The Spy Wore Silk

by Andrea Pickens

  Recovering his usual nonchalance in the next sentence, the Russian gave a gruff laugh. “For a man, honor is a bit like a maiden’s virginity. Once you yield it —whether for pay or passion—it is lost forever.”

  “Thank you for the lecture on morality,” said the earl. “And biology.”

  A shove hurried him down the last few steps. The flick ering light revealed a small chamber hewn out of ancient rock. The air was dank, and from a grating below his feet came the gurgle of water.

  “Let us see if your sarcasm is dampened by the prospect of an uninterrupted interlude of intimate conversation. I doubt we shall be bothered down here. Indeed, I am counting on it.”

  “Don’t let me keep you from a more interesting engagement. Like having sex with a sheep, perhaps? Or do you just like to watch?”

  “I would watch my tongue, if I were you.” Taking the candle from Kirtland’s bound hands, Orlov wedged it

  into a crack in the wall. Wax dripped, mimicking the faint splash of drops from sweating stone. “As you see, the duke’s ancestors must have had a touch of Mongol blood in their veins. Did you know that water torture is a favorite method of the Chinese for extracting information?”

  “I told you—you are wasting your time,” he replied. “I’ve none to give.”

  The Russian snapped a rusted manacle around one of Kirkland’s wrists before cutting the rope. “You may soon have a change of heart.”

  After snapping the second one shut, he stepped back and crossed his arms.

  Hanging spread-eagled against the rough stone, Kirtland was in no position to argue.

  Looking around, he could not escape the bleak truth. Like a damnable fool, he had blundered straight into a trap. He had never felt so helpless, so hopeless. He had failed in his promise. Siena was alone, left to face the danger by herself. That she expected no more cut even deeper to the quick.

  Should he throw himself on the Russian’s mercy? The man had all but admitted he had none. Emotion did not come into play. He must try to keep despair at bay by maneuvering as best he could for a bargaining position. “What is it you want to know?”

  “Everything about your network. Your contacts, your bolt-holes, your route of transporting the information.” The Russian leaned back against the wall. “I’ll make a deal with you. Tell me all the details and I’ll show some mercy, no matter that it compromises my orders.”

  “You will let me go?” The earl did not believe it for a moment, but wished to test just how forthright the Russian intended to be.

  “No. You will die. However, I’ll do my best to help the Black Dove escape Lord Lynsley’s wrath. You don’t really think he will go easy on a rogue agent, do you? No government can afford to allow such betrayal to go unpunished.”

  Lynsley. Like the damp chill, a visceral anger knifed through to his very marrow. By Osborne’s account, the marquess was an honorable man, doing the best he could to keep evil at bay. But at the moment, Kirtland hated him with a vengeance.

  “The cold-blooded bastard, sending a young woman to do his dirty work.”

  Orlov ran his thumb along the knife blade. “The same might be said of you, for seducing the young woman to certain doom in order to try to save your own traitorous neck.”

  “I never…” He swallowed hard, aware of an unpleasant taste in his mouth. There was a grain of truth in the accusation, for however unwitting his actions, he might have sealed Siena’s death warrant with his passionate lovemaking.

  “Never what?” Orlov arched a mocking brow. “Never thought about the penalties of disobeying an order? Yes, I have heard that about you. Unfortunately, the Black Dove does not have a lofty title and noble heritage to shield her from the consequences of conceit.”

  “Sod you.” Kirtland could muster little vehemence to the insult. What was left of his anger cut inward, a knifing pain that left him bereft of further speech. His muscles sagged, his head drooped, his lips formed a ragged whisper. “And damn me to eternal hellfire.” Everything blurred into the same unremitting shade of ember grey, save for the bleak realization that he had likely cost Siena her life.

  “No doubt we both have a date with the devil.” Strangely, Orlov’s echo had lost a touch of its sarcasm.

  “If you have a shred of honor left, give me some tangible reason to save the Black Dove. A bargaining chip, for in this dirty game we play, nothing is given for free.”

  “I would gladly hand over the information, if it were in my possession,” he said wearily. “All I can offer is the truth.” Eyes narrowing, he tried to make out the wildly flickering cast of Orlov’s features. Light and shadows.

