Chapter 13
Elf turned on him. “You fool!”
By then, Cyn’s blade already pricked Fort’s throat and Rothgar was firmly pushing it aside by the hilt. “He’s bound, Cyn. Later, perhaps.”
Chastity hurried over to Elf. “Is it true?”
Elf grimaced at her sister-in-law. “Unlike in your case, yes. Any suggestions?”
“Lud, no. I was a lamentable failure at handling scandal. I won’t let them beat you, though. I promise.”
Elf saw in Chastity’s eyes that even months of freedom and marriage to Cyn hadn’t wiped away all the fear.
“They wouldn’t,” she assured her gently. “They’ll want to kill him, though.”
Chastity went white, and Elf remembered that Fort was her brother. “I won’t let them,” she promised, taking Chastity’s hands. She meant it, too, though she didn’t underestimate the difficulties. She remembered the Scottsdale affair only too well.
“Nor will I,” said Chastity, and went to stand behind her brother, facing her husband and Rothgar.
Elf thought of joining Chastity, but it would serve no purpose, and she wasn’t sure where her ultimate allegiance lay. She remembered telling Sappho that in the end she would care for her brothers more than for Fort. Now she could only hope it wasn’t put to the test.
“Bey,” she said to Rothgar, “there are serious matters involved here.”
He turned to her. “So I gather when corpses line the path.” He was not noticeably in a rage, but she knew him able to conceal the strongest emotions.
“It’s a Jacobite plot to kill the king.”
“In Walgrave’s bed?” So, he was in more of a rage than he showed.
“No,” she said crisply. “That is an incidental we can deal with later.”
“An incidental,” said Fort plaintively. “I’m sure you didn’t think so when you howled for me.”
Cyn stepped forward. Chastity grabbed his sleeve, but it was Rothgar’s raised hand that stopped him. “Later,” he said again.
Elf noted that this time he left off the “perhaps.” She wished she’d had Fort gagged as well as bound.
Rothgar addressed Fort. “Since we apparently have matters of moment to talk about, Walgrave, please postpone your attempts at suicide. What of this plot?”
“Untie me.”
“I think not. It is preserving your life. Tell me about this plot.”
Fort’s lips tightened, but then he said, “A man named Murray has an insane plan to kill the king and restore the Stuarts. He plans to stuff a gift with gunpowder and have it blow up in the king’s presence. There’s no real danger. Grenville knows of it, and the king’s household has been warned.”
“But the malefactors have been left at large?”
“Grenville wanted to catch them red-handed.”
“Why?”
Fort resisted for a moment, then said, “Because Murray is a distant connection of Bute’s, and presently living in his house.”
“Ah. And a red-handed Murray would bring down Bute, leaving the way open for Grenville to become Prime Minister.” He contemplated Fort. “I wasn’t aware that you were of Grenville’s party. How did you become involved?”
“That’s none of your damned business.”
“Your father’s connections, no doubt. Are you aware that murder was committed at your house last night?”
“I understand that to be the case.” Despite being bound and disheveled, Fort had relaxed into an excellent representation of a belted earl in boring company.
“One of the victims was a servant of mine.”
“Doing a little pilfering?” Fort raised a brow. “On your behalf?”
“What could you have that I would want?” Rothgar queried, equally coolly. “Unless, of course, we are talking of a mechanical toy.”
Toy? It sounded absurd to Elf, but a sudden tension showed otherwise.
Color touched Fort’s cheeks, and he raised his chin. “Yes, I had it stolen from Rothgar Abbey for Murray to use in his plot. And yes, I hoped to cast some shadow over you.”
“And the device does not concern you now?”
“Why the devil should it?”
“Because it disappeared last night.”
Fort suddenly went pale. “God, I forgot . . . !” For a moment he looked at Elf, but flinched away as if he couldn’t stand the sight. “But it still can’t be the time. They had to get hold of some mystical stone.”
“The Stone of Scone,” said Rothgar, all illusion of laziness gone. “What, precisely, have the king’s household been told?”
“The Stone of . . . The Coronation stone? It’s gone?”
“What have the king’s household been told?”
Flinching under that tone, Fort matched Rothgar’s alertness. “To be careful of unexpected gifts.” After a moment, perhaps in response to Rothgar’s expression, he added, “Grenville didn’t want to be specific, fearing the king would tell Bute, and Bute would chatter of it.”
“And in your case hoping that some blame would attach to me. Which means, I suppose, that the toy will be sent from me and thus not be entirely unexpected.” He turned to Cyn.
“To Malloren House for our fastest horse, then all speed to Windsor to warn the king. Chastity, go with him and set Grainger to readying people to react on the instant. Send a message as well to Grenville.”
