A Midsummer Night's Romp (25 page)

Gunner, who was chewing a piece of toast, paused, considered the idea, and then shook his head. “Too messy. We'd get sugar everywhere. Plus, Cressy might walk in, and then I'd have to get her a second horse.”

“Don't tell me she's already wrangled one horse out of you?” I asked with a little laugh.

“Not yet, but she's made me promise to get her one when she turns eighteen in six months.”

“She's a fast worker,” I said with approval.

“Truer words were never spoken. Now.” He dusted off
his hands, wiped the crumbs and sugar from his lips, and smiled. “About that lovemaking you mentioned. Shall we go upstairs?”

I would like to say that I didn't hesitate to disabuse him of the notion that I had been hinting I'd like to get down and dirty with him, but the sad fact is that I actually thought about it for a few seconds before remembering why it was I wanted to see him.

“As a matter of fact, we don't have time,” I said, ignoring the desire to jump him right then and there. “Paul found another mouse stone, but his translation seemed a bit iffy to me, and now Roger is off on some tangent about a pointing statue, and I might have confronted Paul about Sandy.”

I had hoped to slip that last bit in there without him noticing, but damn him, that's what he chose to pick up on.

“You confronted him?” he asked in the middle of putting cinnamon sugar on another piece of toast. “I thought we were going to do that together? I hoped we could come up with a reasonable plan, a thoughtful plan, a plan that wouldn't be tantamount to slander, and then proceed from there.”

I slumped in my chair. “I know. We were. And I meant to wait for you, but Fidencia was there accusing him of having crabs, and then one thing led to another and I was telling him about Sandy, and he absolutely denied he had HIV. Which, of course, we knew he would, but still, he's got balls looking me dead in the eye and lying like that. And then he said the most heinous things about Sandy, which had to be him trying to smear her name in the dirt, and after that, I just kind of lost control.”

He set the toast down. “Do I want to know what happened?”

“I slapped him.” I hung my head for a second, hoping
the appearance of sorrow would keep Gunner from being annoyed with me, which just annoyed me, because I shouldn't care if my actions don't make a man happy.

But I did care.

Dr. Anderson would tell you that it's more important to approve of your own actions than to worry if others approve,
my inner self pointed out.

Shut up,
I told her.
Dr. Anderson doesn't know everything.

Mmmhmm. You've got it bad, don't you?

“I really hate internal monologues,” I said with a sigh.

“Conscience getting the better of you?” Gunner asked a bit archly, which I resented for about ten seconds.

“I'd say yes, but then you'd have proof that I listen to the voice in my head, and that just sounds too crazy for words. Oh, Gunner.” I put my elbows on the table and my chin on my hands. “What am I going to do? Paul swears he didn't give Sandy anything. He says she was basically the equivalent to the camp ho, and that if she picked up HIV anywhere, it was not via him.”

“Hmm.” Gunner tore the piece of toast in half, and gave me some before popping the rest into his mouth and chewing while he thought. “What we need is a blood sample.”

I shook my head. “He says he already had a battery of tests, including HIV, and that he's negative.”

Gunner eyed me. “Could it be possible that he's telling the truth?”

“Sandy isn't like that. She's not promiscuous. She's barely had two boyfriends the entire time I've known her, and even when she was seeing someone, she never had him over at our apartment overnight.”

“I don't know what to say, then. On one hand, we have
Paul swearing he's clean and that your friend was a tart, and on the other, you know your friend well, and say she's not likely to have picked up the disease from anyone else.” He frowned at the teapot. “I just don't see that we're going to get very far unless we have proof of what he claims—that he doesn't have an STD.”

“And I doubt if he's going to be willing to hand over his test results to prove it,” I said sadly, feeling the full weight of the burden I'd set on my shoulders. “It's too bad Daria's husband isn't here.”

“Why is that?”

“He's a lab tech. Evidently he does all sorts of health testing, and he'd surely be able to tell us if a sample of Paul's blood was infected or not.”

“That would imply we had a sample to be tested.”

I waved the fact away that I had yet to figure out how to get said sample. “So what are we going to do?”

“About Thompson?” He got to his feet, winced briefly, and carried our plates over to the sink. I gathered up the tea things and took them to the counter. “I'll talk to him later and see if it's possible to get a glimpse at his test results, not that I believe he carries them around with him. There's a chance he might show us the results in order to shut us up.”

