Downstairs in the kitchen, the dragoons drank coffee, waiting for orders and guarding the guest Fox had shoved into the pantry.
The door opened and the MacEwens slid in with Davy, taking the last bit of breathing room. Fergus carried over a steaming cup. “A tisane.” He handed it to Kincaid who sniffed it suspiciously.
“’Tis whisky and summat for the pain. Drink up.”
Perry’s mouth firmed grimly. “Before you drink that and pass out, first tell us what happened, Kincaid.”
“Let him sip at it. He’s hurting.” Fox reached for her hand.
She let him take it, her face screwed up in a frown. “He’ll be woozy. He won’t remember details. And we need to get Father back.”
Kincaid stared into the cup. “I’ll not drink it if it puts me to sleep.”
“Wheesh, there’s not but the tiniest drop of laudanum,” Fergus said. “I made it myself.” He grabbed the cup, swallowed a sip, and wiped his mouth. “There.”
Kincaid grunted and accepted the drink.
“You’d best not be flat on your back after that.” Perry glared at Fergus. “My father has been taken, and I may need every one of you to help me.” She squeezed his hand. “To help us.”
She thought she was going with them.
Not in a blue moon. Not the way Sir Richard had drooled over her yesterday afternoon. “Here’s what happened, Perry: wedidgo south. Carvellediddisembark there, and another boat was headed in and turned back. We’d set a watch for the greeters on land, but they found us first.”
He told her about the attack, but not his killing of Harv. Not yet.
“We should’ve been with you,” the second MacEwen said.
“Aye.” Kincaid wiped his mouth and handed the empty cup to Jane, seated on a chair next to the bed. “Couple of the dragoons set to watch ran off.”
Fergus swore softly. “That lot downstairs—”
“No,” Farnsworth studied the carpet. “They didn’t run off.”
Perry went still.
He shook his head at Farnsworth. More details to share with her later, privately. They’d found the two men with their throats nicely sliced.
“Carvelle is dead also,” Farnsworth said. “Shot through the heart during the fighting.”
Kincaid muttered an oath. “’Twas Sir Richard who wanted him dead then. Our men had orders to take him alive.”
Perry’s thumb swept over the back of his hand. “Was he working with Sir Richard then? Was Carvelle bringing in the assassins for him? And why would Sir Richard wish to kill the King?”
She glanced all around. She still believed the King was the target.
And he himself no longer had any doubts.
Kincaid cleared his throat. “I saw them carry the Earl off.”
Perry’s breath came in small audible puffs. Her hand in his started to tremble. “Was he…was Sir Richard your informant?”
Farnsworth glanced at Kincaid and then paced to the window. “Sir Richard must have wanted him alive.”
“Alive,” Perry said. “But for how long?” Perry looked from Farnsworth to Kincaid, and then at Fox. “What is going on, Fox? What are they not telling me?”
Farnsworth exchanged a look with Kincaid. The MacEwens slouched, looking bored.
Fox didn’t know, and he’d warrant the cousins didn’t either. Lady Jane frowned at Farnsworth. Only Davy looked on with frank curiosity.
