When the thatching was finished, the laborers gathered at long, planked tables for a simple midday meal. Minerva helped the other women pass baskets of fresh bread, sausages, and hard cheese. Ale flowed freely from a cask.
The general mood turned from one of work to one of anticipation. The men washed and put on their coats, and the girls removed aprons and tied ribbons in each other’s hair. The wagon that had so recently been heaped with straw for thatching was swept and hitched to a strong, sturdy team.
“Our chariot awaits.” Colin extended a hand to Minerva. “After you.”
He helped her into the wagon, and then loaded the trunk. She pushed it to the far end of the wagon bed, and they sat in a row—all three of them. Minerva folded her legs beneath her. Colin stretched his out. Francine kept her foot in the box.
“You don’t mind the wagon?” she asked him.
He shook as head. “Not so long as it’s open.”
All the other farm workers crowded in, and just before the rear gate was latched, a half dozen pink, squirming piglets were added to the mix. One of them found its way to Minerva’s lap, rooting adorably in the white folds of her overskirt, where the keen little creature knew she’d saved some cheese from their luncheon.
“Are we all traveling to Grantham?” Minerva wondered aloud, feeding the piglet a morsel of cheese.
The young woman seated across the wagon stared at her, as though she were a simpleton. “It’s fair day, isn’t it?”
Ah. Fair day. This would explain the air of excitement. And the piglets.
As the wagon started off down the road, the girls in the wagon shifted and coalesced, forming a loose knot. They whispered to each other, shooting furtive glances at Colin and Minerva.
Minerva could tell they were speculating on their relationship. Wondering whether or not this handsome stranger was available. After a bit more whispering and nudging, they seemed to nominate a bold-looking brunette to find out.
“So, Mr. Sand,” she said, smiling. “What takes you and your lady friend to the Grantham fair?”
Minerva held her breath, foolishly hoping to be claimed as something other than his sister. Something more than a mistress.
“Business,” Colin said easily. “We’re circus folk.”
Circus folk?
“Circus folk?” several of the girls echoed.
“Yes, of course.” He lazily riffled a hand through his hair. “I walk the tightrope, and my lady here . . .” He stretched his arm around Minerva, drawing her close. “She’s a first-rate sword swallower.”
Oh my God.
Minerva clapped a hand over her mouth and made helpless snuffling sounds into her palm. “Caught a bit of straw dust,” she explained a few moments later, wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes.
She slid a look at Colin. The man was unbelievably shameless. Incorrigibly handsome. And—oh, heavens. She was a feather’s brush away from falling hopelessly in love with him.
“A sword swallower,” the brunette echoed, casting a skeptical glance at Minerva.
“Oh yes. She has a rare talent. You must believe me when I say, I’ve spent several years in the circus world, and I’ve never seen her like. You should have seen her performance just last night. Sheer brilliance, I tell you. She has this way of—”
Minerva elbowed him, hard.
“What?” He caught her by the chin, turning her face to his. His eyes danced with amusement. “Really, pet. You are entirely too modest.”
She took a long, dizzying tumble through his warm, affectionate gaze. And then he kissed her. Not quite on the mouth, not quite on the cheek. Just at the corner of her smile.
The wagon hit a rut in the lane, jolting them apart. Minerva laid her head on his shoulder and sighed with happiness.
Across the wagon, the rest of the women sighed with disappointment.
Yes, girls. Go weep in your aprons. He’s taken. For today, at least.
Minerva laced her hand with Colin’s and gave it a squeeze of thanks. Along with all the blissful pleasure he’d so masterfully coaxed from her body, he’d now introduced her to an entirely new sensation.
So this was how it felt to be envied.
“Well,” said the brunette, “you never do know who you’ll meet along the Great North Road, do you? Just yesterday, my brother said one of his friends passed time with a long-lost prince.”
Everyone in the wagon laughed, except Minerva. Colin’s arm tightened around her shoulders.
“No, really,” the girl went on. “He was a prince, traveling in common clothes.”
Beside her, another young woman shook her head. “Your brother’s spinning tales again, Becky. Imagine, a long-lost prince in disguise, traveling this stretch of road. What’s he doing? Coming to the fair?” She giggled. “I’d never give that tale any credit.”
“I don’t know.” Minerva smiled to herself, nestling closer to Colin. “I could believe it.”
“Well.” The brunette arched an eyebrow. “If this prince does exist—he’d better hope he doesn’t meet with my brother’s friends. They’ve a score to settle with His Majesty.”
Chapter Twenty-one