Page 86 of New Storm Rising
“Yeah,” he said, cocking his pistol with aclick. “We are.”
***
I was woken by a loud banging. And not the kind a newlywed wife on her honeymoon would appreciate, either.
“Mr Ambrose! Mr Ambrose, wake up!”
Blinking, I pulled my head out from under my pillow—and was met with a very surprising sight.
“You’re not up and working yet!” I observed.
“Very perceptive, Mrs Ambrose.” My dear (and very, very naked) husband sent me a look from where he was lying in bed beside me. “Right now, however, I am more interested in why one of my miners is trying to break the front door down.”
“So am I, I must admit.” I sat up, purposefully letting the blanket slip to provide a peek at certain private zones of mine. “Because if he were actually to succeed in breaking the door down and looked inside…”
I had never seen Mr Rikkard Ambrose move so fast. And, considering he always was moving twice the distance anyone else did in half the precious time, this was saying something. Reaching the other end of the room, he grabbed the tablecloth off a side table, flung it through the air and—
“Mmmph! Ggnnk!”
“Do your best table imitation, Mrs Ambrose. Donotleave this room before having dressed. I’ll be back in a moment.”
Having a loving husband was such a wonderful thing, wasn’t it?
“Enter!” I heard from down the corridor. A moment later, I heard the creak of the front door opening. Quickly, I tossed the tablecloth aside and slipped into my dress. Or at least tried to. I frowned.
Hm…was I getting more…well-padded?
Nah.
Tugging the dress up with determination, I pulled on a blouse, tugged my comb through my stubborn hair once, twice, thrice, and then rushed over to the hallway, from where hushed muttering was coming.
“…all over the place, Sir! Trampling everything down! You gotta come now!”
“And the guards?”
“Holding back for now. We no wanna do anything. We no wanna make you look guilty, if this be trap for you.”
“Adequate.”
“What’s up?” I demanded, stepping into the corridor, to see Mr Ambrose standing at the door, dressed in trousers and a deliciously ruffled, half-open shirt. There was also some unimportant non-husbandly person standing in the doorway.
“Quite a lot, apparently.” Buttoning up his shirt—Spoilsport!—Mr Ambrose grabbed a tailcoat off the hanger and threw it over his shoulders. “I’m going to take a look.”
He marched out the door, down the porch and into the forest—but ten feet or so down the forest path he stopped, as he noticed the footsteps behind him.
“I saidIam going. As in me. Alone.”
“Yes, I heard you speaking.” Catching up, I patted him on the shoulder. “And you know what? It’s true what you sometimes tell me: silence is golden.”
“It is going to be dangerous!”
“You don’t say, Sir?”
“I. Mean. It.” Dark eyes blazing, Mr Ambrose sent a glare my way. “Dangerous.”
One corner of my mouth quirked up. “And, of course, this would be the very first time the two of us go into a dangerous situation together. It’s not like we haven’t done this, oh, about…three dozen times before, right?”
“Listen to me!” Whirling around, he grabbed hold of me by both arms. And, by the looks of it, not because he was itching for some fun times. “This is not like before! We cannot just go haring off on some asinine adventure! This isn’t just about you and me anymore! You—”
