Perhaps you can convince whoever it is to let us finish this business, which I believe we have well begun." Yes m'lord, yes sir," said Morrison, clicking his heels and looking around for his hat. Not finding it, he hurried outside, bewigged but hatless and swordless, his coattails flapping and his empty scabbard banging at his leg until he grabbed it. I followed, looking for my rifle as I went past the doorway and out into the bright sunlight.At the corner of the tavern Beckwith's double row of riflemen had retrieved their various weapons and had formed their ranks with their muskets at the rest in front of them. They was trying to look grim, but a lot of them looked worried if not a'feared. Couldn't hardly blame them. Facing them some twenty yards away was a loose file of horsemen with carbine-muskets in their hands. Lt. Morrison ran right between the two forces and down to where the British officer sat his mount in a bright red coat with a single gold epaulet, his sword resting. He didn't want to be spotted here. Several seconds passed with no response. He tried the knob. As promised, the door was unlocked. He timidly peered inside, terrified that he may have somehow gotten the room number wrong. The lights were on, but nobody was home. He stepped inside, gently closing the door behind him. He thought he could hear the sound of a shower coming from a door at the rear of the room. Cautiously, he proceeded. As he ventured forth, he spotted the distinctive light blue dress Marcy had been wearing on a bench, folded neatly beside a suitcase. This was definitely the right room. Near the dress was also a matching set of sheer black lacy bra and panties. Seeing Marcy's undergarments on display like that really hammered the point home for Paul: they were really gonna have sex again. His stomach sank, though whether it was from a sense of self-loathing, or simply the blood racing to his cock, he couldn't say. He continued on to the closed wooden door at the end of the.
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