She kicked the door.
A heavier blast of cold air tossed her backwards almost off her feet. She shivered. Her sheer robe did not provide any warmth.
“Go away or else!” the booming voice warned.
“Or else what?” Cecily muttered sarcastically. “You’ll blow me out into the hall?” She stalked forward again. “How about an alarm this time instead of wind?” She slapped the door with both hands and braced herself.
This time, Cecily heard a low whine followed by the sound of metal grating against stone. Glancing up, she saw seven or eight long metal bars dropping from the ceiling. She jumped back just in time. The bars struck the floor with a resounding crash. Had she been any slower, she would have been trapped within the newly created cell.
She removed one of her emerald slippers and flung it at the door.
A wailing siren erupted!
“Finally!”
She recovered her slipper and ran for the stairs, her long, blonde hair trailing behind her. After climbing the first two flights, she paused to catch her breath on the landing. Overhead she heard the thunderous response of the home guard racing toward the front stairs and down toward the vault. Silently, she congratulated herself for choosing the lesser-used back stairs.
“Princess Cecily!”
The deep voice startled her. She turned to find Denton bearing down on her from the direction of the armory. He was still shrugging into his thick armored shirt.
“You should go upstairs and let us men handle this!” he rumbled.
“You are absolutely right,” she said, ignoring the slight to her gender. “I’ll go back upstairs.”
Denton nodded grimly and charged past her, gripping the handle of a large axe tightly in his fist. She pitied the person who ever faced him in battle.
Turning back to the stairs, she climbed the last two flights and reached Ian’s study while the alarm still sounded. Ian was gone. In his haste, he had left the door unlocked. She slipped inside and locked the door behind her. A triumphant smile spread across her face. The first part of her hastily constructed plan had worked. Now, if she were caught snooping, she could claim she was hiding from the intruder.
She hurried over to Ian’s desk. The whore’s perfume still lingered in the air. Wrinkling her nose in distaste, her eyes drifted to the spot on the floor where she had last seen the note. It was gone, hidden in Ian’s desk no doubt. She tried each drawer. Only one was locked.
Cecily cast about searching for a knife or something she could use to pry the drawer open. Ian usually kept a dagger in the top drawer, but she couldn’t find it. Perhaps he was carrying it with him downstairs.
She glanced around the room. There had to be something she could use! Her eyes fell on the Scylthian sword and without a second thought she rushed over and pulled it off the wall. Gods, it was heavy! Holding it awkwardly and wondering how exactly someone could wield the weapon without taking off their own arm, she returned to the desk. She wedged one of the two blades into the small space between the desk and drawer and pushed.
The alarm quit wailing. She would have to hurry! She applied more pressure to the awkward weapon, and suddenly the lock broke. The blade not wedged inside the drawer shifted and Cecily nearly impaled herself. Her heart raced. “Don’t kill yourself . . .!” She replaced the sword on the wall. If Ian returned before she could escape, it would be easier to feign ignorance if she wasn’t caught holding it. She hurried back to his desk, opened the drawer and found a small wooden box and a letter lying on top.
Cecily reached for the letter, hesitated, her fingers freezing just above the paper. She chewed on her bottom lip. Gods damn it; there was no reason to do that now! She released her lip, snatched up the letter and read it. The combination of the whore’s perfume and the letter’s content sickened her. With her other hand, she flipped open the wooden box and stared.
A whore’s undergarment!
Her stomach churned. It was true, all true, and Ian had the audacity to keep . . . she stared at the undergarment . . . to keep this token of his infidelity, his lies, his deceit, and his lust within reach, here, in his private study! She tasted bile in the back of her throat.
Ian had been unfaithful and now she had the proof!
With trembling hands, she reached out and touched the sapphire-colored silk cloth. So, this was what he wanted. Her mouth tightened into a hard ‘O’. What other lies had he told her? The various charity work for the poor, the times he had come home late from the courthouse, the hours he had spent with his friends . . . had it all been lies? She slammed the box lid closed.
