Page 249 of Ten Lords for the Holidays

She seems safe enough for the night.

What? Where had that come from?

Barnabas looked to and fro, narrowed his feline gaze on his landlord and their visitor. Neither was talking, not with words, anyway.

Only with touches, with pets. Mr. Chapman brushed his fingers along her shoulder over and over, occasionally straining the tips up toward her neck and over her head.

Barnabas could nearly feel the touch himself. His fur rippled all along his spine. How he wished—

Believe I shall be off. I shall chase—er, check on, ha ha—her again soon.

Whose words were those?

Curiosity prompting his silent steps, Barnabas jumped down from the remnants of well-devoured roast (thanks to his sharp claws and equally sharp canines) and padded back into the shop. His hind legs easily propelled him onto his bow window napping nest, made appreciably bigger now that the niffling horses and such had been dispatched.

He stared out into the black night, his keen gaze seeing beyond the freezing mist. “Rrrrr-owww!”

In the act of leaving, the stranger with the glowing eyes turned back and faced Barnabas.You hear me, do you not?

“Meow!”

Fascinating, I had not known of this ability.

“Rreeow! Merrep?! Mew?”

Oh, what happened to her? The carriage emergence, you see. When they cracked together, she flew skyward, her face seeking a monstrous tree overhead. I managed to snare her mid-air, just as her head collided with the branch. Slumbered her, it did. Had no inkling she would wake so soon and hasten off.

“Rrrppow? Mwwrr?”

How did we know to be there? I still don’t fully understand it myself, how my mustached companion knew to be on guard watching those four-cross-roads when the accident happened.

“Mrrow.”

You agree with me, then? Madful notion, is it not? I blustered about it beforehand, thought it more of a lark than a true concern—and I was supposed to be doing my wife, Francy, a favor.

His visitor exhaled a resigned sigh.

Barnabas could sense, if not outright hear, that too. Magical monkeys and dancing mice (beforehe bit off their heads, that was) what astonishing delights had he discovered, thanks to this stranger?

Out of respect for Adam—he of the hideous mustache—we waited. I confess, I am anticipating the explanation ofhowhe turned prophet overnight and knew that the evening hours of December 23, 1812 would prove disastrous for some—and if the Lord sees fit to bless the innocent—beneficial for others.

“Mrow. Rrrrrrrrrrr.”

I am thankful she made it safely here as well. Watch over her, will you?

“Merr?”

Aye,you, little one. See that no ill becomes her, can you do that? I have much work to see to before the sun rises. But I shall return again, when I can, to ensure she has met no harm.

Once the fearsome stranger’s back faced Barnabas… Once the booted feet pounded away into the night… Once nothing but silence met his ears over the slick of sleet and drips…the cat yawned and stretched, his front legs reaching far, individual claws extended, piercing the red fabric as his hind end and tail rose toward the ceiling.

“Hmmmmm-mmmm,” the yawn exhaled pleasurably and he retracted his claws, gave his shoulders one more flick and stretch and curled into a tight ball.

* * *

“I…”

Against his side, the bedraggled, bemusing female hesitated. Afraid he’d ridicule again?

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