Bones for Bread (The Scarlet Plumiere) (27 page)

The risk of her escape prevented him from letting his guard down completely, of course, so he pulled a length of plaid from her pallet, pulled it around both of them, then twisted the ends around one hand and held tight.

“Tell me about the darkness, sweeting.”

A few minutes passed and he was coming to accept she did not wish to share her troubles with him when she finally spoke.

“Ghosts,” she said.

He could hear the tears in her voice and lifted her chin to find silent drops collecting beneath it, wetting his fingers.

“Ghosts come to me, in the darkness. Waking or sleeping, it makes no matter. They come.”

“Ghosts?” He tried not to sound skeptical. “Who are they?”

“The men I killed at Antwerp.”

“In battle?”

“Aye. In battle. A battle in which I had no right to be. If I’d not slipped inside the ranks, those men might have lived. They remind me of it. Just their faces before me. The rattle of death.”

“But sweeting,” he said carefully. “In Charleville, you were sleeping in the dark, with no fire. Barely a candle in the hallways—”

“That was before Givet Faux. After all that happened there, something changed. Now the ghost of that woman comes with the others.”

“The woman?
I
killed the woman, Scotia. Her blood is on my hands.”

She smiled at him. “A sweet thing to say, all in all, but Wolfkiller did the job I sent it to do. It was well-seated,” she swallowed awkwardly, “well-seated before ye let fly yer blade. I can still feel the snap of yer sword when it broke against mine. I feel it often. And I’m glad I sent Wolfkiller with Martin. I never care to touch it again.

“I had hoped, with all my work as. . .at The Reaper’s side, I might have earned some forgiveness. But still the faces come. When it’s dark.”

Ash freed his hand from the plaid and pulled her tight, hoping for a bit of redemption himself by holding her as she wept, as he’d failed to hold her long ago, when she’d fallen apart with no one to catch the pieces.

“Forgive me, love. Forgive me for not tying you to a tree, or locking you up in some safe place to keep you from following us into Givet Faux that day. It was unforgiveable, but forgive me anyway?”

She smiled up at him then, placed a hand along his cheek, and gave him a brief kiss.

“Ye silly man. Of course I forgive ye. But had ye tied me up, or locked me up, I could not have been so forgivin’. Ye understood back then. Ye knew. And ye were a little afraid of me, I think.”

Ash nodded. “Yes. You terrified me. I was terrified you’d be hurt. I was just too much a coward to do anything about it.” He smoothed her hair away from her face and pecked at her lips with his own. “But I’m not that coward anymore. And I will do anything necessary to keep you from being hurt. Even if I have to board up all the windows and lock the entire house with only you and me inside.”

She laughed, albeit nervously.

“That reminds me,” he said. “Do you know of any old tower keeps nearby? Something I might purchase for a reasonable price?”

“A tower keep? What are ye needin’?”

He shrugged, deciding that some silliness was better left unspoken.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

From a haze of blue dawn, the sun rose and woke the birds. Ash held deathly still, to prolong the spell and pray that for once the sun would reconsider.

There was only the slightest change to the woman’s breathing, but it was enough to tell him she was awake, though she pretended not to be. Was she, too, wishing the night could have lasted a bit longer? Or was she hoping for a chance to escape him?

His arm pulled her closer. And there they lay, pretending nothing was unusual about nestling close on the larder floor, until Tolly came puffing into the little room, a parchment flapping in his hand.

Stiffly, they rose until they were sitting side by side. Ash took one of her hands and laced their fingers together before he reached for the paper.

Tolly placed both his hands on his knees and struggled to catch his breath. It was either long past time for the man to retire, or he was playing Ash for a fool. But either way, he would not risk running the man into his grave. As soon as The Reaper was removed from power, or removed from the area, and the constable replaced, Ash would bend his attentions to Tolly’s future. Until then, he would supply the man with a runner. Perhaps Finn was just the boy for the job.