How could he embarrass her like this?
Beneath the box, she noticed a stack of letters peeking out. Everything she’d been told was true. She pushed the box aside. The letters were tied together with a piece of blue ribbon and all, she assumed, were addressed to Ian. Untying the knot, she pulled out the first letter and started reading.
She was gagging on the eighth or ninth letter when the doorknob rattled.
Ian!
She glanced down at his desk. Perhaps he wouldn’t notice the broken lock . . .?
Sweeping the letters into a pile, she searched the desk top for the stray piece of ribbon. Out in the hall, Ian fumbled with his key ring. She stuffed a couple of the incriminating love letters into her pocket and tied the rest together. A key scraped into the lock. Frantically, she tossed the tied bundle into the drawer and placed the wooden box on top. The most recent letter she draped over everything. The lock turned. She pushed the drawer closed and crouched behind the desk just as the door swung open.
Chapter 30
Ian stepped into his study and shut the door. In his haste to get to the vault, he had left the door open. He was certain of it.
“Ian?”
He jerked around. Cecily crawled out from behind his desk and gave him a look that caused the small hairs on his neck and arms to bristle.
“What were you doing back there?” he demanded.
She stiffened at his tone. “When the alarm sounded, I thought I would find you here, but you were already gone. I locked myself in . . . to be safe.”
“I see.” He glanced around the room. Nothing seemed out of place. “Denton said he saw you on the back stairs.”
Cecily’s mouth pinched tight and Ian braced himself for an angry retort. Instead, she simply shrugged. “Well, yes, I had gone downstairs to speak with Tyran’s tutor, but when the alarm sounded, I came straight back up.” She brushed past him and reached for the doorknob. “Do you know what set off the alarm?”
Ian stared at her back. Tension knotted her shoulders and neck. “No. A thief, perhaps . . .”
She whirled around, her green eyes wide with fright. “You mean someone might still be roaming around the manor? Could it be the Thief of Belyne?”
“Denton and the guards are performing a search as we speak.” Ian crossed to his chair and was about to sit when his gaze landed on the broken lock. His mind raced. Had the thief taken something from his desk? Or . . . he glanced up at Cecily. She was staring at him intently. Or had she? He forced a grim smile and pretended nothing was amiss. “But I doubt they’ll find anyone still lurking about. I suspect the thief is long gone, frightened away by the noise.”
“Yes. Perhaps.” Cecily clutched at the edges of her gown. “I am returning to my room now. I’ll make sure my door is securely locked from within.”
Ian nodded. Her door had been securely locked from within during most of their marriage. “I’ll have Denton station a guard outside.”
Irritation tromped across Cecily’s face and settled upon her furrowed brow, but she did not raise an objection. Instead, she wrenched the door open and stormed out of the room. The door slammed into one of the overstuffed bookshelves and a couple of books were knocked loose. The spine of one cracked went it hit the floor.
“Damn it!” Ian muttered under his breath. His gaze darted between the books and the broken lock unsure which to rectify first. Finally, since
the bottom drawer was closer, he opened it. The box and letters were just as he had left them. He peered closer. Weren’t they?
“Father?”
Ian straightened. Tyran was standing in the open doorway wiping sleep from his hazel-brown eyes. He was tall for twelve, gangly too, and every day, it seemed he grew another inch. His dark hair lay matted on one side and spiked wildly on the other. He yawned and shuffled into the room. “What were you two shouting about earlier?”
“I’m sorry about that.” Ian came out from behind his desk. “We didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I was almost back to sleep but then the alarm sounded.” He stifled a yawn. “Was it the Thief of Belyne? Did you catch him?”
“No. And I doubt it was him,” Ian said. “It’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“I’m not worried. I was just wondering.” Tyran chewed on his lower lip. “You weren’t yelling about me earlier, were you?”
