Chapter Three
“Shutterhouse.”
Elspeth became aware of a presence.
“Elspeth.”
Someone nudged her right shoulder.
She sighed, too groggy to open her eyes and respond to the person summoning her. To avoid further attempts to rouse her, she turned over on her back. A cool rush of air washed over her, startling her.
“Good heavens!” a man exclaimed.
Then it hit her. She felt a chill because she had just rolled out of the huge towel she had been draped in. And she was stark naked beneath it.
Startled, Elspeth blinked to complete consciousness and was appalled to discover Mark Ramsay staring down at her, his eyes wide. For an instant, they were both immobilized by shock. The next instant, each of them plunged into action.
Elspeth scrambled to a sitting position and struggled to conceal her nakedness with her hands and the strands of her recently shampooed hair.
Ramsay laughed out loud and turned his back.
Elspeth fumbled for the towel. Her hands shook from being awakened so abruptly. She could feel a blush flooding her face, and wasn’t sure what made her more upset—the fact that he’d seen her naked or the fact that he was laughing at her. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that!” she cried.
“Sneak?” he retorted over his shoulder. “I’ve been calling for you for five minutes.”
“Five minutes?” She yanked the ends of the towel around her torso.
“At least five. I thought you might be dead. I had to come in. For your own good.” He turned around to face her. “And you were dead all right. Dead to the world.”
Elspeth glanced around the room. Apparently she had taken a bath, gone to the bed to dress, sat down on the comforter and had fallen asleep still wrapped in the large towel. “It’s no wonder. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep for days.”
“Obviously.” He reached out his hand. “But come.”
She glanced at his fingers, and before she thought twice, she raised her hand to meet his. His flesh was warm, as if a roaring furnace fired his body. A melting sensation washed over her as he drew her to her feet. Then he lifted her hand closer and frowned.
“Your knuckles,” he commented. “What happened?”
“Nuts.” She snatched away her hand, appalled yet again that he had noticed her ugly fingers. “In hard to reach places.”
“I see.” He seemed to find the explanation amusing.
“Comes with the job.”
“Ah.” His grin widened.
“I fail to see what’s so funny.”
“Forgive me, Shutterhouse. I am accustomed to the humor of my men. I read the wrong meaning behind your words.” He bowed his head slightly, more to hide a chuckle than to show remorse. “But you have one more task ahead of you. And then you may sleep as long as you wish.”
“What task is that?”
“I’ll tell you over dinner.”
“Dinner?” Her stomach rumbled in protest. Her knees felt weak. She didn’t think she could wait that long to eat.
“Yes, dinner.” He released her hand and reached for a shirt draped over the end of the bed. “Put this on and come down. The food’s growing cold.”
Elspeth glanced around the room again, searching for a clock this time.
“Shutterhouse?”
She turned back to look at him again. His blue eyes danced as he gazed down at her. “It’s six o’clock. You slept the entire day.”
Elspeth sat down in the chair Ramsay pulled out for her at the dining table. She hadn’t eaten supper with a man since her father died. And she’d never eaten supper while dressed in a man’s shirt. But the unusual external trappings of dinner paled when she looked down at her plate.
“Are those peaches?” she whispered, shooting him a glance.
He nodded. “I brought some supplies with me from the island. I know they’re canned, but I thought you might like them all the same.”
She couldn’t believe her eyes. “There are peaches on the island?”
“Sometimes. If the weather is just right.” He laughed again. He had an easy laugh. When a person didn’t have to struggle for every penny, for every loaf of bread, life was probably something to laugh about. She looked up at him.
“Go ahead, Shutterhouse. Try one.”
“I’ve never tasted a peach.”
“I guarantee you will like it.” He smiled. Again, his white teeth gleamed, lighting up his face.
Elspeth picked up her fork and sliced through the soft flesh of the peach. She admired the deep orange crescent tinged with crimson as she raised the fruit to her lips. Then she placed the slice on her tongue, closed her eyes, and sat back.
“Well?”
She chewed slowly, savoring every succulent morsel of the delicate fruit.
“Shutterhouse?”
Elspeth raised her hand, silencing him until she swallowed. Then she smiled and opened her eyes as pleasure washed over her. Finally, she sighed and looked at him. He was watching her, his lips slightly parted.
“That must be what an orgasm is like,” she murmured.
He choked and reached for his ale. “Pardon?”
“An orgasm.”
“What do you know of orgasms?”
She wanted to blurt out “plenty.” But then she would have to tell him where she had learned about orgasms: under Hormones, Female, Encyclopedia Britannica, Vol. G-H. If anyone found out she possessed forbidden literature, she would be in even bigger trouble.
Elspeth shrugged. “I’ve heard about them.”
“Well, there’s no such thing.”
She looked up, not believing his claim.
“Not for respectable citizens.” Ramsay finished his ale in a gulp. “You know that as well as I do.”
Elspeth recalled one of the verses that had been pounded into her as an adolescent.
Communion between a man and wife has but one purpose: to create life.
“Maybe it’s just respectable men who don’t have orgasms,” she mused, cutting into the chicken breast he had arranged on her plate. “And women just pretend not to have them. So no one is the wiser.”