“You think he really is innocent?” I asked, a bit dumbfounded.

“I don't know.” Gunner rinsed out the teapot. “But I don't like to judge people until I have all the facts.”

“I hate it that you're more principled than I am,” I said, shooting him a little glare. “I've always prided myself on being a nice person, and here you are making me look like a heel. All right, we'll ask him nicely for the test results.”

“After I see this latest stone,” Gunner said, pulling me
up against his body, and speaking against my lips. “Unless you'd rather go upstairs and indulge yourself in some hot, steamy lovemaking first?”

“You are incorrigible,” I told him, gathering my things and sashaying out the door.

His laughter followed me, making me feel simultaneously happy and worried.

What was I getting myself into by indulging in a relationship with Gunner? He made me intensely happy, and yet at the same time, I had a desperate feeling that I was about to take a start down a path from which I wouldn't be able to return. The problem was that I couldn't tell if that was a good thing or not.

“Why isn't life simple?” I moaned to myself.

“I
t's a ring.”

“Where?” Lorina glanced around her.

“Not a physical ring—this.” Gunner waggled the latest puzzle stone at her. “The answer to the puzzle is a ring. The kind with a seal on it. It's another famous riddle. This time, I came prepared.”

Lorina watched with interest as he pulled out a small Latin primer and flipped to an appendix. “Let's see, it should be . . . ah, here it is. The English translation is, ‘I cling to an extremity. You might say I'm part of it, so little do I weigh. My face makes good impressions every day.' And the answer is a ring with a seal on it, the kind used to seal letters and such with wax.”

“‘My face makes good impressions' . . . ha.” Lorina looked smugly satisfied. “And it has nothing to do with a pointing statue. Roger is totally off track.”

“He is if he's expecting this puzzle to tell us where a
treasure is.” Gunner thought for a few minutes. “I have to admit that I'm not seeing where the clues are leading us. A ship, a greeting, a roof tile, and now a ring.”

“Maybe the ring is the treasure?” Lorina suggested, examining the stone.

“Ring? What ring?” Roger bustled into the storeroom. “You found a ring?”

Lorina explained about the stone.

“Oh.” Roger was clearly disappointed, but recovered quickly. “Well, ring . . . statue . . . it doesn't matter what it is so long as it leads us to the treasure. How's your foot? We'd like to get a piece filmed later with you explaining to Lorina why the dig has shifted to the castle cellar.”

“My foot is fine, although I'm supposed to use this cane when I do a lot of walking.” Gunner indicated the implement leaning against the wall. “And I'd be happy to do the piece, so long as Lorina isn't busy molesting me.”

Lorina's eyes widened for a moment before she narrowed them with a warning of later retribution. It just made him smile. She was so easy to tease, so delightfully open with her expressions.

He thought of telling her right then and there that he was becoming quite serious about keeping her in his life, but decided that what she needed most at that moment—other than him—was space. She obviously had some emotional issues to work through, and although he'd love nothing more than to help her master them, he'd be patient and let her deal with them in her own way.

He was feeling very noble until he realized that Lorina was chatting with Roger about some plan for dressing them all up as Romans to reenact the burning of the villa.

He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “If I told you that I'm aware you need time to process the emotional ramifications of our relationship, would you gawk
at me for my singular ability to understand your innermost self, kiss me because I am thinking only of you, or punch me in the arm because you're so overcome with gratitude that you can only express yourself by a slight physical attack?”

She spun around and gawked at him. And then punched him in the arm before turning back to Roger. “That sounds fascinating, Roger, but I'm not sure I'll have the time to do the pieces in front of the camera with Gunner as well as play dress-up Roman and still have time to take pictures—”

“Of course you will. We will make sure you have the time,” Roger said, giving them both a toothy smile. “And perhaps Gunner would care to be—”

“Lorina is the lady of the manor, and I am captain of Lorina's guard,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at her in a way that he hoped signified that he'd be captaining her guard just as soon as they were alone together.

“Are you?” Roger frowned to himself for a few moments before bobbing his head in acquiescence. “That would work. There were bound to be some guards at the villa, after all. Very well, we'll do the piece for the camera first; then we'll start the reenactment of the villa burning.”

“Won't that take time away from the dig?” Lorina asked, sliding Gunner a look when he wrapped an arm around her and hauled her up to his side. “I would think that was the first priority.”

