to the manor as it was now a reasonable hour to break his fast.
As he was nearing the manor, Miranda bustled out and nearly toppled into him.
She placed a hand upon her bonnet to keep it from falling and looked up. “Lord Epworth. I apologize, I did not see you.”
“You are in a hurry this morning.”
“Yes, I must go into Bocka Morrow.”
He glanced to the sea. “You aren’t taking a boat are you? It’s far too dangerous.”
She sniffed and notched her chin. “I’ve decided to walk.”
“So you do walk into Bocka Morrow.” He hitched a brow. “I thought perhaps you didn’t given everyone mentions you taking a boat.”
Miranda blew out a sigh. “I’ve not crossed onto Keyvnor land since I left it in June.”
“Because of Barnaby?”
“Yes!” she bit out. “He threatened my life and I took it seriously.”
“Why risk it now?”
“Because those in the village need to know what happened in Laswell and that if they seek revenge, they will be destroyed as well. Though I’m certain you think I’m feather-brained for believing and fearing what is to come.”
He winced. That is what he’d called her that first season and it was likely he’d never hear the end of it.
“If they take any action against Laswell, none of us will recover from it.”
Her prediction was a bit melodramatic, but Miranda believed with all her heart that what she said was true.
“It’s dire enough that you’d risk encountering Barnaby again?” She was too afraid of him to return to Keyvnor for the ball, yet she’d face him now to appease a mythical god.
Miranda bit her bottom lip and tears formed in her eyes. “I’ve no choice.”
Whatever it was that Miranda had encountered that day at Keyvnor had frightened her. She was still frightened, but willing to risk her safety for Bocka Morrow.
“I’ll go with you.”
“That’s not necessary, Lord Epworth, since you believe this is all nonsense.”
“I’ll go with you into Bocka Morrow, walking by Castle Keyvnor. If this Barnaby appears, I promise never to doubt the existence of ghosts again.”
She studied him, eyes narrowed and mouth pursed. Then the corner of her lip twitched. “Only if you promise me one thing.”
Wesley couldn’t imagine what she wanted but was certain it couldn’t be anything difficult. “Anything,” he said with sincerity.
“If something happens to me, you must promise to deliver the message.”
“Of course, I’ll advise them of the damages to Laswell.”
“Not just Laswell but warn them about Endellion.”
Wesley stilled. He was not going about claiming the supposed Sea God of Cornwall was going to destroy them all.
“If you are correct, and there is no Barnaby, then I’ll deliver the message. However, if you are proven wrong, then you must also accept the possibility of merfolk as well.”
When she put it that way, Wesley lost all concern. Of course there was no Barnaby and maybe this trip past Castle Keyvnor was exactly what she needed to prove she’d imagined the ghost. When such an encounter didn’t take place, hopefully he’d be able to convince Miranda not to share dire warnings of a merfolk king before they reached Bocka Morrow and thus save them both embarrassment.
“Very well. I promise.”
Miranda smirked. She was confident this Barnaby would make an appearance and Wesley was just as confident Barnaby didn’t exist. Either way, one of them would be proven right, which would be him.
As they passed the Gypsy camp that sat between Hollybrook Park and Castle Keyvnor, Miranda’s steps began to slow.
“Perhaps he’s even forgotten me,” Miss Miranda offered hopefully.
“It’s possible, I suppose,” Wesley agreed. Perhaps she was trying to find an excuse for why Barnaby would not appear. Something that she could convince him to accept, or perhaps herself.
Miranda took a deep breath and marched forward with determination and a bit more speed than she’d displayed while approaching the border. Wesley, however held back and felt no need to rush, as nothing was going to happen and they’d stroll into Bocka Morrow, perhaps purchase a few items and deliver the message to the Woodfords. He’d promise that he’d make certain they’d never lure a ship again and then they’d return to Hollybrook Park without incident.
He watched as Miranda seemed to relax with each step. She’d been stiff, chin up and hands fisted as if she were ready for a fight, but the further they drew away from the gypsy camp the more her posture seemed to soften and her hands relaxed. After they’d walked a little further, Miranda let out a sigh and held out her arms,