The word rang rings around Thomas’s head as he felt the horse beneath him begin to rock and turn. They were delivering him back to Darlyrede, that abattoir, that place of death where Cordelia lay in the river of blood. Delivering him into the stained hands of Hargrave…
Thomas somehow pulled his right leg up and over the horse’s back, leaning heavily upon the beast’s neck. It took all the strength remaining in his legs to hold on.
“There he is,” Blake said from somewhere behind Thomas. “Taking to it well enough, I say—upright before I can even mount. Fear not, my boy; we shall have you in the care of Lord Hargrave’s house soon enough, and then we shall most certainly get to the bottom of who has done you so ill a turn.”
Thomas dragged his hand to his mouth, removing what he thought must be the carved wooden pin from the brim of Kettering’s hat and gripping it in his fist. He took the deepest breath he was able, and then stabbed the wooden pin down into the horse’s side. The animal screamed and reared, causing Thomas’s vision to gray again, but it must have pulled its reins free from Kettering’s hand, for in an instant the horse was thundering northward into the darkness, away from Darlyrede.
If Thomas Annesley must die, it would not be in that house of the damned.
* * * *
“Damn it all!” Blake shouted as his own horse jerked free and bolted into the black, frigid night after its companion. “Kettering, look what your good deed has done to us. I knew we should have stopped for the night in Alnwick.”
“Well, that was most unexpected,” Kettering lamented. “I wondered that the lad had enough life left in him to persevere unto Darlyrede; I never thought him capable of absconding with our horses. Forgive me.”
Blake went stamping about the road for several more moments, cursing and peering into the night while his companion stared contemplatively down the road where the young man had disappeared.
“I say,” Kettering at last mused. “Speaking of Darlyrede, should I not think better of it, that lad bore a keen resemblance to young Lord Annesley himself.”
Blake sighed and came to stand near his friend. “That’s more than a bit unlikely. Isn’t Annesley to be wed on the morrow?”
“Indeed,” Kettering murmured. “To Lord Hargrave’s own Cordelia. You must be quite right, Blake. Whoever he is, he shan’t get far, I’ll warrant. He’s gravely injured. Even with such a brief encounter, I’m covered in the poor fool’s blood.”
“Well.” Blake sighed again. “Let’s you and I get on to Darlyrede any matter and warn Hargrave. Someone of the house is bound to be yet awake with such a happy ceremony so soon to take place. Perhaps they’ll ask us to stay on, or at least lend us a pair of mounts; I’ll offer my prayer book as a pawn.”
“Oh, Blake, look—here comes someone now. I’ll wager it’s a guard of the house in search of the lad. Ho, there,” Kettering called out, waving his arms toward the black-shadowed rider. “There’s an injured man who’s only just stolen my horse and frightened away my companion’s. Perhaps you—”
Kettering’s words were cut off as the whine of an arrow ended in an abruptthunkin the man’s chest.
Blake stared mute at his friend as Kettering looked down at the stub of arrow protruding from his cloak, then crumpled onto the frozen road. He turned his horrified gaze to the steadily approaching rider and began backing down the road, stumbling, reaching into his fur-lined robe for the costly leather book he carried over his heart. He held it out in both hands like a small shield as the click and scrape of mechanism echoed across the cold expanse of frozen track.
“I mean you no harm! I mean you— No, no! Don’t! Please!”
The twang of the crossbow sounded again.
Chapter 1
March 1458
Edinburgh, Scotland
“’Tis beautiful, Tavish.”
Miss Keane looked up through her eyelashes as she ran her fingertips over the striped silk folded on the bench between them, the refined lilt of her voice just as smooth as the imported cloth she admired. Her hand drifted to the edge of the silk where Tavish’s hand rested and grazed his skin. “Just what I was hoping for. I think I should like to have all of it. And even more, if your voyage was a profitable one.”
Tavish felt his lips quirk as he looked down at the daughter of one of the wealthiest merchants in all of Edinburgh. Redheaded and pampered, Audrey Keane was alluringly beautiful. But, even if she and Tavish hadn’t been friends since they were little more than children, it was well known that Niall Keane hoped to elevate the station of his only child with a distinguished and titled match, and Tavish Cameron was neither. And so regardless of her coquettish banter, Audrey would remain nothing more than a good friend and a good customer.
Except for this day—there could be no indulging of Audrey’s games with barrels of illegal French wine behind his bench and a stranger about the shop. Tavish glanced over at the black-clad man for what must have been the hundredth time; the stranger’s back was currently turned to the bench as if he were merely biding his time while waiting for attendance, inspecting the stacks and bundles of oily wool lining the shop floor. But Tavish caught sight of his straight jawline, could all but see the man’s ear cocked toward the conversation being carried on over the bench.
A spy, if ever Tavish had seen one. And seen more than one, he certainly had.
“I’m sorry to say that’s all I have this time, Miss Keane,” Tavish said, his cool tone causing Audrey’s eyebrows to rise. “Shall I have my mother wrap it for you?”
The man in black was obviously not the only one whose ears were paying close attention to the business being conducted, as Mam appeared at Tavish’s elbow just then, reaching across him and pulling the silk from beneath Audrey’s hungry touch.
“I’ve a fine flax that shan’t snag a’tall, Miss Keane,” Harriet Cameron said.
Audrey gave his mother a brief, tight smile before looking to Tavish once more. “Naught else?” she cajoled pointedly. “But you said there would be—”
