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said quickly, “Whatever I tell them, do not dispute me, I pray you.”
    “Won’t.” His hand crept to his bloodied vest, then fell. “Funny.”
    Again, the carriage door was pulled open, and again they were soaked. Two men came with Jem, ready to carry Haverhill inside. With a great deal of difficulty, they managed to pull him out, and as two took his shoulders and one his feet, they lifted him. Kitty slogged through the muddy yard after them.
    “Lud a-mercy!” a fat woman exclaimed as they made it inside. “Put him abed atop the stairs,” she ordered, turning her attention to Kitty. “What happened ter ye?”
    Kitty looked down, grateful for her cloak, for what she could see of her wet dress was quite revealing without her petticoat. And even as she looked, the red stain that covered much of the front, ran downward, dripping a puddle of pink on to die spotless floor. Pushing back her soaked hair, she gulped for air before answering.
    “Robbers! We were beset by robbers, and—”
    “And yer husband’s been shot,” the woman finished for her, nodding. “Aye, bad business ’tis when decent folks cannot keep the roads t’night.” There was sympathy in her eyes. “Well, me and Mr. Turner runs a respectable inn, missus, so ye’ve come ter the right place.”
    “Thank you. But my husband—”
    “Well, Tom’s been sent to fetch old Burke fer ye, and we can hope he’s sober enow to come. Here now—ye got to get outer the wet things.”
    Kitty shook her head. “I’ve got nothing else, and I’d stay with him.”
    “Aye—spose you would. Well, up wi’ ye then, Mrs.—” She hesitated, waiting for Kitty to supply a name.
    “Smith—Kitty Smith.”
    “And yer husband?”
    Not having any notion of Haverhill’s Christian name, Kitty rechristened him on the instant. “John.”
    “John Smith? Sounds like a Puritan, he does.”
    “Yes, but I call him Johnny,” she added hastily. “He much prefers it.”
    “Shouldn’t wonder at that,” Mrs. Turner murmured. “Well, Mrs. Smith, ye’d best go up and get ’im ready fer Burke, if he comes. And don’t worrit none—I’ll find something dry to cover ye.”
    “ If he comes? He’s got to!”
    “Humph! Seems ter me yer better off wi’out ’im,” the woman muttered. Then, realizing Kitty’s anxiety, she added grudgingly, “Ain’t half bad when ‘is rum’s gone, I guess. Ye go on—me and Turner’ll come up if ye need us.”
    When Kitty reached the room at the top of the stairs, she discovered that they’d laid him on a sheet of oiled cloth spread across the bed. Jem hovered over him, his face worried, but the others had left. Kitty approached the bed with some trepidation.
    “Is he better, do you think?” she asked, knowing he could not be.
    “Nay.”
    She looked down, seeing the baron sprawled on his back, his closed eyes looking like bruises on his pallid face. Bending over, she tried to keep her voice low enough that she would not be heard outside.
    “My lord, we are at an inn, and the doctor has been sent for. I—I had to tell them we were wed, lest we should be turned away.” One hazel eye struggled open at that, prompting her to add defensively, “Well, I had to say it! And if any asks, you are Smith.” Looking from him to Jem, she warned, “And no gossiping over your cups. We were robbed on the road, and our money is gone—do you understand?”
    He nodded. “And who’m I ter be?”
    “That does not matter,” she reminded him severely. “Beggin’ yer pardon, Miss Kitty, but if he don’t make it, I don’t want ter have ter answer fer it. I’d as lief not have it knowed I was here, ye know.”
    “He will survive. He has to.” She looked down again. “Mrs. Turner says we are to make him ready for the doctor.”
    “I spect she means ’is clothin’.”
    “Yes, of course.” For a moment, Kitty was non-plussed. “Yes—well, I will remove his boots whilst you get the rest.”
    The coachman looked at her, tilting his