by Gaelen Foley
Drake returned it. “Give us a few minutes, would you?”
His colleague nodded warily, glancing toward the shade. “I’ll be just over there. You know the rules, Capitano. Don’t lose track of the time.”
He gritted his teeth slightly at the reminder, did not reply. Instead, he turned and followed Emily, who had strolled on across the meadow. A few feet ahead, she bent gracefully, picking another colorful bloom and adding it to the bunch.
“How are you?” he murmured urgently to her once they were out of earshot of the guards.
“Very glad to be free of my chamber at last, I can tell you. Whatever you said to make them let me out, I cannot thank you enough. You’ve saved my sanity. How are you?” she countered. “You look terrible. Aren’t you sleeping?”
He shrugged; lack of sleep was the least of his worries. “More of the Prometheans have been arriving. James is keeping me hopping to make sure everything runs smoothly. What about you? I see you’ve been making good progress on what we discussed.”
“More than you know.”
“What do you mean?”
She gave him a mysterious sideways smile. “Never you mind, love. Just help me pick some flowers.”
He eyed her warily, noting the canny tone beneath her idle words. “You’re up to something.”
“Who, me?” She picked another blossom, inhaled its scent, then held it up to inspect its delicate structure. “Beautiful, aren’t they? Some of these mountain flowers are quite new to me, but many of them are familiar to English meadows. It’s like seeing my old friends. . . . Mountain laurel. This tall, handsome one is the Blue Thistle. This little white one, the Silverstar—the locals call it edelweiss. Isn’t it charming? This yellow one is the Alpine auricula. We’ve got their cousins back in England. So, how many Prometheans would you say will be here at the castle once their number is complete?” she murmured in an idle tone.
He shrugged. Of course he’d seen the list. “About two hundred, including their bodyguards and entourage. “Why do you ask?”
“Hmm.” She ignored the question, continuing her commentary on the flowers as she plucked another bloom. “This bold orange one is the Arnica montana. Makes a good poultice for cuts and bruises. Maybe I should gather extra,” she added, shooting him a wry look askance.
He smiled at her, but now she had his full attention. She was definitely up to something . . .
“We’ve got a variety of marguerites. Here’s Meadowrue.” She gathered an airy mauve flower with a cloudlike plume. “And do you know what this stately, bluish purple spike is called?”
“No idea,” he said, amused, as she picked it and added it to the bunch. “But it is the same color as your eyes.”
“Is it?” She turned to him with a faint, mysterious smile, pausing. “It’s known as monkshood. Aconitum napellus. The wicked cousin of the lowly buttercup.” She turned away and walked on.
“Wicked?” Drake followed, furrowing his brow. “What do you mean?”
She glanced back to make sure her guards kept their distance. “If ingested, the poison of the monkshood is strong enough to stop a man’s heart within minutes. Fifty stalks like this should easily be enough to kill two hundred men.”
Drake’s stare homed in on her in astonishment. “Should you be touching that?” he blurted out automatically.
“It’s all right. It has to be taken internally. I don’t want to collect too much of it at one time, though, in case they notice.”
He somehow found his voice again as he followed her. “Are you sure about this?”
“Fairly. This species looks a little different than the one we have in England, but of the dozen or so subspecies known, all are highly toxic. All we have to do is figure out a way to put it into something they’ll either eat or drink . . .”
Drake could not believe he was standing there with his innocent little Emily discussing mass murder.
And here he’d thought he was the dangerous one.
“If we run out, I’ve also seen some yellow wolf’s bane growing around here. It’s a cousin to the monkshood, just as deadly. I took a few stalks for added measure.”
“And they’re mixed in your bouquet?”
She nodded almost demurely, turning away. “You always told me the best place to hide something is in plain sight.”
Drake’s heart pounded as he followed her, quickly picking a daisy to busy his hands. “So, what exactly do you propose? What’s involved?”
“I must first reduce the plants to powder. That will make it easier to slip it into the food. By day, I’ll dry the stalks out under my bed where they won’t be noticed. By night, I’ll hang them by the hearth fire to speed the drying process. Once they’re dried, I’ll crumble them into flakes and we’ll find a way to slip it into something the Prometheans will consume. Either food or drink will do. It can even be cooked without diminishing the poison. That’s why I wanted to know how many men you expect. I have to make sure I’ve got a sufficient dosage for them all.”
“Does it have a taste?”
“No one’s ever lived to say so. There is no antidote. There’ll be no turning back.”
“God, Emily. Are you sure about this?”
“I told you I could help.”
“Promise me you’ll be careful handling that stuff,” he ordered.
“Don’t worry, I’ll wear gloves.” She glanced down to show him she was wearing white gloves now like a dainty little lady—plotting mass death. “You look shocked.”
“Because I am.”
“Do you like my plan?”
“It’s brilliant,” he admitted. Indeed, he thought her plan was even better than his.
It had a much higher chance of success and would be easier to target. One thing was certain. The Prometheans would never see it coming, feeling themselves to be safe in the home of one of their most esteemed fellow conspirators. And yet they would be poisoned by the wildflowers growing all around them, concocted by the one person there whom they regarded as innocent and helpless.
