Lammas Night (18 page)

Yet there were other obligations that must take precedence even over the wishes of a prince. William had asked the impossible. If it was Graham's duty to serve this man, it was also his duty to protect him. A magical operation was no place for the uninitiated, especially a royal duke. Besides, Graham was not alone in what was planned. He had others to protect as well, who stood in similar relationship to
him
.

“Sir, I—can't allow that,” he whispered formally. “You're putting me in an extremely awkward position by even asking. It isn't entirely up to me, in any case. There are others to be considered.”

“Your—superiors will be there?” William murmured.

Graham nodded, not wanting to even imagine what Alix—or David!—would say. But the blue eyes did not waver, and the royal hands slackened their grip not at all.

“Gray, I'm sorry. I know it isn't fair of me to ask. It isn't just a passing fancy, though. I couldn't begin to tell you why, but it's—important that I be there.”

“William, I—”

“Will you
listen
?” William hissed under his breath, his eyes oddly desperate. “I promise I won't interfere. And you know I'll be discreet.”

As Graham continued shaking his head, searching for words to persuade William that it simply was not possible, Wells appeared at the door again, Graham's coat and hat in hand.

“Colonel, your car is ready.”

“Gray, please!” the prince repeated. “At least promise that you'll think about it, that you'll ask the others. That's all I ask.”

“All right, I'll think about it,” Graham returned in a low voice, though he knew he had no intention of relenting even if the others agreed.

“Thank you,” the prince murmured under his breath, then continued in a slightly louder than normal voice as he gripped Graham's hand in an ordinary handshake and released it.

“Good night, then. A pity we've had to cut our evening short, but duty calls and all that. Do ring me next week, when you get the chance. I hope they let you get some sleep tonight.”

As Graham shrugged into his coat, he wondered how he
would
sleep even if he had the time. Of all the possible outcomes of this evening's dinner, this was one he had not expected.

To cap his evening, there were no ciphers awaiting him at the Admiralty. The summons turned out to be a ruse. A young subaltern led him to the door of an obscure office on the second floor and then left him despite his low-voiced protests and demands for an explanation. When he entered the office, he understood why.

He knew whose aide the attractive WRNS rating was and also her real function as resident clairvoyant to the powerful man she served. He followed her into the next room without question and sat down to wait, taut with expectation when she left him. He tried not to think about William.

The distinguished-looking naval officer who shortly entered wore a captain's four cuff rings on his uniform sleeve and a gold staff aiguillette on his shoulder, but it was not that which brought Graham to his feet at once. The two of them held equal military rank and were almost of an age, but they generally moved in quite different circles. The man noted Graham's mess dress with a raised eyebrow and a bemused lift to one corner of his mouth, too tired to really smile. He gestured with the manila envelope he took from under his arm as he perched on the corner of the bare desk top.

“So, I hear it took a royal duke to get you out of battle-dress. Have a nice dinner, did you, colonel?”

Graham took the man's measure with faint amusement, catching the slight twinkle of response in the light eyes.

“So, it must have been
your
aide who put Grumbaugh on the panic to get me here, sir,” he replied, warming to the other man's charisma. “I assume it was important enough to interrupt a glass of very fine cognac.”

“Well, now, Gray, if you don't want to know what I've arranged about Buckland—”

Graham held up both hands in surrender and shook his head, grinning broadly. “I yield to your lordship's impeccable sense of priorities. Were you able to get permission?”

“I was.” The man pulled a sheaf of forms from the envelope and fanned through them as Graham moved closer to look on. “You should find all the authorizations in order. I had to pull a few strings, but most of them are quite untraceable. It's set for the fifth of July, as you requested.”

“Perfect. I do appreciate it, sir.”

“Not at all. You were quite right about parts of the estate being used as a storehouse for naval supplies, by the way. That made things considerably easier. If explanations are necessary, I shall say it's for a top-level meeting of some of your agents—which is true, in a sense, I suppose—though if anyone asks why you picked the middle of a God-forsaken moor, I don't know what I'll tell them. I shan't inquire why you really want it, though l can guess.”

