The de Valery Code (38 page)

“I’ll go with you—happily,” she added, though her stomach threatened to empty its contents at the thought.

“Margery, don’t.” Rhys’s quiet plea filled her soul.

“Why would you do that?” Digby asked. “You said you weren’t interested in marriage, though there seems to be something between the two of you.” His tone was derisive. “Keep digging, Bowen or I’ll have Hawkins make another part of you bleed.”
 

Margery clenched her hands into fists and bit her tongue to keep from begging Digby to stop. “There’s nothing between me and Mr. Bowen, though I know he’d like there to be. I only care that he doesn’t die—I don’t want that for anyone.” God, this was going to hurt Rhys. “The treasure is what’s important to me. It’s always been the treasure. And using him to find it was merely a means to an end.”

Rhys had flinched when she’d said “using,” and Margery’s heart constricted. He looked at her, his gaze uncertain, and she knew she was almost there.

She moved toward Digby, but her captor held her fast. “Please, Digby, let me come to you.”

Digby stared at her a long moment, then motioned for her to come. With slow, sure steps that belied the fear quaking through her, she made her way to his side. She caressed his cheek and slid her hand to the side of his jaw. Pressing her hand against him, she urged his head down so she could kiss him. Softly, she touched her lips to his and bit her cheek to hide her revulsion.

Digby slipped his tongue into her mouth, but she pulled back and offered a hasty smile. “Not here. There will be plenty of time for that later.” She stroked his jaw and prayed he believed her.

With a triumphant grin, Digby turned to Rhys, who was watching them in utter rage. “Miss Derrington has just saved your life. Don’t mess it up by not complying with the arrangement she’s just negotiated. You still need to find that treasure. Stop fooling around and dig under the correct stone.”

Margery realized Rhys had already moved two other stones, to no avail. Had he been stalling? She expected nothing less from a man of his exceptional intelligence.

Rhys’s black eyes found hers. “Margery.” The single word nearly drove her to her knees.

Squaring her shoulders, she dug for a strength she wasn’t sure she had. “Stop calling me that. You are too familiar. Hurry up and find the treasure so we may leave.” The hurt in his gaze pulled at her heart and she knew she had to do more. “I need you to understand that I only ever wanted the treasure—only the treasure. Everything I’ve said, everything I’ve done has been with that result in mind. Once you accept that, we can finish this and move on.”

The fire burning behind his eyes went out. The rich, dark color hardened to obsidian, and she knew she’d killed whatever feeling he had for her.

And a part of her died too.

Rhys looked at the map he’d sketched, but the image blurred. He couldn’t believe what Margery said. Yet, she’d spoken quite convincingly. Plus, she’d gone and kissed that prick Digby. All for the treasure. He knew she wanted it—no, he knew she
needed
it. But would she really go to such lengths to get it? He thought he’d come to know her, and he’d certainly come to care for her. Hell, he loved her.

While he was nothing to her.

He blinked several times and brought the map into focus. He’d been digging in random spots, trying to delay until he could organize a plan of escape. He’d considered taking Digby by surprise, but with the second bloke—Hawkins was his name—and then Margery’s appearance, he hadn’t wanted to risk it. He was certain that in a confrontation between just the two of them, he would dominate Digby handily. How he yearned for the chance.

He knew where the stone was located because of the way the rows were laid out. There was a number pattern that allowed him to figure the orientation of the map. But if he found the correct stone and unearthed the treasure now, they’d leave—and regardless of what Digby said, he didn’t trust the man not to kill him.

He stood up, still clutching the map.

Digby pointed his pistol at Rhys’s chest. “Where are you going?”

“To try another stone.”

“You’d better get it right. Margery would rather I didn’t kill you, but my patience will only hold for so long.” He glanced at Margery. “Sorry, my love, the treasure is all that matters.”

She looked at Digby, her lashes fluttering. “Of course.” She turned an icy stare on Rhys. “Do yourself a favor and find it
now
.”

Something about the way she said the word sparked hope in his chest. Was it possible she was playing an elaborate part? God, he hoped so.

Feeling slightly buoyed, he went to the stone in the northwest corner and counted two rows over and three rows down. He sank to his knees and used the dull tool Digby had provided to pry up the stone. He had to work his fingers around it to loosen the rock—the last one had taken considerable effort. This one, however, seemed to wobble more easily. Excitement stirred in his chest. This could be it . . .
 

He picked up the rock, it was heavier than the others, and set it aside.
 

Digby and Margery crept forward, while Hawkins flanked Rhys from the other side.

“Is that a . . . box?” Margery asked breathlessly.

Rhys looked up at her, saw the enthusiasm in her gaze and had to stifle the urge to sweep her against him. This was not how this discovery was supposed to play out. They were supposed to find this together and celebrate . . .
 

“Open it,” Digby demanded, also sounding thunderstruck.

Rhys pried it up from the small nook and set it beside the hole. The box bore a simple latch, which he flicked apart. With a wary glance at his captors, he opened the lid.

Everyone gathered close. “What is it?” Digby asked. “Margery, pick it up.”

Rhys withdrew the sheaf of papers crowding the box and held them up to her. She grasped them, her fingers grazing his knuckles. Her gaze found his and again, he had the sense that everything she was currently doing was an act.

Digby peered over her shoulder at the stack of parchment. “What is it?”

“I don’t know.” She sifted through the papers. “I can’t read it.”

Digby snatched them from her and scowled at them. “Neither can I. Bowen, what is this?” He thrust the documents at Rhys, who caught the papers before they scattered.