Rather poetic justice, Drake mused.
“I hope you don’t think badly of me for this,” she said, her somber gaze full of adorable sincerity as she searched his eyes.
He gave her a tender half smile. “Of course I don’t. Just remind me never to cross you.”
She lowered her head. “I suppose it must sound rather diabolical.”
“As only a woman could dream up,” he agreed. “Emily.”
“Yes?”
“If I let you do this, you have to know you’ll never be the same. Killing one person can change a man who’s trained for it, let alone two hundred, and you are just a girl. I’m not sure you can live with this. I’m not sure I can let you.”
She considered his words, gazing off into the distance, then shook her head and glanced back at him with steel in her eyes. “All I care about is our future together beyond this place. I’d do anything for you, Drake, and these are the demons who hurt you so badly—I’m not even sure they deserve to be called people. Besides, it’s us or them. Look at what they want to do to me! Let us take the action we must now and worry about it later. Why do you look at me like that?”
He shook his head ruefully. “Because you sound like me.”
She gave him a wan smile. He saw the tension in her eyes.
“What do we do about Falkirk? Are you willing to let him die?”
Drake hesitated.
“I fear that sparing him would be too complicated,” she warned. “Separating him from the others, we’d risk alerting them that something isn’t right. We could try, if he means that much to you, but—”
“No. No, it’s all right.”
She studied him with a skeptical gaze.
Drake shook his head. “His willingness to hurt you destroyed whatever trust I might have had in him.”
Her stare softened with compassion. “I’m sorry. I know you went through a lot with him. But you know he’s not your friend. He got you out of the dungeon,
but where was the sacrifice in that? It cost him nothing. He did it for himself. He’s been using you all this time, as you well know.”
“Yes.” Staring at her, he knew that she was the only one here who really cared about him. Unlike James, she had risked everything to follow him there, a feat that had nearly cost her her life on more than one occasion.
As his gaze skimmed her gorgeous violet eyes and the rich temptation of her lips, he did not know how he held himself back from kissing her there and then.
But, of course, it was forbidden.
If he touched their so-called virgin sacrifice, they’d both pay for the sin with unspeakable torment.
He nodded slowly but could barely find his voice. “You’re right,” he managed at last. “James must die with the others. It is for the best.”
“Then I’ll keep gathering monkshood,” she murmured in agreement. “I’ll let you know the moment it’s ready.”
As they strolled on through the field, Drake picked another daisy and twined the stem around the one in his hand. Then he picked a third and added it, continuing with the fond thought of surprising her.
“How does the monkshood work?” he asked in a low tone. “Does it take long? Will they be able to fight?”
“No. That’s why it’s ideal. Their extremities will start to go numb several minutes after the poison enters the body. Some will die slower than others—depends on their size. If you leave my bow where I can quickly retrieve it, I can help you to finish off anyone who might linger long enough to cause us problems.”
“How did you know about this?” he whispered as he added a fourth flower to the daisy chain he was making for her. She had not yet noticed.
“Monkshood? Oh, it’s been known for ages. It’s in my old apothecary books,” she said casually, waving a honeybee away from her bouquet. “According to legend, the Druid shamans were the first to discover it. When their tribes went to war, they’d tip their arrows with it. Then the Romans used it for the same purpose—also, to execute criminals. Which is what we’re doing here, isn’t it?”
He nodded, more fascinated by her than ever.
But their time together was up.
“Capitan!”
He glanced back. The Italian guard held up his fob watch and pointed at it. Drake waved to acknowledge the summons, then he turned back to Emily. “It seems that I must leave you once again,” he said with a weary sigh. “But first, take off your hat.”
“Why?” she asked curiously, though she complied with his request. When she swept the wide-brimmed chip hat off, her long, light brown hair blew in the breeze.
“Because,” he said with a foolish doting smile, “I made this for you.” He tied off the final stem in the daisy chain and gently set it on her head, a crown. “Beautiful.”
She beamed in delight, the white-and-yellow daisies starring her tresses, and it took all the discipline in Drake’s warrior nature not to lean down and capture the smile on her lips with his kiss.
She was blushing, but he quite believed that the joy sparkling in her eyes was lovely enough to last him the rest of the mission.
“And with that,” he said, “I bid you a fond farewell until our next tête-à-tête.” He sketched a bow and turned to go, but then he felt her hand grasp his elbow.
“Wait.”
He turned back to her with a questioning smile.
She searched his eyes heatedly. “I found a way out of the castle,” she murmured. “Through the dungeon. There’s a broken place in the wall just wide enough for someone to slip out.”
He went motionless. “You’re jesting.”
“No. I found it the second day I was here. I’m not proposing that we escape by it,” she added hastily. “We have our reasons for remaining. What I am trying to say is that—” She faltered, her blush deepening. “I can get out anytime to be with you.”
He was not easy to shock. But his eyes widened slightly as her reckless words forged on.
“We both know we may never get out of here alive.”
