Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 08] - Sanguinet's Crown (25 page)

"I'd not be surprised. But there is much of good in him. As
there is in Guy…" She broke off, then said distractedly, "How
terrifying it all is! I scarce dare think of what will happen if Guy
feels bound to tell Claude—"

"Then don't think of it," he said bracingly. "Guy is of a
different mould to Claude, thank God! Perhaps he will not betray us.
Go! Off with you, now."

Hesitating, her anxious gaze upon him, she asked, "But, what
do you mean to do?"

A wry smile touched his mouth. "Jove, do you fancy I'm ready
with a plan of campaign like our superb Wellington? I must disappoint
you again, for I am a mere mortal man!''

"But—but you must have
some
plan?"

"Only to leave this island paradise. Today, if possible, since
we cannot go yesterday."

"Oh. How?"

"Madam,
begone
!"

But as she turned and reluctantly started away, he added in a
penetrating whisper, "I don't know how. We shall just have to play the
cards as they are dealt. And—pray!"

Charity returned Little Patches to her suite without incident,
went back downstairs, and followed the sounds of conversation and
laughter into a lavishly decorated salon, rich with crimson velvet,
crystal chandeliers, thick rugs, and gold draperies. Quite a crowd was
gathered, but the moment she entered Claude was at her elbow and she
was introduced to a succession of cold-eyed men, most of whom, in some
capacity or other, were his employees. Amazed by his effrontery, she
looked up to find him regarding her in amused expectation. He bent to
her ear. "Aren't you going to cry out for help? It would be so
diverting."

She clenched her hands and tossed her chin a little higher,
but said nothing.

"Admirable," he said with a chuckle. "Such poise, such
dignity. I vow, Monsieur Rivers, the women of your land may look
sweetly soft, but they have the core of steel."

Charity darted a glance at Redmond as he sauntered up,
impressive in shades of grey. He sneered at Claude's remark, but she
did not hear his answer. That he should be present in such a gathering
horrified her, and the ensuing two hours became an interminable
nightmare. The food was served buffet-style, and people seemed to drift
in and out unannounced, so that she was in constant dread lest someone
arrive who knew him. If Redmond shared her apprehensions, he gave no
sign of it, apparently thoroughly enjoying himself, and so relaxed and
at ease that she began to seethe with irritation because he did not
have the sense to take himself out of so perilous a situation and
retreat to a quiet corner where he could be unobserved.

Meanwhile, Charity did not lack for company. Many of these
mercenaries sought her out since she was one of very few ladies
present. When they discovered that she ignored them, however, they soon
gave up, and moved on to more congenial company. As she had expected,
the food was superb, but she had no appetite, contenting herself with a
small puff pasty and a glass of lemonade. She had to fight to conceal
her anxieties and to avoid seeking out Redmond's dark head, easily
discernible above the crowd. She thought she was succeeding until a
suave voice murmured, "Your countryman fascinates you notwithstanding,
mademoiselle?"

She stiffened. "If one could be said to be fascinated by evil,
monsieur."

Sanguinet offered a glass of ratafia and handed her plate to a
hovering lackey. "You eat like the little bird," he scolded. "I shall
instruct my chef to prepare a very British dinner especially to tempt
your appetite.''

She reminded him that she was a notoriously small eater, and
then came near to fainting.

Guy Sanguinet strolled into the room. His eyes flickered over
the gathering and stopped abruptly when they came to Redmond. As though
he sensed that he was being watched, Redmond glanced around. Charity's
blood seemed to congeal ; she found it difficult to breathe as the
seconds stretched into an eternity. Still the two men looked at each
other in a silence that became excruciating. Surely, she thought,
everyone else in the room must be aware of this tense confrontation.
Guy would denounce Redmond. He must, or betray his brother by remaining
silent, which he had said he would not do. And then Redmond turned
away, Guy wandered over to a group of sea captains at the buffet table,
and Charity could breathe again. Astonishingly, no one seemed to have
noticed anything out of the way. Claude was chatting with a
distinguished older gentleman at a side table. Charity breathed a
silent prayer of thanks and took a healthy gulp at her wine.