“It is, of course, but the digging will be done by then. It'll be dark, you see. Torches! We must have plentiful torches. I'm sure the Romans had torches. I wonder if I could buy some locally. . . .” He turned on the radio and demanded, “Someone find me a torch shop.”

Gunner watched as Roger bustled out of the room making a note that someone would have to get hold of
the wardrobe department of the network. “There goes one very single-minded man.”

“I know, right? I've tried to point out the obvious to him—well, you heard me just now—but he just gets an idea and goes full bore with it.” She dug her elbow into his side. “And what's with this emotional ramification business? If you're trying to pressure me into something, I should warn you that I do not pressure well.”

“On the contrary, I was simply pointing out that I'm well aware you are feeling trapped right now, and that I was giving you the time and space you need to work through that and come to the decision that marrying me is the answer to a great many problems,” he said lightly, not wanting to add stress to the situation. “Also, I noticed that you didn't kiss me.”

“Pfft. And not likely to when you make silly comments like that.” He was about to object that he wasn't teasing her when she continued, setting the stone back in its tray. “Evidently Paul is in one of the other rooms looking at some foundation that one of the diggers uncovered. Shall we go tackle him?”

“If you like.” Gunner strolled with her out of the room, feeling only a slight twinge of ache in his ankle. “Although you may wish to let me do the talking, since you've already confronted him about it, and he might be less happy to see you again so soon.”

She made a face, but kept silent as they approached Paul, who was directing a pair of diggers on how to clean off the wall.

“What is it?” Thompson snapped when Gunner asked to have a word with him. “Can't you see I'm busy? Some of us have work to do, you know. We can't all swan around the castle like . . . like . . .”

“Like I lived here?” Gunner put a smile on his face even though he would have liked to kick Paul out of the
cellar. “I believe you'd prefer the discussion to be a bit more private.” He glanced meaningfully at the diggers. “I have a couple of questions to ask about a dig a few years ago.”

Thompson glared at Lorina, and looked, for a moment at least, like he was going to refuse Gunner's suggestion. “Very well. You two carry on. I won't be a moment.”

Thompson marched out to the room where the mouse stone was stored. Fidencia had evidently been ordered elsewhere, since they were now alone.

“I hope you are not going to slander me the way that one did,” he said, nodding at Lorina. “And also, she's crazy if she thinks I'm going to give in to her blackmail.”

“I don't blame you,” Gunner said, taking Thompson by surprise. “If I'd been accused of something I didn't do, I'd say the same thing. The question is, can you prove what you say?”

“Prove it?” Thompson looked first appalled, then angry. “Why the hell do I have to prove anything?”

“Because it's the right thing to do. Because you are a decent human being. Because you are aware that the charges made against you by Lorina's friend Sandy are grave and you wish to assure her and any other women you've been with that you are not the cause of any illness.”

Thompson's jaw worked a couple of times; then he finally spat out, “You have no right to the sort of proof you're asking for.”

“No,” Gunner acknowledged. “We don't. And we can't force you to give it to us—we can only ask you to do the decent thing because an innocent woman has suffered, and we would all like to keep others from going through the same thing.”

“Very well.” Thompson gave an annoyed sniff.
“Because I have nothing to be afraid of, I will do as you ask, even though I consider having to prove my innocence an unnecessary inconvenience. As you say, I am a decent man, and if it will make Sandy feel better to know that our relationship did not end in her present situation, then I will e-mail my physician for a copy of the lab results. So long as the information contained therein goes no further than Sandy.”

“Absolutely,” Gunner agreed. “We don't wish to persecute the innocent, Thompson, or invade your privacy any more than we have to. We simply desire to locate the source of the infection, and ensure that person receives appropriate treatment.”

“I just hope you have a suitable apology ready for me once you see the lab results,” Thompson replied grandly, and stalked away.

Lorina sagged against Gunner when he was gone, releasing breath that she had evidently been holding. “That was the most horrible thing I've ever done. Dear god, I feel dirty. Do you feel dirty, Gunner?”

“Not dirty so much as guilty as hell.” He pinched the bridge of his nose to forestall a headache he felt coming on. “I do admit that was one of the more unpleasant things I've ever done, and hope I never have to do it again. There is one thing worse, though.”

“Ethnic genocide?” Lorina asked, releasing his hand and moving over to examine the stone and the other finds that sat on the makeshift table. “Baby-seal clubbing?”