“No, not at all.” Ian wanted to wrap his arms around Tyran and pull him close, but he didn’t. Tyran was starting to get to the age where he resisted hugs. “Why would you think that?”
Tyran shrugged. “Mother sent me to the tower earlier and you don’t like when she does that.”
“That’s true, but that wasn’t what we were arguing about.”
“Then what?”
“Sometimes we just have our disagreements.”
“You two disagree about a lot of things.”
“Do you often hear us?”
Tyran shrugged again. “Sometimes.”
“I’m sorry about that.” He couldn’t help it. He pulled Tyran into a one-armed hug.
Tyran leaned into his side and returned the hug. Ian sighed. This was why he endured Cecily and her moods. All too soon, Tyran pulled away. “You still need to read an adventure from Great-Grandpa Alan’s journal to me tonight.”
Ian grabbed the journal off one of the shelves and led Tyran back toward his bedroom. “I think you’re old enough to read the stories for yourself. Just be careful with the book.”
“I know I’m old enough to read on my own, it’s just . . . I still like listening to you read to me. We’re in the middle of the story about the Bells of Belyne, remember?”
“You have quite the memory.”
“That’s what my tutor, Miss Littleton says.”
“Well, she’s right, but unfortunately, I can’t read to you tonight. I still have some work to finish.”
“You’re not going to fight with mother any more, are you?”
Ian sighed. He did not want to lie to Tyran, but he truly doubted the Thief of Belyne had broken into the estate just to rummage through his desk. Cecily must have been snooping and had found the hidden love letter and now there would be no way of explaining the truth to her. Not in any way she’d believe.
“No,” he lied and immediately he felt guilty about it. “I don’t think we’re going to fight any more.”
“Good. Then I suppose I can wait until tomorrow for you to finish the story. I just want to know why Great-Grandpa cried when the bells rang. That doesn’t seem like something he’d do.”
“We’ll see what tomorrow brings.” They walked into his room. Shadows pooled in the corners. A single lamp glowed softly by his bed. Ian pulled the blankets back. “Jump in, and I’ll cover you up.”
“I’m not so little anymore,” Tyran grumbled.
“Humor me.”
Tyran dropped tiredly into bed and grabbed his rag soldier, the one remaining toy he’d kept from his younger days. Ian noticed a dark stain on the soldier’s painted face. “What’s that?” He pointed.
“I don’t know.” Tyran bit his lower lip again and shoved the soldier under his blanket. “It’s nothing.”
“No lies, young man, tell me the truth.”
Tyran was quiet for a long moment. Finally, with a sigh he said, “Sometimes when I hear you and mother fighting, it makes me sad and . . . I cry, and . . . I guess I got his face wet, but that was a couple of years ago . . . when I was still ten . . . I don’t cry now.”
Ian swallowed hard and struggled to speak, but words escaped him. Finally, collecting himself, Ian kissed Tyran firmly on the forehead. “Go to sleep,” he croaked. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night,” Tyran mumbled. He was already struggling to keep his eyes open.
Ian straightened and walked to the doorway. He stood there for a moment blinking rapidly and watched as his son’s breathing deepened. “I love you.”
Tyran rolled over and burrowed into his pillow. “I love you, too . . .”
Ian stepped out of the room and nearly collided with Wynston.
“M’lord, Lady Cecily has requested a carriage.”
Ian gestured for silence and returned to his study. Wynston followed on his heels. Once inside, Ian closed the door and picked up the fallen books. “Did she say where she was going?”
“She mentioned the castle.”
Ian placed the books and his grandfather’s journal back on the shelf. “Did she say why she was leaving?”
“No. Not to me.” He cleared his throat. “I could have the carriage followed. Discreetly, of course.”
Ian waved his hand in the air dismissing that idea. He already had a pretty good idea why she was going. “If she says she’s going to the castle, I have no doubt that is where she will go . . .”
Unless she’s going to Lord Orrington.