“And what do you think an orgasm is?”
“A series of muscle contractions.”
“Like a cramp?” He put down his empty glass.
“But one that produces euphoria.” Elspeth sighed and looked across the room toward the front all. “I’d like to experience euphoria someday.”
She looked back at Ramsay to find him studying the side of her face. As soon as she noticed his stare, he broke it off and grabbed his knife and fork.
“And you consider the act of eating peaches similar to the orgasm?”
“For me it is.” She lifted another slice to her lips. “Perhaps for you, a pampered scion of the Ramsay family, peaches have lost their cachet.”
“You think I’m pampered?”
“Really, Ramsay.” She shook her head as she scooped up a spoonful of the creamiest potatoes she had ever eaten. “You live like a king compared to the rest of us.”
His eyebrows rose. “I beg to differ.”
“This house, the Flying Horse, this food…”
“All my great-grandfather’s. And only when I am in town.”
“And at the Outer Islands?”
“There I mostly live out-of-doors.” He set his jaw and leveled his sapphire gaze upon her. “Come now, Shutterhouse. Do I look like a man who spends his days lounging about the house, sipping tea?”
She couldn’t help but run a glance over his massive shoulders and powerful torso. “Actually no,” she replied. “But what do you do?”
“I’m a soldier, mostly.” His gaze shifted, as if his consciousness had switched to another time and place. “There are a lot of wild things out there—both man and beast, all wanting what we possess here in Londo. My men and I patrol the border islands, to keep the rest of you citizens safe.”
She opened her mouth to prot
est that she found it hard to believe a Ramsay would put himself in danger for the rest of society. But a second glance at his firm mouth and large hands, and her harsh opinion of his family died on her lips. In fact, for the first time she noticed scars on the backs of his hands and just under his chin. A person didn’t get scars like his from teacups and scones.
“I’m the second son,” he added. “My family clings to the old ways.”
“And that is?”
“The first son inherits. The second son enters the military. In my case a private army.”
“Do you have a lot of siblings?”
“Just the one. Thomas.” He refilled her glass. “And you?”
“None. My mother died young.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
She glanced at him in surprise. The sincerity in his voice warmed her.
“Don’t be,” Elspeth replied. “I didn’t know my mother. And my father and great aunt more than made up for her loss. I had a wonderful childhood.”
He smiled in his engaging way and leaned back. “And I take it, a somewhat unconventional one?”
She nodded. “I was taught as if I was neither girl nor boy. I was allowed to investigate whatever interested me.”
“Even mechanics.”
“Especially mechanics. My father was the best mechanic in Londo City. A genius. He made me what I am today.”
“Well he certainly did some job.”
Elspeth shot him a stare. “What do you mean?”
“It’s a compliment, Shutterhouse.” He grinned and leveled his gaze on her. When he directed his attention to her like that, she felt as if she were swimming in warm butter. She tried to adhere to her vow of keeping up her guard but was finding it impossible.
“I have to confess,” he murmured. “I’ve never met anyone quite like you.”
Elspeth gaze locked with his. For a moment she took Ramsay’s words at face value. For a moment, she let herself enjoy the marvelous feeling of talking to Mark Ramsay without the censure of her aunt or cousin to hold her back. She sensed a fellow independent spirit in the man. In fact Ramsay was the first person she’d talked so freely with since her father had died. She couldn’t believe how wrong she had been about the man—and perhaps his entire clan. She hoped what she felt was real, and prayed that he wasn’t deceiving her. The more she got to know the man, the more she ached to lower her guard completely.
But her great aunt—a spinster who had never entered the Marriage Machine—had not raised a fool. Elspeth would think twice—even three times—before trusting a man.
Shaken by her reaction to Mark, Elspeth reached for her ale. She knew it was best if she turned to the conversation to a less personal topic. “So I take it you will eventually tell me why you snatched me off the street?”
He smiled. “I have a proposal for you.”
“And that is?”
“First, let me tell you about my great-grandfather.”
“The one in the painting.”
“Yes. Perhaps the most famous custodian of the Marriage Machine.”
“Oh.” Elspeth couldn’t hide her look of disdain.
“Don’t dismiss it so out of hand, Shutterhouse. It’s the machine that saved mankind from extinction.”
“You don’t think we would have survived?” Elspeth countered. “Without mechanical intervention?”
“That will always be an unknown.” Ramsay sobered. “But it did serve one purpose to be sure.”
“The taming of females?” Elspeth put in, her voice harsh.
“To survive, Shutterhouse.” He held up his hand to cut off her protests. “To survive, the human race had to return to a more conventional way of life. Someone had to work and someone had to raise the children to be decent human beings with strong values. To really take the time. I know it sounds prehistoric, but women and men had to learn to work together for the greater good. And stick together.”
“Funny how women were the ones to be altered.”
“Females simply proved to be more sensitive to the machine. I’m sure my ancestors did not plan such an outcome.”
“My cousin has never been the same since she stepped into that machine. Or two of my older friends. They do whatever their husbands ask.”
“But are they unhappy?”
Elspeth thought of Amelie bouncing her son on her knee and laughing.
