Chapter Thirty-Seven
Thick iron rings groaned as the cell gate swung open. Cold seeped from the stone floor of Sommer Castle’s ancient dungeon, a chill that belonged to older centuries and harsher punishments. Somewhere down the corridor, water dripped steadily into a rusted pan.
Gabriel stepped inside. The torchlight behind him stretched his shadow across the walls in long, dark limbs.
Barrington followed, boots striking with crisp authority, while Leticia remained just outside the iron bars, visible through the narrow window, her arms folded firmly, though her fingers pressed into her sleeves to keep from shaking.
The guard captured at Bracken Hollow sat on a wooden chair. His wrists were chained behind him, but his spine remained stubbornly straight until Barrington laid a gloved hand on his shoulder with a quiet pressure that made him flinch.
“Once more,” Barrington said, his voice mild but edged with steel. “Why did you take her. And why Bracken Hollow?”
The man’s jaw worked. His eyes slid toward Gabriel, flicked away as if meeting that gaze were a blow of its own.
“We never wanted the girl,” he muttered. “We wanted what she might lead us to.”
Gabriel didn’t move. The pulse at his temple ticked once and stilled.
“The brooch?” Barrington pressed.
The man nodded. “The sixth piece. The last of the set. No one knew where it had gone after Vienna. All we knew was Robbie Ashcombe handled it before his fall. And that it passed from him into her family. She might have… more than jewelry.”
Leticia exhaled softly behind the wall.
“It isn’t magic,” the guard added quickly, as though that mattered. “But having all six together again, it was something. Proof. Power. A banner to rally behind. The Order was nothing without its symbol.”
Gabriel’s voice cut like a blade drawn slowly. “And once you had the brooch?”
The man licked his lips. “Tresham meant to present the full set to… influential men. Men who’ll pay to resurrect what was lost. The girl would… cease to be an inconvenience.”
Gabriel’s stillness sharpened into danger itself. Barrington caught his sleeve, a silent warning.
Leticia stepped forward so she could be seen. Her voice was steady. “Erica was to see it done?”
The man’s mouth twisted. “She said she’d earn her way back into a higher circle once the Order returned. Tresham made her promises.”
Gabriel had heard enough. “Send him on to Bamburgh. Let the constable hear the rest.” His gaze was colder than stone. “Alive. He is worth more talking.”
Barrington nodded to his men. “Take him.”
The guard was hauled to his feet and marched away.
In the next cell, Tresham clutched his coat like a professor protecting his papers, even as iron bound his wrists.
He didn’t look repentant, only irritated at being interrupted mid-lecture.
Erica St. Clair Notley sat on the bench opposite him, her gown dirty and her lip split, still trying to look as though she held the upper hand.
Gabriel gave them no courtesy.
“You will be moved to Bamburgh by nightfall,” Barrington told them. “Treason and theft from titled families carry penalties this castle is no longer authorized to dispense.” His chin lifted slightly toward Tresham. “Your books and papers will be taken into custody.”
Tresham snarled, lunging until his chains clanked hard. “You’ve no idea what you are disrupting…”
“On the contrary,” Gabriel said softly, “we know exactly what we have ended.”
Erica stood when Leticia stepped up to the bars. “You would see me thrown to the wolves?” she hissed.
“You chose your own path,” Leticia replied. “I am simply stepping out of your way.”
Erica glared…but when she saw Barrington’s men arriving with chains and paperwork, her bravado wilted just a little. “May your wedding cake choke you,” she hissed.
Leticia didn’t even blink. “Blessings upon your next scheme,” she said calmly, and turned her back.
Tresham was dragged from the cell, ranting about legacy and symbols. Erica followed two paces behind, surrounded by guards. When they were gone from sight, only the sound of their footsteps retreating along the corridor remained.
Gabriel’s gaze lingered on the empty corridor. “He was the one who helped us decode Alastair’s journal,” he said quietly. “We trusted his insight. His discretion.”
Barrington’s mouth flattened. “He was brilliant,” he allowed. “That’s what made him so dangerous.”