“It’s in Latin.” Rhys arched a brow at Digby. “They didn’t teach you that at Cambridge?” Likely the scoundrel hadn’t bothered to learn it.

“I’m afraid I was sent down after my first year.”

“Not surprising,” Rhys muttered.

Digby pointed his pistol at Rhys’s forehead. “What does it say? Does it direct us where to look next?”

Rhys scanned the pages. His chest expanded. It was an extraordinary find—better than any bejeweled heart or magical sword. “No, this
is
the treasure.”

“I don’t understand.” Digby gritted his teeth. “It’s a bunch of ancient parchment.”

“Sixth-century parchment to be exact.” He held up the last page for both of them to see. “Can you read the name there at the bottom?”

Margery’s intake of breath filled him with joy. She understood. “Anarawd.”

“What?”

She turned to Digby, her features animated with the excitement of the discovery. “The scribe, Anarawd, wrote this.”

Digby seized the papers from Rhys and stared at them, as if he’d somehow learned to read Latin in the space of the last two minutes. “Are these the recorded stories . . . from the knights?”

“I wasn’t able to read them closely, but yes, it seems they are the source material for de Valery’s manuscripts. A series of poems if I’m not mistaken.”

Digby looked at him, his gray eyes feverish. “Do they prove the existence of Arthur?”

“I’d have to study them.”

“That won’t be necessary. I have an associate who will know their worth.”

“I thought you were an Arthurian expert,” Rhys observed drily.

Digby clenched his teeth. “Don’t push my tolerance, Bowen.

“I must say this is disappointing.” Digby rolled the vellum, and Rhys nearly threw himself at the bounder to save the artifacts from damage. “It will garner a decent price, but it’s no Heart of Llanllwch.” He looked at Margery apologetically. “I’m sorry, Margery. The next one will be better.”

Rhys couldn’t remain silent. “You’re a fool, Digby. This is an incredible discovery.”

Digby threw him a nasty glare. “It’s not the treasure I was hoping to find.”

“It’s precisely what I wished for—and more.” Rhys stared at Margery, the curve of her lip, the brilliant gleam of her hazel eyes, and knew he’d found a treasure worth keeping. A treasure worth fighting for. He held his breath waiting for her response.

She opened her mouth, but Rhys never got to hear what she was going to say. The rough hands of Hawkins pulled him to his feet.

“Bind him,” Digby ordered as he went to another pile of rope and tossed some to his henchman.

Hawkins set his pistol down before he grabbed Rhys. It was now or never. Rhys lifted his arm and chopped his hand into Hawkins’s nose. Blood flowed, but Hawkins pivoted and took Rhys down hard to the stone floor.

Rhys heard a scuffle, looked up, and saw Digby and Margery hurrying from the church. With a loud cry, he heaved up at his attacker and threw him aside. He scrambled to his feet, but a hand on his ankle pulled him back down.

Hawkins dragged him backward as Rhys kicked at him with his free foot. He dug his fingers into the stones for purchase. But Hawkins was bloody strong, and Rhys slid back. With a burst of strength, he turned himself over so he could see Hawkins. The man had a knife in his hand and swiped up at Rhys’s leg, keeping his grip firm around Rhys’s boot.

Kicking out, Rhys tried to knock the knife away, but Hawkins had a firm grasp. The knife slashed at Rhys’s boot, but only nicked the leather.

Damn it, every moment he tangled with the man was a moment Digby was escaping with Margery. Rhys reached behind him, looking for anything he could find. His fingers met the empty box, a pathetic weapon to be sure, but better than nothing. He lurched upward with it and brought it down on Hawkins’s head.

The villain howled, then arced his arm wildly, wielding the knife with careless abandon. A third figure appeared, his head cloaked. He swung out and knocked the knife from Hawkins’s hand. The stranger’s black robe flowed with his movements, momentarily blocking Rhys’s view.

Hawkins’s hand released Rhys’s ankle. He clambered to his feet and moved around the stranger to look down at Hawkins. The cloaked man had his boot against the villain’s throat.

“Go, they’re on foot,” he said to Rhys. “I’ve got this one.”

Septon. Rhys recognized his friend’s voice. He clasped his shoulder. “Thank you.”

Rhys sprinted from the church, hoping he wasn’t too late to catch them.

Chapter Twenty-two

Margery stumbled along after Digby, who was pulling her hand as he raced from the churchyard and down the lane toward the main road. She tried to dig her feet into the soft dirt, but Digby was surprisingly strong and she wasn’t able to stop his progress.

She ought to go with him—at least for now—but she wanted to ensure Rhys was safe.

“Margery, keep up,” Digby snapped. “I have a coach waiting for us in town.”

She had to think of something before they reached it. She didn’t think he’d just let her go if she said she’d changed her mind.

“Digby, please, can we slow down? My side is aching.” It was, but she would endure it if it meant running
away
from him.

“In a moment. We need to get to the coach. Hurry.” He tugged her along.

She gasped for breath, the summer night air burning her lungs as she fought to maintain his pace.

At last they began to slow. They were nearing the town’s other inn—the aptly named Coach and Horse.

He stopped and leaned over, his breath coming hard and fast. “Wait here.” He squeezed her hand and went toward the stable.

She glanced around the yard, the only light the descending moon and a lantern on a post outside the inn. She turned to go back to the church and gasped when Rhys caught her in his arms.

He clasped her upper arm and clamped his palm over her mouth. “Don’t scream.”