned around, shook his head and tsked at the way Kelcey was falling asleep and on the verge of smashing his poor, battered face into his teacup. Pulling on the breeches he'd grabbed, discarding his robe, he crossed the room and tugged on Kelcey's arm. "To bed with you. We'll decide on our plans after you've slept and look less like you spent the night in a jailhouse, scoundrel."
"I'm not a scoundrel," Kelcey muttered, but did not protest when Max dragged him to his feet and ushered him over to the bed.
Stripping off Kelcey's clothes, tossing them aside in a pile to attend later, Max got him settled in bed and the blankets spread over him. Dropping a kiss on his mouth, Max ordered, "Go to sleep."
Kelcey's only reply was a soft snore.
Laughing softly, Max returned to his trunk for socks and a shirt, then went to another and dug out one of the few books he had picked up along the way. Refreshing his cup of tea and filling a plate with sandwiches and scones, he carried it all to bed and settled in, more than content to while away the day reading and watching over Kelcey.
Chapter Nine
Once Kelcey was recovered to Max's satisfaction, they abandoned their plans and left a week early, the city soured by the circumstances of their arrival. They carried on traveling near-aimlessly for another month and a half, touring cities, towns, battlefields, monuments … Those months were the best of Max's life, their happiness marred only by the general frustrations of travel and the odd argument, none of which were ever as tempestuous as those he had engaged in with his sister. He and Mavin could start a shouting match over crumpets, if they were really determined to be unbearable brats.
Thankfully there were no more highwaymen, or robbers of any sort beyond a stray pickpocket outside one of the many museums they visited.
When they finally came to a stop, it was at the Mermaid Falls Hotel in the Blue Ash Mountains, a place his parents had favored when the family traveled during the summer. It had always been Max's favorite.
Everything had been going so well, he really should have expected trouble. After thirty-three years of enduring Mavin's peculiar talent for turning up in the most unexpected places or the worst possible moment, he definitely should have anticipated that his 'wedding travels' would be interrupted by her. Of all the hotels in the world, of
course
he would manage to pick the very one she was already at.
For all his snide remarks about twins not actually being connected in any sort of 'soul-bonded' way, he always knew when she was approaching. It was, he had always assumed, akin to a bird knowing when a cat was preparing to pounce.
He was sitting in the dining room of the Mermaid, reading a new book and enjoying his breakfast while Kelcey still slept, when he felt the familiar prickle. Carefully marking his place, he closed his book and finished his tea. He set the cup back on its saucer just as Mavin dropped with a flourish into the seat across from him. Her light-brown hair was pinned so that her curls fell wildly about her, amethysts sparkling in her ears. The bodice of her stunning emerald and plum dress was cut so low he wanted to throw a sugar cube down her décolletage just because he could and there was a brotherly obligation to be annoying. "Good morning, dear, sweet, ninny-headed sister mine."
She slammed her hands down on the table and leaned toward him. "What in the blazing hells are you doing here, you good-for-nothing prat?"
"Not looking for you, oddly enough," Max replied, and leaned across the table to give her cheek a quick peck. "I am glad to see you, though."
Mavin blinked at him. "What do you mean you're not looking for me? What are you doing here if you're not looking for me?" She scowled as she settled back in her seat, remained silent as a waiter appeared with a fresh pot of tea, additional cup, and a plate of pastries.
"So are you mad that I'm here for you, or mad that I'm not here for you?" Max asked. "You cannot be mad about both, though if anyone would try it's you."
"Do shut up," Mavin replied, and poured herself a cup of tea, vigorously stirring cream and sugar into it. "The hour is far too early for your poor attempts at wit."