Recovering herself, Melusine tucked the weapons out of sight, down into the deep holsters hidden under the petticoat of her riding habit, and went back into the house where Martha awaited her in some impatience. A militiaman came belting down the stairs, another leapt from outside the front door, and a third, stalwart and stolid, came in through the door that led to the rooms to the front of the house. ” She tried to plan her proceedings in detail. She stared at him and thought the words, “My husband, my husband. But we've got to cook up some kind of a story to protect her.
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