Trying to recover her equanimity and watching the occupants of
this luxurious room, she thought how extraordinary was this gathering.
Most of these men must be aware of the terrible events that were even
now being set in motion; certainly, they knew she was a prisoner here.
Perhaps that was why so many avoided her eyes. Perhaps, as ruthless as
they might be, to see a lady so blatantly held captive was too much for
them to face without shame. Some of those whom Claude had presented had
murmured acknowledgements in French, and for them she did not feel such
scorn. They might truly believe Claude could prevail and bring their
ancient enemy crashing down into defeat at last. However base their
actions, they were not treasonable. But the Britons she could not
excuse. Even if they despised the Hanoverian succession, they must know
Claude for the murdering madman that he was; they must suspect his
ultimate ambitions, yet they followed him, lured, she supposed, by his
gold rather than by his cause.

Claude was talking to Redmond again. Poor Redmond, she
thought. He must be seething with frustration. He had made his way here
against tremendous odds, learnt everything he had come to learn, only
to be trapped and powerless to get away.

They came over to her, Guy, looking sombre, bringing up the
rear. She had hoped that Claude would be unable to conduct his promised
tour of the castle. He had once taken Rachel through his superb chateau
in Dinan; Charity had been spared the experience because she'd been
confined to an invalid chair at that time, but Rachel's description of
Claude's pride in his possessions had been sufficient to convince her
she never desired such a doubtful pleasure. It had, it developed, been
a pleasure deferred. Claude offered his arm as he commenced the tour.
Reluctantly, Charity stood, but she did not take his arm. He apologized
with a crafty smile for "Mr. Rivers' " presence, explaining that the
Englishman had expressed a desire to be allowed to accompany them. They
set out.

An hour later, Claude had ushered them through a wearying
succession of elaborately restored salons, lounges, bedchambers, and
suites; the kitchens and stillroom; the various dining rooms,
galleries, ante-rooms, game room, and an enormous music room. Charity's
fascination with antiquity was dulled by her other preoccupations, but
she could not fail to be amazed by the amount of time and money that
had been expended on a structure that Claude admitted he had no wish to
see again once his coup was accomplished. To brag of his possessions
and his achievements delighted him, and he discoursed at length upon
the history of the castle which had, he said, been constructed in the
twelfth century by a deposed Scots clan chieftain.

They went downstairs again at last, and he rested one
well-manicured hand upon the ten-foot-thick outer wall. "They built
well," he observed, "else this great fortress she would not have so
long survive the atrocious climate. But you, dear mademoiselle"—he
turned suddenly to Charity—"do not view my castle with pleasure, I
think."

She had been pondering on how unfortunate it was that two
burly footmen were bringing up the rear, but she responded without
hesitation that she preferred gentler structures, gentler climes,
gentler people.

With an amused smile he said,"And how unfortunate that I am
about to show you my war room, which is not so gentle as the chambers
we have seen thus far. Still, Mr. Rivers will find it interesting,
perhaps."

He led them to the basement, the corridor now brightly lit,
and along the length of it to the room at the end with the double doors
Charity had seen earlier. It was a vast and chilly apartment, hung with
every imaginable type of weapon, from a slingshot to a very modern
rifle that brought a brief consternation to Redmond.

"By Jove!" he exclaimed, walking over to inspect it. "I'd
heard about these. Didn't know they'd been perfected."

"Not perfected, exactly," purred Claude, "but—"

"Monsewer." A beefy man with a coarse English accent slouched
into the room, and Charity's heart gave a frenzied jump. "Cap'n Elkins
wants as—" He halted, his craggy features reflecting shocked
recognition. Crouching, he snarled, "
Redmond
!"

Mitchell was already leaping forward. A derringer flashed into
his hand, and gripping Claude by the hair, he jammed the little pistol
under his ear.

Eyes round with shock, Claude shrieked,"Kill him! Dolts!
Mindless clods!
Kill him!
''

The newcomer started forward. '"E can only shoot once with
that there toy!"

''Stay where you are, Shotten!'' Guy waved him to a halt.
"That 'once' will kill my brother."

"Tell 'em to drop their pistols," ordered Redmond curtly. He
twisted his hand in the black hair when Claude was silent, and added in
a voice of steel, "They may kill me, friend, but if I go, you go with
me,
sans doute
."