Wynston nodded, but Ian saw the flicker of doubt in the old man’s eyes. He was probably thinking the same thoughts. “Of course, M’lord.” Wynston bowed his head. “Denton and the guards have found no one within the house. They have expanded their search to include the grounds.”
“They won’t find anyone,” Ian said. He collapsed into his chair and rubbed his temple. “I believe Lady Cecily triggered the alarm.”
“Why M’lord?”
Ian looked down at the bottom desk drawer again. The wood around the lock was marred and scratched. His eyes raked the room and he spied the double-bladed Dulon hanging slightly askew. The pieces all began to fall into place . . . except . . . if Cecily HAD seen the letter and the contents of the box, why hadn’t she confronted him about it immediately? It wasn’t like her to refrain from a fight. Or was she going to the castle to tell her father? And her grandfather?
Wynston cleared his throat again. Ian looked up.
“I . . . I’m sure it was an accident,” Ian said offhandedly.
“She could have stayed put and saved the guards and me . . .” Wynston politely cut his own terse statement short. “Begging your pardon, M’lord.” He bowed stiffly. “I will inform the men they may stop searching-”
“No!” Ian looked up suddenly. “Let’s keep this between us. I’m sure she was embarrassed by the mistake, that’s all.”
“Yes, of course . . .” Wynston did not look convinced. “Is there anything else you require?”
Ian thought for a moment. “Yes. I need some answers. Fetch me a carriage as well. I’m going out.”
Chapter 31
From the shadows of the balcony, Gylfalen watched the refined manservant nod and leave the room. A moment later, Ian opened the bottom drawer and withdrew the blue undergarment from the box. He looked at it, shoved it into one of his pockets and left.
The hook was set, just as Lord Devin Ragget had requested.
Planting the additional bundle of letters was a nice touch, he thought, just in case Josephine had failed in her task. He had placed them within the locked drawer after the alarm had sounded and drew Ian away, but prior to Lady Cecily’s arrival. From his vantage point, he had not witnessed her facial expressions as she had read them, but her waspish body language spoke volumes. The seeds of jealousy and doubt were sown and growing like weeds in her mind. It was only a matter of time before they choked out all rational thought.
He turned away from the estate grinning maliciously. Another task successfully accomplished. He hopped lightly onto the balcony railing. Three storie
s below, the clatter of hooves echoed in the courtyard. He closed his eyes and stretched his arms out to either side. The currents of air drifted and swirled around him. In his mind’s eye, he saw them clearly, muted hues of blues, reds and purples, each representing a direction of the ever-shifting wind currents; blues lowering, reds rising and purples swirling in wild horizontal patterns. He concentrated on the colors.
Come to me, reds.
Then, without hesitation, he dove forward into the night sky.
The colorful wind whistled past him as he fell. In his mind’s eye he saw the grayness of the ground rushing toward him. At the last possible moment, a solid blanket of helpful reds coalesced beneath him. A grunt escaped his thin lips as the strong upward currents caught him in their grasp and held him aloft a few feet above the grass. He continued to exert his will over the red currents, allowing himself the luxury of their sleek caress, but he didn’t indulge in this behavior for long. Now was not the time for play. There was more work to do.
Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and released the magic. He dropped the last few feet as the red currents dissipated like crimson comets streaking across the night sky. He didn’t watch the show like a novice wind mage might though. Instead, he kept his head down and ran. He didn’t want to get caught by the mighty pillar of blue-tinted air seeking equilibrium for his used magic. When the gust struck, it flattened a ten-foot circle of grass behind him. A ripple of wind stirred his hair as he sprinted across the manicured lawn, easily dodging the searching patrols, and made his way toward the outer wall.
Come to me, reds.
As the wall drew near, he closed his eyes briefly. The red currents were gathering a little to his right. He veered, corrected his approach. Only a few steps more . . .
He opened his eyes, held the concentration, and leapt. The wind currents carried him up . . . ten, twelve, fifteen feet. He soared over the stone wall and then he was falling again.
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