As the couple ran out, Rothgar turned back to Fort, who was fighting his bonds.
“The king, as you well know, was much taken with that toy. I had planned to give it to him on the birth of his child, and he knew it. Do you seriously think he will let his gentlemen prevent him from winding it up and seeing it work?”
“They have been warned. Damn it. Untie me!”
“There is nothing you can do that others cannot.”
Elf interrupted the argument. “There was a large rock in the cellar where we were imprisoned.”
Fort stared at her. “What? You never said anything.”
“It was hardly of use in breaking out. It was about the size of a pillow.” She turned to Rothgar. “The stone is that, isn’t it? Just a flat boulder.”
“Lightning blast you, let me free!”
Rothgar ignored him. “So, they stole the stone, then put Walgrave out of action. In this cellar, I assume? I wonder why they didn’t kill you both.”
“Because,” said Fort, “a dead earl causes more questions than a missing one.” He had ceased his struggles, and sagged wearily against the sofa back. “I’m sure they wanted as little mayhem as possible. The bloodshed is probably all your sister’s fault.”
“Really!” exclaimed Elf. “How can that possibly be?”
He turned to her. “Because in typical Malloren fashion, you meddled. Murray didn’t know what to make of you, and it heightened his nervousness to panic. In addition, you brought your own people into it, and that’s doubtless where the violence occurred.”
“There may be some truth in that,” said Rothgar calmly. “But since they half killed the guard you had set on the toy, you can’t lay all the blood at our door. Do you know how long it would take to make the toy lethal?”
“I am not precisely in their confidence,” Fort snapped. “They planned to pack the inner cavity with gunpowder and bits of metal so that when it was switched on, at a certain point it would explode, scattering shot all around.”
“The chances being that if no hit was fatal, infection might carry the victim off.”
Fort writhed once against his bonds, but then desisted, jaw tight. “I assume you intend to use this to destroy me.”
“I? I am a singularly undestructive person. However, I do wish to have some words with you. Elf, leave us.”
Elf looked between the two of them. “Not if you’re going to hurt him.”
Rothgar turned to her, brows raised. “He is bound. I wouldn’t dream of it. But I could bear to know your feelings toward him.”
She found it surprisingly difficult to give an honest response. “I . . . I do care for him. He didn’t force me or seduce me—”
“Lisette!” exclaimed Fort maliciously. “Are you forgetting when I took you prisoner and tied you to my bed?”
“Oh, be quiet! I remember perfectly well that you didn’t offend against me at all when you had me bound. And last night, I had the very deuce of a job to get you to agree to . . . to what we did.”
“Sex on the floor,” recalled Fort. “Sex in the bed. Sex on a coffin . . .”
Face flaming, Elf clenched her fists and let out a cry of pure exasperation.
“. . . sex, now I recall it, in the coffin.” He turned to her with a deceptively bland expression. “I’m quite surprised, actually, that you can walk.”
Elf turned away. “I think perhaps I hate him.”
“I think perhaps you don’t,” said Rothgar, gently touching her shoulder. “Unfortunately, I suspect he hates you or he would not try to shame you so.”
She turned into his arms, and he held her close, telling her without words that, as always, all his strength and all his love was hers. She could have wept for shame at what she’d done.
“I am surprised,” he said. “I would have thought you the last person in the world to inspire such bitterness.”
“He has reasons, Bey. Not good ones, but reasons.” She pulled out of her brother’s arms and turned to meet Fort’s cynical eyes.
“I was disguised, you see, so he didn’t know who I was.
And when he was vulnerable, I pushed for answers to painful questions.
I meant well, but he told me more than he’d ever want to tell a Malloren. I hope that one day he’ll forgive me.”
“My dear Elf,” said Fort, “I think the excitement has turned your brain. There will be no ‘one day.’ Cyn is going to kill me. I must admit that I had not counted on him being around. As you remember, I fenced with him once before and though I’ve been working at it, he is surely still my master.”
“None of my brothers will kill you unless I give them permission.” She turned to Rothgar. “Will they?”
After a moment he said, “Not for this offense.”
At that, Fort looked up at Rothgar. “I’m astonished at your inhuman calm. Can I at least look forward to the fact that you will beat her?”
“I doubt it. And you can take that in whatever way you want. Elf, go now.”
Elf saw just how tight a rein her brother had on himself. Despairing of any words to make things better, she left the room.
Sappho waited in the hall, a pile of men’s black clothing over her arm. “Is Walgrave likely to need these?” she asked. “I sent to his house for them, but a winding sheet might be more appropriate.”