Dori ducked back behind the edge of a cottage as she came around the corner and saw Jeremy and Erasmus disappearing into Nell’s cottage. She was only barely keeping her composure after her confrontation with Constantine, and now the only place she could think of to escape was closed to her. She needed supplies, and although she wasn’t sure how she had planned to wheedle the necessary items from Nell, it no longer mattered.
Then the thought occurred to her that if Jeremy and Erasmus were dining with Nell, the swineherd’s dwelling was untended. Dori emerged from behind the cottage and crossed the path diagonally, intending to cut behind the farthest row of little houses to come upon the rear of Jeremy’s plot.
“Looking for something, milady?”
Dori jumped and spun around with her hands raised to find Leland, his withered arm tucked beneath his belt. He leaned against the rear wall of a cottage, holding a pipe to his mouth with his good hand.
Dori stared at the crippled man as she lowered her arms and tried to calm her breath. “Just out for a walk,” she said. “Clearing my head after the day. Not that it’s any of your concern.”
“Mmm,” Leland said with a sage nod. He pointed his pipe stem in the direction in which Dori had intended to go. “Might be dangerous, should you walk too far past Jeremy’s.”
“Certainly,” Dori said, and then cleared her throat. “It would.”
“Have you your blade yet?”
Dori nodded.
Leland drew on his pipe again and looked away from her, as if she no longer interested him, although he added, “Enjoy your walk, milady.” He pushed away from the wall and ducked around the front of the cottage toward the center of the village.
Dori let out her breath in a whoosh and then carried on toward the swineherd’s cottage in the glow of the setting sun. For a village boasting only eight inhabitants and a dog, escaping unseen was proving rather impossible. Her heart pounded with the fright she’d suffered, and yet she sensed that the embittered Leland would not tell anyone in the village that he’d seen her. She likely had at least until the morning before Constantine might bother to discover she was missing.
It was just enough time to reach her destination.
* * *
The sky was still magenta at the horizon when the small, dark shape that was Lady Theodora Rosemont skittered through the shadows along the road leading away from the blubbery swineherd’s cottage and Benningsgate village. Leland watched her from across the square of freshly turned earth atop the rise of the burial ground until she was lost to the deepening night, his pipe smoke curling lazily in the cool air.
He clenched the stem in his teeth before bending to pick up the satchel at his feet and ducked beneath the strap. Taking his pipe bowl in hand once more, he started down the hill toward the road, a jaunty spring in his step.
* * *
Isra pushed her way through the crowd in a wandering fashion, her head held high, her expression haughty as she felt the numerous stares and lingering looks sliding over her from the courtiers she parted. In her fine English ensemble, her hair piled atop her head with a tall frame beneath her embroidered wimple, the fat, sparkling jewels about her neck and wrists, dangling from her ears, she resembled the royalty she portrayed.
“. . . princess. From . . .”
“. . . Turkish. Her father—”
“—husband—”
“—brother—”
“Good day, my lady.” The young man stepped directly into her path with a rakish smile and a bow as deep as the crowd of people and beasts would allow. He was dressed in the finest velvet with hammered gold adornments at his shoulders and waist, as well as over the insteps of his low, cuffed boots, so that with each movement, he jingled conspicuously.
“Forgive my boldness,” he continued. “But I must confess that my companions and I have been watching you. It has come to our attention that you are without attendant.”
Hewasbold, even for a young, wealthy man, and Isra lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes at him. “And you think perhaps to take advantage of the situation for your amusement?” she challenged, allowing her accent to thicken. “I assure you,” she said, her hand going to her waist to rest atop what appeared to be a rope of thick braid but was actually the hilt of a deadly-thin dagger, “I am skilled enough that you would heartily regret it.”
“Oh, nay,” the man insisted in delighted and amazed laughter and pressed his hand to his chest. “I only wished to invite you to sit with us. My friends and I command quite the best position in the room—only look, that’s our dais right over there—and it would honor us greatly if you would join us. Would be quite an accomplishment—you’ve set the room agog with your presence.”
Isra projected an air of indifference. “In my court, if a man should dare speak to a member of the royal family without introduction, it is grounds for execution.”
“Thank heavens for me we are in England, then,” the man said with a rakish lift of his eyebrows, and Isra couldn’t help the indulgent smile that curved her lips. He was young and brash and carefree and rich beyond compare.
Perfect.
“I am Ethan Carmichael; my father is Lord Bledsoe. You’ve likely heard of him.” The man bowed again. “At your service.”
“Ethan Carmichael, I havenotheard of your father,” Isra insisted. “Likely he is only one of the pagan Irish.”
