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“Thank you for telling me. I know it’s been years since I…I made myself useful,” he began, surprised to find his voice faltering over the last word. “But I want to support him. In any way I can.”
Agatha’s eyes softened as she placed her hand over his. “I know he’ll appreciate that. But be warned, he may not show it.” Rafe nodded. He was prepared for a brusque welcome. “I’m just glad our poor mother wasn’t alive to see what happened to him. She would have been beside herself with worry,” she added.
An ominous thudding heralded Henry’s approach.
“He’s coming,” Agatha said as she rose. Rafe stood as well. “I’ll leave you fellows alone and see that some tea is brought up.” She opened the door just as Henry had moved to do the same. “Ah, there you are,” she said with marked cheerfulness and held it open for him.
“I think I can manage a damned door, Agatha,” Henry snapped as he entered the room, gripping a silver-topped cane in his right hand. The newspapers had mentioned a leg injury, a detail that had only increased esteem for his actions. His sister closed her eyes in a brief wince at the curse. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “My knee is worse today. It’s the coming storm.”
Though Henry wasn’t quite as tall as Rafe he had always carried more bulk. But he had lost weight in the year since their last meeting, and there were painful shadows under his eyes. And no doubt there was a bevy of invisible scars as well.
Agatha nodded but didn’t look at Henry. “I’ll send Mary in with the tea,” she said before leaving, but Rafe didn’t miss the pain that flashed across her face.
Henry walked over to Rafe and held out his hand. “Hello. You’re looking well,” he said flatly. Henry had always been a bit serious due to his responsibilities, but there was a new darkness in his haggard gaze.
Rafe took his hand and pulled him in for an embrace. “It’s good to see you, old friend.” Henry’s body tensed at Rafe’s words. “I’m a miserable old bastard these days,” he mumbled.
Rafe laughed and pulled back. “I hate to tell you this, but you were always a miserable old bastard. At least now you have an excuse.”
Henry’s lips quirked as he gestured to a pair of paisley printed armchairs by the fireplace. “Have a seat.”
Rafe did as he bade and watched as Henry set the cane aside and gingerly eased himself into the chair. Rafe longed to ask about the injury but sensed that Henry would share what he wanted when he was ready.
“Some days are better than others,” he explained as he began to rub his left knee. “I’m afraid you’ve caught me on a bad one.”
“I understand.”
Henry met his eyes and seemed to accept the words as genuine. Then he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “So, what brings you to bonny Scotland? Your message said you were staying at Castle Blackwood.”
“Yes. A bit of business.”
Henry raised an eyebrow. He knew just the kind Rafe meant. “Is Mr. Wardale as eccentric as they say?”
Rafe shrugged. “No more than any man with his resources.” He then explained the purpose of his mission, beginning with Gerard’s sudden appearance in his sitting room.
Henry’s frown grew more pronounced with every new detail. By the time Rafe finished, it was a full-on glower. “I don’t like this,” he announced. “You’ve always had a weak spot for your brother. And Gerard knows it. He’s manipulating you.”
Rafe straightened. “Don’t be absurd.”
But Henry ignored him. His mind was already turning over the problem before him. “He’s in league with Wardale—that much is obvious—but how? And why?”
Henry had never been one to mince words, but this was a shocking accusation. “Because they are political allies,” Rafe said hotly. “This isn’t a conspiracy againstme. It’s one wealthy, influential man helping another. Even the PM is involved.” The lack of sleep suddenly crashed over him. Wardale’s paranoia was already enough to bear; he couldn’t endure Henry’s, too.
“As if that matters,” Henry grumbled. “You’ve been in this business long enough to know how dirty it can be. I hate that things went sideways in Turkey, but at the very least it gave me an out.”
Rafe was stunned. Henry had always approached his duties with such single-minded focus it bordered on obsession. “I had no idea you felt this way.”
“Of course not. It wouldn’t align with my status as anational hero,” Henry said contemptuously before letting out a dark laugh. “There was nothing to do in that jail cell but reflect on how, exactly, I got there. And why. You would do well to do the same.” Rafe let his glare speak for him. “Come now. You can’t really believe there’s a band ofseparatistsout to get him,” Henry scoffed. “That’s utter rubbish.”
“I saw the messages. They appear legitimate,” Rafe said tightly. “And what cause would Wardale have for making it up? The man already has everything.”
“Perhaps.” Henry rubbed his chin, which was covered in thick brown stubble. “But I still find it difficult to believe. There is some unrest, of course, but this isn’t Ireland. And I can’t see why Wardale would be targeted.”
“He has assumed ownership of one of Scotland’s most historic properties.”
Henry didn’t look convinced. “Let me help. I can make some inquiries. The locals might be more willing to talk to me than a dandy like yourself.”
Rafe hesitated. “Is that wise?” He couldn’t help glancing at the cane.