His face twisting with pain and rage, Claude gasped, "Do as he
says."

Reluctantly, three pistols were dropped.

"You cannot get away!" Claude shrilled. "Fool! Imbecile! Do
you not know you are a dead man?"

Redmond jerked his head at the pistols. "Pick them up, please,
ma'am, and keep them for me. We may have need of 'em."

She ran to obey, but with one of those unlikely and
inexplicable mischances that so often occur to disrupt man's schemes,
fate intervened. One of the pistols that had been flung down was old
and not as well cared for as it should have been. The hammer, which had
been thumbed back, had remained so, and chose this of all moments to
snap down. The shot rang out deafeningly, just as Charity reached for
the weapon. Her nerves, already ragged, betrayed her into a squeal of
fright. Redmond thought she had been hit, and his horrified gaze darted
to her, the derringer wavering for just a split second.

It was the opening Sanguinet needed. With all his strength, he
drove his elbow under Redmond's ribs and wrenched free. Redmond
staggered, fighting nausea as he tried to restore his aim. Shotten
leapt forward, uttering a howl of triumph. His fist struck down hard,
and the derringer was smashed from Redmond's hand. Shotten's hamlike
left whipped savagely for Redmond's jaw, but the slighter man dodged
nimbly aside. His right hand was useless, but his left came up in an
immediate reprisal.

The two footmen, however, were upon him. They seized him from
behind, wrenching his arms back, one of them swinging his fist high.

Claude shouted a frantic, "Don't hurt him!" Then, seeing
Redmond helpless, he added softly, "Yet."

Guy, who had rushed to Charity, slipped an arm about her. "You
are all right, little one?" he asked anxiously.

She felt sick with shock and fear, and, clinging to him,
whispered, "My… fault. My fault. Oh, Guy, they'll kill him!"

"Not until they discover how much he knows. How much Diccon
knows. Who is in this with him." A small moan escaped Charity.
Tightening his arm, Guy muttered, "He
had
to
come. What folly!"

Claude had been carefully tidying his hair. He now stepped
closer to Redmond, peering up into the high-held proud countenance. "So
you are brother to dear Sir Harry," he murmured. "If you knew… if you
but
knew
how I have yearned for this moment."

Redmond said a cool, "I also, monsieur."

"The word is monseigneur." Claude spoke the correction in a
low voice that rang oddly. "Say it."

Redmond sighed. "Alas, my French is as poor as your English. I
had thought monseigneur applied to a prince or a cardinal. Not to a
lunatic."

Claude's eyes began to glow with the red light that Charity
dreaded to see. He nodded, his smile striking terror into her heart.
"Oh, but I shall teach you," he promised softly.

"Claude," said Guy, "I am going to take Miss Strand out."

"
Au contraire
, dear brother. You are
going to remain. Miss Strand is going to remain. She knew who this
vermin was, did you not, my sly little English actress?"

With an odd detachment, Charity thought, "It doesn't matter
now. Whatever we do or say, he will kill us both. That's why Mr.
Redmond was defiant just now. He knows it makes no difference. And if
he can be so brave, I must try." She heard her own voice reply, "Yes, I
knew."

"This was quite logical," Claude said, surprisingly. "I
forgive you it. My brother knew also, however. Did you not, Guy? Of
course you did. You were there—a witness—when Parnell left his task
half finished. This I shall not forgive, but we will deal with it
later.'' His sparkling eyes turned back to Redmond. "Why, how pale you
are become, my dear friend. Is it because I mentioned my late brother?"
He stepped a pace closer, the footmen gripping Redmond's arms brutally.
"Parnell," said Claude, "was the only creature in this world for whom I
had a fondness. And your brother, your miserable worm of a brother,
killed him! I swore I would be revenged. Did you know
that
when you crept in here, you sneaking spy?"

"Parnell was an unmitigated, murdering rogue," said Redmond.
"Harry was trying to protect the girl Parnell was terrorizing, but he
did not—"

Claude drew back his hand and smashed it hard into Redmond's
face. Charity smothered a sob as Redmond sagged against the men who
held him.