Silence settled in the wake of it.
Leticia’s voice came, steady and clear. “He did not rebuild the Order for jewels.”
Gabriel turned to her.
“He rebuilt it for access,” she continued. “Position. A way into rooms that would never question him.”
Barrington gave a single nod. “Influence,” he said.
“And power that would not be seen until it was too late.”
Gabriel studied her, something deeper than relief in his expression now. “You saw that.”
Leticia held his gaze. “I understood enough.”
“Enough to walk into it,” he said.
She did not soften. “Not alone.”
The words settled between them.
Gabriel’s hand closed around hers, firm, certain. “No,” he said. “Not alone.”
Barrington removed his gloves and turned to Leticia. In his palm lay the brooch, gleaming in muted gold and sapphire, the sixth piece.
“It’s yours by right,” he said. “And I believe you’ve earned it back.”
Leticia took it carefully. “Thank you.”
“Keep it close.” His smile was faint but real. “History has a habit of trying again.”
Gabriel offered his arm. She laid her hand upon it with quiet pride. Together, they walked up the long stone staircase and stepped out into the castle ward. Ahead lay winter sunlight, a paved path, the promise of peace beyond the castle walls.
Gabriel did not remove his arm from around Leticia’s waist until they’d crossed the drawbridge completely, as if he trusted her safety only when the portcullis had lowered behind them.
Beyond the walls lay Barrington’s residence, not far, but far enough that the sharpness in his jaw had time to ease. They took the gravel path slowly. His thumb drifted over the back of her gloved hand.
“You planned to throw yourself into the heart of it, even if I hadn’t found you,” he said at last.
“If it meant protecting people I love… yes.” Leticia’s chin lifted. “I am not ashamed of that.”
He stopped walking.
When she turned, he was watching her in a way he hadn’t since the night before the world changed. He wasn’t evaluating risks, nor planning angles, but simply seeing her.
“I was terrified,” he said plainly. The honesty of it tore through the distance between them. “More than in battle. More than when any blade has come for me. Because I…” he drew a sharp breath. “…I was afraid I wouldn’t reach you in time. And that…I could not have borne.”
Leticia blinked. The brooch in her palm caught the sunlight, warm again at last. She slid it carefully into her reticule and stepped closer, settling her hands at the breast of his coat.
“I chose you,” she whispered. “Not because you are safe. Because I would not choose a life without you.”
His breath left him in a rush. “Letty.”
She half-smiled. “I am not so easily broken, Gabriel.”
He lowered his forehead to hers. “No. But I am breakable without you.”
Her fingers curled behind his neck, soft, deep when he groaned against her mouth and gathered her closer as if only blood and bone could keep her there.
When they broke apart, both of them were breathing hard. She kept her hands fisted lightly in his lapels and did not let him move away.
“So,” she said, breathless but steady. “It’s been two weeks. Do you intend to marry me?”
He brushed his thumb across her jaw, reverently. “I intend to marry you before the week is out, if Barrington will lend me a priest.”
A throat cleared discreetly behind them.
They turned to find Kenworth, Barrington’s long-suffering valet, appearing much as though he had been waiting for the proper moment to intrude.
“My lord,” Kenworth said to Gabriel, “Lady Leticia… I hesitate to interrupt, but the cake has arrived. As have the first of the wedding guests. Lord Barrington begs to know if the ceremony is, in fact, to occur as scheduled next week.”
Leticia’s cheeks flushed pink. Gabriel did not release her hand.
“Tell him,” Leticia said, straightening her spine with the poise of a woman who had just defeated a secret society, “that it had better. I have no intention of stopping it this time.”
Kenworth beamed. “Very good, my lady.”
He departed with all the solemnity of a man delivering state secrets to a king.
Gabriel leaned close to Leticia’s ear, his voice a promise and a vow all at once. “Before winter,” he said, “you’ll be mine.”
She turned toward him, eyes bright, lip caught between her teeth in a smile she could no longer hide, and whispered, “Only if you are mine, too.”