Lammas Night (38 page)

“Very well, ladies and gentlemen. I think we've said all that is really necessary. For security reasons, I'd rather this discussion did not go on much longer. There are servants in the rest of the house who cannot be diverted indefinitely without arousing their curiosity, and all of you must return to your respective homes. We don't want trouble with the authorities because of blackout or curfew violations. So if we are all in agreement at last …”

After a brief, tentative pause, Dame Emma slowly stood, nervously fingering a strand of exquisite pearls.

“There is one thing more, Sir John,” she said, apparently searching for just the right words, though they had gone over this several times beforehand. “Please don't misunderstand. I certainly have no quarrel with what has been decided here tonight. Whatever the outcome of this meeting, I would have led my people to the sea on Lammas to raise the cone of power. We have done it twice already and will continue to do so periodically until the need is past.

“I
am
concerned, however, that you should have put your reputation so solidly on the line for us by coming here tonight and sharing what must surely be classified information. A careless word from any of us could do you great harm.”

There was a soft murmur of agreement from several of them, but Graham only gave a deprecating shrug.

“I worry even more about His Royal Highness,” Dame Emma continued. “He has put himself in an even less enviable position by his mere presence here tonight. Of the many traditions represented among us, there are several which would cause no flicker of scandal if it were learned that a prince of the blood had associations with them. Indeed, His Royal Highness has freely acknowledged that he is a Freemason, as are most of the men of the Royal Family. The vicar, and possibly a few of the rest of you fine people, would raise no eyebrows as royal acquaintances.

“My group, however—” She flashed a nervous smile. “Well, really, what
would
Buck House say about the King's brother consorting with witches?”

That evoked a titter of nervous laughter from several of the guests, but it died quickly. After an awkward silence, the woman in the back row beside the other man in black cleared her throat.

“Just what are you suggesting, Dame Emma? Surely you don't mean to imply that one of us would betray His Royal Highness.”

Emma shrugged. “My faith is built on perfect love and perfect trust, just as yours is, my dear. I would hope that those principles mean something to all of us even if they are not stated in so many words. However, we are going to have to go back to our respective groups and repeat a certain amount of what has been said here. What I am suggesting is nothing beyond what any esoteric fraternity or association requires of its members, and that is an oath of secrecy—that the names of His Royal Highness and Sir John go no farther than this room, under any circumstances, and that the rest of what we have discussed is repeated solely as necessary to accomplish our stated goal.”

Several nodded enthusiastically, but there were still some murmurs of dissent.

“I should like to know by what higher authority you propose such an oath might be sworn,” the other man in black asked. “As has been amply pointed out, our traditions and even our faiths are different. There is no common ground for that.”

“I agree,” the vicar said. “I and mine are willing to work as equals in this particular instance because the need is great, but we are still separate. We cannot swear by any pagan god.”

As the company erupted in renewed controversy, most of them on their feet, Graham glanced down at William uneasily, wondering whether he or William should try to intervene. The prince had not moved from his chair—still sat with elbows propped on chair arms, hands clasped before him, legs elegantly crossed in his immaculate naval uniform. Graham tried to catch his eye, but the prince was intent on the arguments. Before Graham could decide what to do next, William had uncoiled from his chair and risen, one hand smoothing his Garter riband. The argument died down almost immediately, as his audience was reminded of his presence.

“Sit down, all of you.”

William did not raise his voice, but the tone demanded instant obedience. All of them sat, even Graham surreptitiously pulling an extra chair closer to perch gingerly on the edge of its seat. The matter had now been taken out of his hands. He hoped the prince was not about to make a colossal blunder.

“I—am—appalled!” William said at last, almost spitting out the words, when he had their undivided if wary attention. “I have been sitting here for nearly an hour now, listening to people who supposedly love their country quibble about tiny, insignificant differences of method while, a few hundred miles away, a monstrous man plots their country's ruin! Do you suppose that I came here for
my
health tonight, ladies and gentlemen? I assure you, I did not. I came for England's!”

Somewhere in their midst, a woman gasped. One of the men in the back row opened his mouth and started to answer but then thought better of it and subsided when he saw William's eyes. William's jaw tightened and then relaxed a little as he continued on a milder note.

“It may interest you to learn that there are surprisingly few things a prince can do for his country in time of war,” he said with a slightly bitter note. “We visit military installations and factories behind our own lines, and we make encouraging little speeches. We show the royal colours. We're not permitted to go out on the front and fight with the rest of our people. We're told, ‘What if you should be captured, sir?' Not
killed—captured
! We are not even given the privilege of dying for our country, like other folk!”

“Sir, with respect—” Avery began.

“Be quiet, sir! I'm not finished. And that wasn't with respect, and you know it. You, at least, have been presented with an option which may do something to help—which is more choice than I have, for all my rank and royal birth. Yet you—all of you—persist in this pointless, petty bickering! Is it only an empty phrase, this ‘perfect trust' you seem to value so?”

“No, sir, but—”

“I don't want your equivocations! You either trust or you do not. If you do, then it seems to me that the least you can do is to give one another a simple reassurance that you mean to follow through with what you say you agree upon. Swear by England if you must have a common object of the oath. Are we not
all
bound unto her cause?”

A sickly, stunned silence stretched on for several long seconds. Graham was afraid to even breathe for fear of disrupting the fine balance. William stood there glaring at them like some absolute prince of long ago, sparing no one, marking them all with his cold blue gaze, daring them to dispute him.

Finally, Dylan Conwy rose and came slowly forward, his bearded face set in an odd, almost hopeful expression.

“Sir, I will swear such an oath to England—through you.”

