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“We’ve found an old coal box,” Jamie replied.
“Mmm. Best line it with some straw and a blanket if you have it,” Miss Munroe said.
“I’ll go look in the stables,” Abigail said.
“Good girl,” Miss Munroe said. “We’ll save a muffin for you in the sitting room.”
The others went inside the castle while Abigail continued around the side to the stables.
“Maybe we can find an old blanket or coat for you,” she whispered to the sleeping puppy in her arms. Puddles’s soft ear twitched as if he heard her even in his sleep.
The stables were dark compared to the sunshine outside. She stood quietly inside the door for a moment, letting her eyes get used to the dimness. There were several empty stalls at this end. Abigail started down the main aisle. Sir Alistair’s big horse, Griffin, and the little dogcart pony were stabled at the other end. That was probably where she’d find fresh straw. She heard a snort and the thump of a hoof as she neared the far end of the stable, and then she heard something else. A man muttering.
Abigail stopped. Puddles squirmed as she squeezed him too tightly to her chest. The horse snorted again, and then Mr. Wiggins backed out into the aisle from a stall, holding something in his arms. Abigail tensed to run, but before she could do so, the little man whirled and saw her.
“What’re you doin’?” he growled low. “Spyin’ on me? Are ye spyin’ on me?”
And she saw that the thing in his arms was a big silver platter. Abigail shook her head and stepped back, helplessly staring at the platter.
Mr. Wiggins’s eyes narrowed to evil slits. “You tell anyone—hisself included—and I’ll slit your throat, ye hear? I’ll slit your throat and your Mam’s and your wee little brother’s, too, ye hear me?”
Abigail could only nod frantically.
He took a step toward her, and suddenly her legs worked again. She turned and fled down the aisle of the stables, running as fast as she could. But behind her she could still hear Mr. Wiggins shout.
“Don’t you tell! You hear me? Don’t you tell!”
LISTER STARED MOODILY out his study window. “I should go north myself.”
Behind him, Henderson sighed. “Your Grace, it’s only been a few days. I doubt the men we sent have even reached Edinburgh yet.”
Lister swung on his secretary. “And by the time they do and send word, she’ll have had plenty of time to flee overseas.”
“We’ve done everything we can.”
“Which is why I should go north myself.”
“But, Your Grace…” Henderson seemed to search for words. “She’s only a demimondaine. I had not thought our emotions were this engaged.”
“She is mine and she left me.” Lister stared hard at the secretary. “She defied me. No one defies me.”
“Naturally not, Your Grace.”
“I’ve decided.” Lister went back to the window. “Make the arrangements. I leave for Scotland on the morrow.”
Chapter Ten
The next evening, Truth Teller again loosed the swallows, and once again the beautiful young man pursued them out of the courtyard. Truth Teller stood and watched as the sun set and the monster took the form of the fair princess.
Then he asked, “How has this been done to you?”
The lady sighed sadly. “The man you serve is a powerful sorcerer. He saw me one day as I rode in the forest with my court. That night he came to my father’s castle and demanded my hand in marriage. I refused him, for the sorcerer is an evil man and I wanted nothing to do with him. But the sorcerer became enraged. He stole me from my father’s house and brought me here. He put a spell on me so that by day I am that repulsive beast. Only by night am I myself again. Go now so that he does not find you talking to me.”
And again Truth Teller was forced to depart. . . .
—from TRUTH TELLER
The letter from France came late that afternoon. Alistair was so distracted by what had happened earlier with Helen and what might happen later that night with her that he nearly didn’t notice it among the papers the footman brought up. He subscribed to several journals and news sheets from London, Birmingham, and Edinburgh, and they had a tendency to arrive all at once in the week. But at the bottom of the pile lay a very battered missive, looking as if it had come by way of the Horn of Africa, which, considering England’s present relations with France, was entirely possible.