Ash stood and helped Scotia to her feet, then opened the note.

“To the Right Honorable Earl of Ashmoore,”
he read aloud.

“Dear Sir,

I am escaping you. Sometimes defiance is the honorable choice.

Finnian Balliol

“Damn! I knew he was upset, but—”

Scotia snatched the message from his hand and read it again. “What do ye mean, he was upset? What upset him?”

“He asked if I was going to release you. I told him I could not. So he insisted I had to release
him
, as if he believed it was unfair for me to hold you both.”

The woman moaned and crumpled the paper in her hand.

“He wasn’t thinking about fairness,” she complained. “He was worried about Shakespeare.”

“I don’t understand. The line about defiance being the honorable choice? I don’t recall—”

“Not the writer, the blasted bird. The
owl
.”

“His dead owl?”

“Shakespeare’s not dead,” she said. “But he would be soon enough if ye didn’t let one of us go.”

His mind stumbled across the clues that had been strewn in his path, clues he should have seen long ago, the ring he’d been carrying in his bloody pocket for two years!

He grabbed her shoulders. “You’re Blair Balliol. Martin was the unconscious young man with the swollen face!”

“And my wee brother has gone off to find the Witch’s Vale to feed Shakespeare. Only he doesna ken the secret to getting there safely. He’ll end with walking off a cliff in the mist. There are markers leading the way, but they are of a purpose, misleading. We have to catch him before he gets too far. And before it gets dark!”

The pounding of the door knocker reached all the way to the kitchens. Tolly stumbled away to answer it.

“Perhaps someone already found Finn and is returning him.” Ash began pulling her after the old man.

She resisted. “No! No one can see me. Do ye not understand?”

He stopped and noted the desperation in her eyes. “Is this about your father?”

She shrugged. Her mouth moved, but she found no words.

Then understanding dawned and an invisible fist found his middle. He forced himself to say it. “Or is it about your Reaper?”

She stared at him for a moment as if his soul were laid bare for her, which it most likely was. Whatever she saw there finally made her look away.

“Both,” she said quietly.

He considered locking her back in the larder, ensuring there was a crack or two to allow light inside, but no more. There was no one to tell him that he couldn’t. And it was a fact he could not stand to let her go, no matter how she felt about the villain.

“My kingdom for a secluded tower,” he mumbled.

She glanced at the larder and took a step back. “Ye have no reason to keep me,” she said. “Ye’ve got yer answers. All of them. Let me go.”

His mind sought a valid reason to deny her. His vision caught on a bottle of cooking sherry standing lonely on a shelf, and his reason presented itself along with the first step in an inspired strategy.

“If I allow you to leave, there will be nothing to keep your Reaper from poisoning us all. And I have no intention of leaving Scotland until my task is done here. I’ll have to keep you until the property is put to rights, and the tenants can prosper. Your lover will have to make do without you for a good while, I’m afraid.”

Meaness swirled inside his soul. . .and it felt good.

Tolly burst through the hallway door, then closed it and leaned back against the wood as if he were being chased.

“Yer lairdship. Beg pardon,” he huffed. “The Constable is here. He’s brought a wee army, I’m afraid.”

“An inconvenient time, Tolly. Send him away.” Ash had chess moves to plan.

“Weel, when I say he’s
here,
I actually mean—”

There was a bang on the door at the old man’s back.

“. . .here.”

“
Lord Ashmoore!”
The constable’s voice was muffled by the wood.
“I demand an audience, sir
.”

The door began to slide open. Tolly pushed back and it snapped shut. Without releasing his prisoner’s arm, Ash moved quickly to add his own weight to the door. What could he do? No doubt the constable would complicate things if he were to catch even a glimpse of that beauty mark, let alone her wild tresses.

And why was the constable so determined to see inside the kitchen, unless someone told the man Ash was hiding someone there? If he managed to lock her in the larder, the lawman would not rest until he looked inside.

