No Other Love by Candace Camp Page A

news, and Lydia’s consuming interest in people and everything they were doing made it even more of an information center.
    It would also be a natural place to rest and drink something refreshing after her ride—and there was always a serving girl or ostler or scullery maid who was ill and in need of one of her remedies.
    When she turned into the yard, Nicola was greeted with a great roar of delight from the head ostler, who hurried across the yard, shoving one of the boys out of his way so that he could help Nicola down himself. “Miss Falcourt! I heard you was up at Tidings these days, but I didn’t believe it. Not there, I says, never known her to go there, and she were here at Buckminster only a month ago.”
    “I know. But I came back to visit my sister.”
    “That’s good of ye. Here, Jem, come take the lady’s horse—and rub him down good, I’m tellin’ ye. I’ll be checkin’ to see how ye’ve done.” He handed the reins of Nicola’s horse over to the youngster he’d shoved aside and walked with Nicola toward the door of the inn. “How is your sister? She’s a good lady, though we don’t see her much.”
    “No. I am afraid Deborah doesn’t get out a lot.” Nor had Deborah ever had the same interest in the common people that Nicola had had, though she was offhandedly kind and reasonable with the servants. “How is your eye, Malcolm?”
    The older man looked immensely pleased. “Now, isn’t that just like ye to remember a little thing like that? It’s fine now, thanks to that salve you give me. Worked like a charm, it did.”
    “I’m glad to hear it.”
    “There’s no one with your touch with cures, miss—not now that Granny Rose is gone, God rest her soul.”
    “I’m afraid I will never know as much as she did.”
    The ostler nodded. “She were that good. Why, she could walk through the woods and name every flower and plant in it—and what you could use it for. Learned it from her mam, and her mam from hers before that, and so on. They were always healin’ women.”
    They reached the front door, the end of the ostler’s domain, and he bade Nicola a cheerful goodbye, turning back to the yard and bellowing an order at one of his hapless charges. Nicola smiled and went into the inn. Lydia Hinton was already hurrying down the hall toward her, wiping her hands on her apron, her face wreathed in smiles.
    “Miss Falcourt! Bless the day! I never thought to see you back so soon. When that chit Susan told me you were in the yard, I didn’t believe her. Come into the private parlor and rest.”
    Mrs. Hinton believed in the proper order of things, and she would have been horrified to have sat down with Nicola in the kitchen for a good gossip. A young lady belonged in the private parlor, and she would never think of sitting down with Nicola until Nicola let her bring her food and drink—and then only if Nicola insisted on her doing so. So they went through their usual ritual, with Mrs. Hinton helping her off with her cloak, bringing her tea and cakes, and not making a move toward a chair at the table until Nicola asked her to join her and overrode her first refusal. Then, at last, as they had both known she would, Lydia settled down in the chair opposite Nicola for a cup of tea and a nice hour of gossip.
    There were the usual amenities to be observed first—Nicola inquired about Mr. Hinton and their children, and the workers at the inn, listening with interest to the other bits of local gossip that Lydia found of particular importance—before Nicola could get down to the question that burned in her mind. But at last there was a pause in the conversation as Lydia sat back in her chair and took a sip of tea.
    Nicola set down her own cup and asked casually, “And what of this highwayman, Mrs. Hinton?”
    “Highwayman?” Lydia repeated innocently, and Nicola could almost see her mind racing behind her carefully blank eyes.
    “Yes. The highwayman,” Nicola repeated a bit wryly. “He stopped