“Of course we will,” he forced out.
She shook her head impatiently. “There’s no need for pretty stories, not with me. You know how I feel, how I’ve always felt about you. What you’re doing here is so valiant, so brave, it makes me love you all the more. The fact is we may never get the chance to be together in the future, and that means all we’ve really got is now.” She swallowed hard. “I just have to slip past my guards. The watch changes at eleven.”
“That’s when I get off duty,” he uttered, holding his breath as he stared at her in amazement. Is she propositioning me?
“It shouldn’t be too difficult for me to slip out. Then I could come to you.”
“My room’s the first place they’d look if they noticed that you were missing.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to meet anywhere in the castle. This place is evil, and full of evil men.”
“Where?” he whispered.
She glanced across the meadow, toward the trees, then she looked at him, squinting slightly in the sun. “In the forest. It suits us, doesn’t it?”
He could barely speak. “Tonight?”
She nodded. “We’ve waited long enough . . . wasted too much time.”
“You know it’s dangerous.”
“I realize that. But it’s worth it, at least to me. One chance. One night with you.”
Drake could hardly bear to look at her, the fierce passion warring with shy, trusting innocence in her eyes.
His heart was pounding; his whole being throbbed with the shock of her desire for him, the heady thrill of anticipation. He had wanted her for longer than he had allowed himself to acknowledge, and there she was offering herself to him, this very night?
How would he ever endure the night’s watch ahead, knowing the prize that awaited him afterward?
He was already aroused, a fact that would soon be visible to her guards as well if he did not get ahold of himself. He tore his stare away from her, lowered his head, and though he was fairly panting, managed to bring his lustful response to the virginal Emily under control.
“Tonight, then,” he forced out. “As soon after eleven as we can both manage. Be careful,” he added in warning, glancing at her again.
“Don’t worry.” She smiled serenely at him, with daisies in her hair. “I’ll see you then.” As she bit her lip on a shy smile, Drake nearly moaned.
He stared at her sweet mouth, already craving another taste of her. Lord, it is going to be a long day.
Somehow pulling himself together, he gave her a heated smile, nodded in farewell, then took leave of her. But he could feel her feminine gaze inspecting his body appreciatively as he walked away. His pulse continued pounding as he headed back to the castle, barely able to think. What man could, knowing tonight he would make love for the first time to the only woman who had ever held his heart? And it had all been her idea . . .
The rest of the day would be an agony, every dragging hour; the sun inched much too slowly toward the west. Moonrise was nothing but a dream. How he would manage to concentrate on his duties until then was beyond him. He’d waited all his life for this, and, at last, the time to claim her as his own was almost at hand. What if she changed her mind at the last moment?
But he knew she would not.
They were meant to be together, as she had always known though he had resisted. No matter. He was done fighting the truth.
Night could not come fast enough for him.
Scotland
A majestic sweep of sea and sky surrounded the hilltop cemetery where the Order’s fallen warriors slumbered. Mossy stone angels and Celtic crosses battered by wind and weather marked the graves of the honored dead. They who had known only battle in life had finally found peace, and Virgil was joining them.
Standing beside the freshly dug grave, Beau couldn’t help wondering how long it might be before he, too, found himself in a similar bed.
True to his word, he had escorted their b
eloved Highlander’s body to the Order’s headquarters in the wilds of Scotland. Virgil had known so many of his happiest years at the school training his boys it was no surprise that this was where he had wanted to be laid to rest.
Glancing over his shoulder, Beau had a fine view of the college compound: the central square clustered round with various buildings, a ring of green fields surrounding them, the lot enclosed by woods.
He could just hear the crack of gunfire from the shooting ranges where the lads were at target practice, and the military chants of those running drills on the training fields and scaffolding towers, being molded into the next generation of warriors. In the distance, the Abbey, with its crowning statue of St. Michael the Archangel, stood braced against the hill, like a bulwark against the evil ever churning in the world.
Three stately buildings flanked the square in front of it. Beau could have walked their corridors blindfolded, so well did he recall his own years in this place. Directly across from the Abbey was Salem Hall, the main school building, where classes were in session even now.
Beyond classical studies, languages, the sciences, and mathematics were courses ranging from navigation to battlefield medicine and the chemistry of explosives.
The other two buildings on the square were dormitories. Past these lay a scattering of smaller buildings: the teachers’ residential halls, stables and storehouses, the old armory for indoor fencing practice, the guesthouse for visiting parents, the library, and, of course, the infirmary, where every boy ended up sooner or later. Nobody got through his entire education there without at least one broken bone. But one of the main lessons drilled into a lad in this place was that pain was insignificant.
In the surrounding athletic fields, many of them were working on that lesson now, battering each other at football and rugby, pugilism or other classical sports to hone skills they’d need later—footraces and sprints of various distances, wrestling, javelin throwing—all carried out under the watchful eyes of their trainers. The day was fine, but these ordeals were held in all kinds of weather.
Farther off, in the equestrian fields, the horse master had his young riders racing around jumps and assorted obstacles in agility drills.