“What I need is Stanley,” he admitted aloud, but since his highly influential friend wasn’t about, he was simply going to have to let his precious captive free.

“Well, what good is a friend who fails to appear the very moment you need him, I ask you?”

Ash turned to find his white-haired friend dusting off his clothes just inside the kitchen’s yard door. It took Ash but a heartbeat to recover. He’d been so close to allowing Scotia to flee, it had sickened him.

“Stan. Good to see you,” he whispered, although the constable was making far too loud a fuss to be able to hear much conversation through the door. “Pity you will not be home to receive my letter.”

Stan raised a white square. “I have it here. Your man and I crossed paths after I was well inside Scotland. Excellent reading.”

“Glad to amuse, my friend. I’m afraid I must patronize the constable for a moment. We cannot allow him to see her face.” He nodded at the woman. “Fetch her that cloak by the door, if you would not mind.” Ash gave the woman’s fingers a squeeze. “Scotia,” he said pointedly. “You no doubt recognize His Grace.”

If Stan was surprised, he hid it well behind a charming smile as he wrapped the cloak around her and helped tuck her hair beneath the hood. Later, Ash would warn his friend from using that smile in her presence again.

“If you play nicely,” Ash explained to her quietly, “the constable will never get a good look at you. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

He turned to his butler. “Tolly, I need you to faint. Just where you are, if you please. Right up against the door.”

“Gladly, sir.” The butler melted to the floor and Ash could not say for certain that the faint hadn’t been real.

“Hold on to her,” he told Stanley. “Back by the door now. You’ve just arrived and she’s ill.”

“Excellent,” Stan said, flashing her one last smile as they took their places. Then she dropped her head against him, damn her.

Just then, the yard door burst open behind the pair, and four men pushed their way inside. They fanned out around the cavernous room, pistols at the ready.

“Don’t just stand there,” Ash told the two nearest intruders. “Help me move my butler out of the way. The constable cannot get in.”

The men tucked away their weapons and did as they were told.

Ash pointed at one of the long tables. “Put him there.”

A heartbeat after Tolly’s body was lifted away, the hallway door flew open and bounced against the wall. The constable stormed through the opening and half a dozen men followed. One of them was holding his leader’s ridiculous hat.

“What are ye hiding, Laird Ashmoore, eh?” The constable held his hands like claws as if he was prepared to pounce on Ash and begin ripping him to pieces. His disturbing nose was curled up on one side.

Ash ignored the man and pointed to an armed bloke standing next to Stanley. “Fetch the Frenchwoman from her gardens. She’s as good as any doctor.”

The man hesitated, then reached for the door.

“Here now,” barked the constable. “What are ye about? Ye’ll take no orders from him. I’m in charge, here.”

Stanley cleared his throat behind his hand, no doubt to mask a laugh. The constable failed to notice. Ash would have been offended if the man weren’t so ignorant of his own ignorance.

The armed man looked uncertainly at Ash, who nodded. “Go.”

The man spun on his heel and fled.

Seven armed men left. The odds were more favorable. Especially since one of the constable’s men was Everhardt. But no one’s blood would be shed unless necessary.

“I apologize, Constable,” Ash offered without a hint of regret. “My butler suffers a bad heart. I’m afraid your visit is ill-timed. Again.”

“I doona believe it in the least.” The man wandered over to Tolly and poked him in the belly with a pointed finger.

To the butler’s credit, he didn’t flinch so much as an eyebrow.

Ash took off his coat and folded it, then tucked it under Tolly’s head. Sarah appeared in the doorway and he sent her to fetch Tolly a blanket.

“And who is this?” The Constable tilted his head at Stanley who gave the man a haughty glare.

“Forgive me,” Ash said to his friend. “This is the constable. Constable Wotherspoon, this is His Grace, Viscount Forsgreen, the future Duke of Rochester.”