“That he's as innocent as he says he is,” Gunner said grimly.

Lorina shuddered. “Yeah, that's going to be seriously horrible. He could sue me.”

“I doubt he'd do that, since he offered to let us see the lab results, but he could make things very uncomfortable
for us.” He caught her hand as she walked past him, about to head out the door. “Lorina, you're very certain—”

“Yes,” she said without letting him finish. She hesitated a moment, then leaned in and kissed him gently before licking the tip of his nose. “I know Sandy. She's not promiscuous.”

He took a deep breath. “All right, then. We'll just deal with the situation as it happens.”

“You'll see. Sandy will be vindicated,” she predicted, and, with an explanation that she needed to catch up with taking photos of the dig in the cellar, went off to gather her camera equipment.

Gunner had to fight back the urge to give her instructions on how to frame shots, but kept his advice to himself, and instead went to find his daughter.

He found Cressy as happy as a lark, and she quickly had him promising her she could spend the weekend assisting the stable owner with an overnight pony trek, which made her even happier.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! You're the best dad ever!” Cressy yelled, doing a leap of happiness, and flinging herself on him to smother his cheeks in kisses. “Madame said we could do a little cross-country work, which is so awesome! This is the best summer I've ever had! Gran, did you hear?”

Salma emerged from her tent, a folding chair in her hand. “I did. I believe anyone within a five-hundred-yard radius heard your cries of joy. Good afternoon, Gunner. You look much better than this morning.”

Gunner wasn't the sort of man who blushed at the drop of a hat, but he felt a little warmth on his cheeks that had nothing to do with Cressy's overenthusiastic signs of affection. He met Salma's eyes, wondering if he was going to see any reproach in them, but there was nothing but a little amusement that he could well bear.
“It's amazing what a meal and a shower can do to raise your spirits. How are things going out here?”

“Very well. Cressida had a nice lesson today, didn't you, dear? And we have decided to indulge ourselves in a little celebratory dinner in town tonight. You don't mind if we don't spend the evening with you and your family, do you?”

“We're celebrating the fact that you had illicit sex in the tunnel, and are getting married and getting me a horse next year,” Cressy said in a rush, and then looked down at her walking shorts and
eek
ed. “Gotta change! Back in a flash, Gran.”

“No, I don't mind you having dinner by yourselves, although I know Elliott and Alice are looking forward to spending time with both you and Cressy.”

“I promised Cressida what she calls a girls' night out,” Salma said. “And I hate to go back on that, but of course, if the baron and his wife would like us to attend dinner with them—”

“We'll do a family dinner tomorrow,” Gunner reassured her, then grimaced. “Illicit sex in the tunnel?”

Salma just smiled. “You do that martyred look very well, Gunner.”

“Unfortunately, it's a look that I'm going to be wearing a lot.”

“Only if you keep allowing Cressida to find you in compromising positions.” She lifted a hand when he started to protest, giving a gentle little laugh. “That wasn't a criticism, my dear, merely an observation. I do like Lorina, you know.”

“Good. I do as well.”

She hesitated a moment before continuing. “I hope you aren't allowing yourself to be swayed by empathy into actions you might later regret.”

He puzzled through that for a moment before
guessing she was talking about the marriage announcement. “Have you ever known me to be forced into something I didn't want to do?”

“No, but this is a situation where you're not really being forced, are you?” She sat on the folding chair, smoothing a hand over the skirt covering her knees. “You might not wish to acknowledge the fact, but you are a very empathetic man, and I can see that you feel strongly about Lorina.”

He was genuinely surprised that Salma knew him so well, since he saw her so seldom. “Strongly empathic, you mean?”

She said nothing for a moment. “I suspect it started that way, but now other emotions have come into play, have they not?”

“I'd be a dead man if I didn't think Lorina was worth my attention,” he said with a rush of gallantry.

“And that is very telling,” Salma said, nodding. “Lorina is charming, quite charming, and I like her. But you clearly see much in her that perhaps others miss. No, I'm not criticizing her, so you needn't rush to her defense—I'm sure she's everything you know her to be. I'm simply saying that to those of us who don't have your sensitivities, she is a perfectly nice woman, no more and no less. What is more, she is, I suspect, quite vulnerable to your particular charms. I would hate to see that vulnerability exploited.”