Graham replaced the forms in the envelope and slipped the lot inside his coat with a smile. “I'm sure your guess is at least close to the truth, sir. And I do appreciate everything you're doing to help. This may make the difference, come August first. Thank you.”

The man shrugged, but he also smiled. “All a part of the service, old man.” He glanced at his watch. “Well, I must go. Some engineers are supposed to tell me whether my poor old ship can be refitted by the end of the year. I suppose you heard about the beating she took.”

“Some rumors about a stubborn captain did cross my desk,” Graham replied with a congratulatory nod. “You're back to sea, then?”

“On one ship or another, probably for the duration—at least that's what I hope for. I'll be doing convoy duty for a while. Anyway, good luck.”

He stuck out his hand, somewhat to Graham's surprise, and Graham clasped it with a slight bow before leaving the office. As he made his way back to his car, he found himself comparing the man he had just left with William. Somehow the similarity disturbed him. It was one thing for this man to be an aware scion of the old line; it was quite another for a prince of the blood to be wanting the same kind of knowledge and beginning to use the weight of his rank to get it.

“I told you, I don't
know
why he wants to be there,” Graham said wearily as he and the others relaxed in the library at Oakwood three days later, after their Midsummer working. “As far as I can tell, it came right out of the blue. I think even he was surprised. Looking back, I probably shouldn't have mentioned it in the first place, but at the time, it seemed quite logical.”

David Jordan, Lord Selwyn, the master of the house, moved into the pool of moonlight streaming through the closed French doors and gazed into the summer night. Beyond him, the precisely trimmed hedges of the garden's boxwood maze stood out in bright-honed planes of silver and inky shadows. In the center of that maze, though only the roof top could be seen from anywhere on the grounds, lay the place where they had worked: by day, a trellis-sided gazebo twined with roses and ivy; by night, some nights, their temple and magical working place.

When Selwyn did not speak, Graham rose and joined him. Behind them in the room, the two women poured tea and arranged sandwiches and biscuits by candlelight; the three younger men, Richard, Geoffrey, and Michael, divided their attention between the coming food and the conversation in progress between their elders. The brigadier leaned casually against the wall beside the doorway, watching and listening to Graham and Selwyn but, saying nothing, pipe smoke curling lazily in a slight draft that managed to sneak past the door frame.

“You mentioned congruencies in your two charts,” Selwyn said after a moment. “What in particular?”

Graham sighed and rubbed at a dull throbbing behind his eyes. He had participated in the working this evening, but the tension of being constantly on guard against a contact from Sturm had left him far more exhausted than usual.

“Well, just for openers, we both have the same ascending degree and sign: nineteen degrees Cancer rising—less than half a minute apart, in fact—and we both have Scorpio moons in our fifth houses, also very close.”

“How close?”

“About eight degrees. We also both have angular suns in water signs, and we both have Pisces in the midheaven, less than two degrees apart, with our suns strongly aspecting it. The thing I flashed on while I was talking to him and which I'd never noticed before was my south-node placement in his first house—a possible karmic link. We also have Pluto and Neptune in our twelfth houses, referring to occult matters.” He paused a beat. “Maybe he
should
be allowed to come.”

“Would it be physically safe for him in terms of the military situation?” the brigadier asked. “I've heard rumor of something big brewing at Plymouth.”

Graham smiled wanly. “I wish I knew where you get your intelligence, Wesley. You're quite correct, however. Right now, a sizable chunk of the French fleet is anchored at Plymouth and wondering what the bloody hell it's going to do once the armistice is signed.” He glanced at the others and lowered his voice so only Selwyn and the brigadier could hear. “I assume you know what's being considered, David. Your ship was mentioned in some of the dispatches.”