“Are they, Shutterhouse?”
“No, but as my father used to say, ‘No brains, no headache.’”
“To ensure the survival of the human race, men and women have to marry. That’s a fact, Elspeth. Would you rather be trapped in an unhappy marriage and be miserable for the rest of your life, or have your sharp edges worn off a little so you don’t even know what you were missing?”
“You can ask me a question like that with a straight face?” Indignant, Elspeth jumped to her feet.
He jumped to his. “What other choice is there?”
“Not to be trapped at all!” She threw her napkin on the table.
“You don’t wish to be married? To have children?”
She planted a fist on her hip and threw his own words back at him. “Ramsay, do I look like a woman who lounges around the house, sipping tea?”
She glared at him, and for a moment she thought he might strike her. But in the next instant he threw back his head and laughed.
“I don’t find it amusing!” she exclaimed.
“I do.” He held his shaking torso as if trying to hold back the laughter rumbling through his muscular frame.
“And if you have brought me here, thinking I’m going to put that ruby back, you are sadly mistaken.” She turned and dashed for the door.
Ramsay’s laughter broke off as he pivoted to stop her. He grabbed her arm and yanked her to a halt. “That is precisely what you are going to do,” he retorted, all humor dropped from his tone. His eyes flashed at her, cool as ice.
“Never!”
“I will return you to jail and make sure you are sentenced to life.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“I would.” He glared down at her, his color high. She could imagine that glare made his men quake in their boots. But she refused to back down.
She glared back at him. “Tell me you would personally choose to marry a woman like that.”
“A woman like what?”
“One whose edges have been smoothed by that machine.”
“How do you know I haven’t?”
“You don’t seem the type.”
His eyes changed, almost imperceptibly. But Elspeth noticed the way his pupils widened, darkening his eyes to navy.
“Listen, Shutterhouse,” he growled. “I don’t care if you plant a bomb in that machine. But not until after my great-grandfather passes away.”
“He’s still alive?” She sensed that she had begun to reach some sense in Ramsay and quit pulling from his grip.
“Yes, but barely. He’s 101 years old. And he’s damnably proud of that machine. For good reason.”
Elspeth was uncharacteristically lost for words.
“He vowed to stay in this realm until he saw one last marriage ceremony. He wants to go to the beyond knowing the Ramsay name will live on through my brother.”
“Your brother Thomas is getting married?”
“On C-Day.”
A chill raced down Elspeth’s spine.
“And as you know, the machine guarantees conception.”
Elspeth thought back to her cousin’s prediction—that she had been chosen to marry someone of the upper echelon of society. What if she were destined to wed a Ramsey? The chill spread through her, doubling her resolve to avoid her date with the Marriage Machine.
“My job is to see the ceremony goes off without a hitch.” Ramsay quirked one of his dry smiles. “Or with, as the case may be.”
He released her arm, and she backed away, her thoughts swirling.
“Why can’t you just keep the ruby out of the equation?” she sputtered.
“It’s so well concealed within the casing of the machine. No one would ever know it was missing.”
“My great-grandfather might.”
“How?” she shrugged. “He’s 101 years old.”
“And he knows every inch of that machine.” Ramsay sighed. “As a matter of fact, he’s called for an inspection of the Marriage Machine. He’ll be here first thing tomorrow morning to conduct the inspection personally. If he finds one bolt out of place—one loose screw—I don’t know what it will do to him.”
Elspeth stared at Ramsay.
“I love my great-grandfather, Elspeth. And there is nothing on this Earth that I wouldn’t do for him. Nothing.”
“So how do I fit into this grand scheme of yours?”
“You and I are breaking into Boswellian Bower tonight. And you are going to replace the ruby.”
“But it will take hours to get to the heart of the machine.”
“You’ve done it before.” Ramsay pulled out his pocket watch and glanced down at it. “I estimate that you could complete the job in five.”
“You have no idea how complicated that machine is.”
“Perhaps. But you will have me to assist you.”
Elspeth gave him a scathing glance. She could imagine Ramsay with a gun. She could imagine him in a fistfight or brawl. But she could not imagine him with a screwdriver.
“I’m not completely unfamiliar with machines,” he added.
She would give him that. He’d built the simple heater. There was hope.
“And if I can’t do it?”
“There is no such thing as can’t.” He shot back.
“What do I get if I actually succeed?”
It was his turn to scald her with a glance. “Isn’t your freedom enough?”
“No.”
Ramsay tilted his head. “What then?”
“I want safe passage to the Outer Islands.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I want to leave Londo City. I don’t belong here.”
“You don’t want to go to the Outer Islands.” He scowled. “It’s no place for a woman.”
“You live there.”
He crossed his arms. “I’m not a woman. Or at least I wasn’t the last time I checked.”
“Your family lives there.”
“In a compound.” He swept the air with an impatient wave of his hand.
“Promise me safe passage, Ramsay.”
“Very well!” He sighed. “Replace the ruby without complication, and you shall be transported north.” He stuffed his watch into the pocket of his vest. “Now hurry up, Shutterhouse, and dress. We leave in ten minutes.”