“Oh, come! I’m a lord of the realm!” Rikky declared.
“Still, I’d not have you involved.”
Rikky waved a hand in the air. “None would dare accuse me.”
Sloan was about to protest, then decided the matter could be settled later. “We will see.”
“I think, though, Treveryan, that you should see Powell yourself,” Rikky said slowly. “He has great faith in you.”
Sloan scowled darkly. “I’ve no wish to meet with his wife again, except when I must.”
“I’l get her out tomorrow morning. Then you can speak with Powell without any confrontations.”
Sloan agreed to the plan. Rikky picked up Brianna in his splendid coach to take her shopping along the wharf. He convinced her that she needed an outing. Sloan waited until he saw the coach disappear, then received permission from the guards to see Robert.
Robert was sleeping when Sloan entered the room, and for a chill moment Sloan started. His cheeks were so gaunt and narrowed that for several seconds Sloan believed he was staring at a corpse. But then Powell opened his eyes, and there was still fierce life in their dark depths.
“Treveryan,” Robert muttered. A small smile touched his dry lips. “Is this why my wife has departed?”
“Aye,” Sloan said bluntly.
Robert’s smile deepened sardonically. “When I am gone, Treveryan, see that she finds happiness. She suffers with me and pines for you. When I am gone, I will thank God that she has you.”
“What are you talking about?” Sloan demanded harshly. “I’ve come here to talk about saving your life. By God, man! You were not meant to be a martyr!”
Robert closed his eyes for a moment, still smiling, a little bitterly. “Whether they hang me, or the Lord takes me on his own, we both know that I am dying.”
Sloan emitted a sound of impatience, and Robert opened his eyes to survey him. “Treveryan, my wife prefers to be blind. I grant her that illusion. I am dying. I saw your face before you knew I was awake; you looked like a man staring upon the ragged refuse of a soul departed. We both know that I am dying. My great fear is that I will not do so soon enough to see Brianna swept from this turmoil.”
“I promised you,” Sloan said hoarsely, “nothing will happen to her. And I’ve come to tell you that the time has come. We will make good our escape.”
Robert sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “When?”
“August nineteenth.”
“The day of the hangings.”
“Aye.”
Robert seemed to digest that information. “She won’t do it—she’ll be convinced that a move would kill me. Don’t tell her anything. When the time comes, just see that she obeys.” He tried to pull himself up to a sitting position. “You’ll do that for me, Treveryan? For by heaven, I’ve no strength to fight her.”
“Aye,” Sloan said softly, “I’ll do it.”
Powell surveyed him with his curious dark eyes.
“She’ll hate you for it.”
Sloan did not reply to that. “Stop concentrating on death, Powell. The sea air can do many a wonder for a man.”
“As you say, Treveryan,” Robert replied, smiling ruefully. “I’ll not break faith with you, if you will not with me.”
“I will not, Powell.”
“One more thing, Treveryan.”
“And that is?”
Powell winced, drawing a deep ragged breath. “When I am gone, take your son. Give him what is his. I gave him all that I could, and that was much love. But when I am gone you must take him, with or without his mother’s consent.”