Selwyn propped himself wearily against the door frame and closed his eyes. “I'm to pick up a shipload of Royal Marines next week and stand by for orders to proceed to Plymouth and seize the ships by whatever force is necessary to keep them from surrendering to the Germans.” He looked up at the moon. “Bloody war! Since when are we supposed to fight our allies?”

“It's going to be even worse in the Mediterranean,” Graham murmured. “Did you know Peter's ship is going to Oran?”

“
Bloody
war!” Selwyn repeated bitterly.

After a moment, the brigadier gestured with his pipe. “Let's get back to the duke,” he said softly. “You've confirmed my fears about the situation in Plymouth, Gray. If you did want him to come, would it be possible for him to bypass Plymouth?”

“Certainly. But Plymouth should be resolved by the fifth. I'm simply trying to anticipate potential problems in advance.” Graham glanced at Selwyn. “I'm not sure I have the authority to make a final decision, anyway. I'm only the acting chief. If David says no, then it's no.”

Selwyn turned slightly in the moonlight, silver gleaming in the once-dark hair. He had been their chief for nearly fifteen years, since the death of his father after the Great War. With Alix, he had led them with careful wisdom, not objecting or resisting as Graham's emerging talents gradually equaled and even surpassed his own in some instances, though leadership had remained firmly in his hands until a year ago. When, at the beginning of the war, it became clear that Selwyn himself would be at sea much of the time, Graham had been the logical choice to assume the leader's role for the duration, especially in light of the need for the Lammas coordination. The brigadier judged himself too old, and the other men were far too young and inexperienced.

But the habits of fifteen years could not be put aside as easily as the mere words were spoken, by either Selwyn or Graham. They had already discussed the Dieter affair, and Selwyn had apologized for encroaching on Graham's still-hesitant supervision. The matter of William was an altogether different proposition, for immediately it touched on everyone who would be present at the Drake working, not to mention the more far-reaching implications for William's future involvement. Even if the decision were put in Graham's hands, the others must also agree, especially Selwyn.

“It will have to be your decision,” Selwyn finally said. “I told you before that I'd try to avoid stepping on your toes again. Right now, however, I'm thinking about the security of this group. His Royal Highness doesn't know me in this context, and I'd really rather he never did. But you need me at Buckland, Gray—and if he's there, my cover is blown. And frankly, besides yourself, I probably have the most to lose of any of us if he were to go sour.”

“He wouldn't go sour,” Graham muttered, half turning away, hands jammed in the pockets of his black wool robe. “I'd stake my life on it.”

“You may be doing just that.”

“Well, it wouldn't be the first time,” Graham retorted. “Look, David, I haven't any proof, but I think he may see his participation as a way to do something positive for the war effort—something besides making speeches and doing all the other dreary things so often expected of royals. Maybe I overdid it when I was trying to convince him he was useful, but he'd gone off on that old fifth-wheel argument again.” He sighed. “I have to consider the charts, too. Something's at work here besides coincidence. I've also been thinking about the tarot reading Alix did. What if
William
is the Knight of Wands, who's supposed to offer help?”

“She told me about the reading,” Selwyn said, “but I'm not sure we want his kind of help. The
last
thing we need is to get a member of the Royal Family overtly involved with the old ways.”

“Don't be too sure,” the brigadier said, chomping on his pipe. “There's a heavy weight of tradition in the old line regardless of the fact that the present-day incumbents aren't consciously aware of it.” He blew smoke toward the ceiling, letting his pale eyes follow its drift. “They seem to come along when they are needed, and when they do, they seem to know what's to be done.” He shifted his glance directly to Graham, the old eyes strangely piercing. “Do you want him there when you scry for Drake, Gray? You sound as if you're half convinced he should be there.”

Graham bowed his head. “I don't know. But if the logistics are possible, I'd like to have that option. I
can
say that my misgivings have nothing to do with whether or not I trust him. It's whether I could put his presence sufficiently out of mind to work effectively. I wouldn't want him frightened. And I certainly wouldn't want him hurt because he got frightened for
me
and tried to interfere.”