As whispers of reaction spread among them, with several emphatic nods of agreement, Graham chanced a quick glance at Alix, not certain he had understood correctly. But Alix stood as Conwy approached, nodding almost imperceptibly as the older man came before William and stopped. Graham stood too, suddenly very uneasy.

Conwy stared into the prince's eyes for a timeless instant, Graham unable to tell who was measuring whom. Then, as Graham held his breath, the old man inclined his head in a dignified bow.

“Sir, in my religion, we do not kneel to any man, but I will kneel to you and place my hands between yours as a token of my obedience to what has been asked,” he said, suiting action to words and looking up into William's eyes. “I swear that I shall keep silent regarding what I have seen and heard here tonight, saving only what must be revealed to those similarly sworn so that your wishes may be carried out. May all my powers fail me and my weapons turn against me if I break this, my solemn oath.”

As Graham looked on in amazement, wondering whether William had caught the multiple levels of meaning in Conwy's words, the prince glanced out at the others and then back to the Druid leader, his hands still clasped around the old man's.

“This I have heard and receive for the sake of England,” he said steadily. “God grant that I may be worthy of the trust you have shown me by the giving of this oath, and may He bless you in whatever form you may acknowledge Him.”

Conwy nodded, touching his forehead to the clasped hands, and then William raised him up, guiding him to Alix's side, for Sir Robert had moved into place behind as William finished speaking. Now William's Masonic brother bent his knee, also offering his joined hands in homage.

“Sir, by the oaths which we have sworn together, I pledge you my obedience in what you have asked—so help me God.”

“By the oaths which we have sworn together, I pledge you my support,” William replied, murmuring something else that Graham could not quite catch.

After he raised him up, Dame Emma approached and swore.

“May all in accord with this oath swear likewise, with their hands between the hands of this puissant prince,” she said as she rose and moved aside.

Gradually, the others came, even Collier finally bending knee with the others, until all had sworn save Graham and Alix. Not a word was spoken as the last of them returned to their seats and remained standing, all eyes still fastened on the prince.

William ducked his head briefly, only Graham able to see the start of tears, which the prince quickly blinked back. When William looked up at them again, his eyes were still bright with emotion.

“I think we all, perhaps, have learnt a lesson in humility tonight, my friends,” he said softly. “I hardly know how to thank you for the trust you have placed in me. You have also given me something I feared never to have: an opportunity to serve in a very special way, to unite you in a common cause for our beloved land. Whatever the outcome of your effort, I shall always cherish this night in my heart, knowing that perhaps I was instrumental in some small way. I have only my prayers to offer on Lammas night, for I have no esoteric training beyond my Masonic indoctrination and my childhood faith—despite what some of you may have thought because of my association with these brave folk.” He gestured toward Graham and Alix. “But I assure you that I shall spend the hours of your working alone in prayer. Perhaps that will help in its small fashion. God bless you all and give you safe journey home.”

“God save England!” Conwy spoke up, glancing around at the others encouragingly. “And God save the King!”

The call was traditional at the end of patriotic gatherings and was picked up and repeated with varying degrees of enthusiasm as William inclined his head in acknowledgment. But Graham felt another twinge of uneasiness as he followed William and Alix out of the room. He could hear the others beginning to talk among themselves as he closed the door behind them, and he was shaking his head as William turned to glance at him.

“What is it?” William asked, dropping back beside him as Alix led the way toward the parlor. “Did I say something wrong?”

Graham gave a perplexed grimace. “I'm not sure. It's just that you may unwittingly ha—”

He broke off as Alix stepped through the parlor doorway and stopped stock-still, so suddenly that Graham and then William collided with her. Beyond, an angry-looking Denton was crouched over the supine and motionless body of Wells, binding the man's hands tightly in front of him with a scarlet cord—the aiguillette from Denton's own uniform. The brigadier stood over both of them with a silenced automatic pistol trained on Wells's midsection.

“Damn and bloody damn!” Graham swore under his breath, pushing Alix and William the rest of the way into the room and pulling shut the door. “What happened, Denny?”

“Sorry about this, sir, but I think we have ourselves a spy. I caught him listening at the drawing-room door.”

C
HAPTER
16

The betrayal took only an instant to register. Suddenly, the reticence Graham had always felt around Wells made sense.

“All right, we've got to get to the bottom of this,” he said briskly, propelling Alix toward the door. “Alix, go find Michael and ask him to bring the kit from my car. He'll know what I mean. Wesley, is there a secure room on this floor where we can take our friend without being seen? If we have fireworks when he comes to, I want more than a slab of glass between him and our departing guests.”

“Let's take him to my study—two doors down the hall on the left,” Ellis said, already beginning to urge the prince in that direction as Graham and Denton hoisted the unconscious Wells between them.

They reached the study without incident and dumped Wells unceremoniously in a wooden swivel chair. Denton untied his hands only long enough to strip off his coat and resecure Wells to the chair arms. As Alix returned, beckoned to their new location by William, Graham checked their prisoner's pulse and looked under his eyelids.

“He'll be coming around in a minute or two. Better give me details quickly, Denny.”

Shaking his head, Denton pulled up a straight-backed chair and sat back on Wells's left, one hand gripped firmly along the man's wrist to catch the first sign of returning consciousness.

“I don't know where he came from, sir. I saw him leave like he was supposed to, but he must have suspected something and doubled back. He could have been outside that door for ten seconds or as long as ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Where were you?”

“Mostly around the other side, sir, where the other servants were likely to come. We never dreamed he'd come back. He must have entered through a rear window. It can't have been accidental.”

“He couldn't have gone to London and back in this time, either,” the brigadier offered. “I'm afraid we have a serious problem, Gray.”

“Alix, watch the door for Michael, please. William, did you have any inkling that he'd become suspicious?”