  Hide-and-seek. He was not thinking clearly, else he would have realized before now that he had missed seeing a key clue. “But first I have a question of my own. Why do you need to know the French network, when it is yours to begin with?”

  “You think me an agent of Napoleon?” He seemed genuinely surprised.

  “Why else would you be seeking the document?”

  The Russian closed the gap between them. Standing toe-to-toe, his gaze slitted to a razored edge, like the blade that pressed once again to his throat. Both probing for a weakness. “Enough of spinning in circles,” he demanded. “Of games within games. As it happens, I’m being paid to keep the document from falling into French hands. By whom is no business of yours. What should concern you is the fact that I will do whatever I have to, whether it means slicing your throat. And that of the lovely lady, much as I would hate to do it.”

  “Then you ought not be wasting your time down here, carving me into trout bait. You ought to be helping her trap the true culprit.” Kirtland decided to take a calculated gamble. He had nothing to lose. “She is no traitor. And neither am I. We have narrowed the suspects down to a pair.”

  Orlov’s gaze betrayed a flicker of indecision. “Who?”

  “Leveritt or Jadwin. Even as we speak, she is looking for the proof.”

  “If what you say is true …”

  “You need not take my word for it. Why not go see for yourself?” Sensing a weakening of the other man’s assumptions, the earl mustered some force to his words.

  “Now, damn it. What are you waiting for? I’m not going anywhere. If I’m lying, you can return and cut out my liver at your leisure.”

  The sharpened steel scraped against his skin, then pulled back a fraction. “Very well. And if you are telling the truth, I’ll see to it that you are released.” Metal jangled against metal as Orlov dangled the key from his knifepoint. “I shall leave this here. Call it a gesture of goodwill.” He hung it on one of the spikes sticking out from the wall.

  “God, how odious to think I must hope that the enemy does not put a bullet or blade through your brain.”

  “Or my heart.” Orlov patted his breast as he turned away. “Oh yes, I do have one, and as you see, it’s quite a sensitive organ.”

  The slap stung her cheek. “Wake up.”

  Siena let out a whimper.

  “Hit her again.” Leveritt seemed to take pleasure in giving the order.

  She opened her eyes and for an instant saw only hazy slabs of mossy stone.

  The pistol jabbed into her ribs. “Climb up the steps.” Jadwin forced her back against the parapet.

  “Unless the Black Dove can, by some miracle, spread wings and fly, I advise you to say a last prayer,” sneered Leveritt. Holding the document in gloating triumph, he waved it under her nose. “You should have been content with spreading your legs, you hen-witted little harlot, rather than trying to soar above your station in life. As you see now, a bit of feathered fluff is no match for a pair of eagles.”

  Siena swayed slightly, all the while gauging distances and trajectory. From her previous trip to the Tower, she knew there was a narrow ledge, perhaps fifteen feet below, where the stones of the crowning battlements jutted out to join the wider base walls of the castle.

  A leap of faith, for in truth, she had never attempted anything half so dangerous.

&nb
sp; “Jump,” ordered Jadwin with a menacing wave of his weapon. “Else we will give you a helping hand.”

  May Merlin guide her flight.

  As she dropped to a deep crouch, Siena snatched the document from Leveritt, then launched herself into a high back somersault. The instant her head cleared the top railing, she tightened her arc to bring her legs in line for a landing. Everything was spinning, a vortex of slivered stone and the jagged shadows of the ground below.

  No time for thought, for logic. She must trust in her intuition. Her toes caught the lip of the ledge. Barely. She teetered for a moment, caught her

  balance and kicked out again, dropping down a few more feet in order to grab a handhold. From there, she could shimmy around the corner and swing into the shelter of the sentry niche carved into the center of the wall.

  But the granite, weakened by age and the elements, crumbled beneath her grasp. Siena hit heavily against the mortised facing and began to slide down the rough stone.

  Somehow, her flailing hands snagged a crack, stopping her fall with a shuddering jolt. Hanging by her fingertips, she barely dared to breathe.

  Jadwin fired. The bullet hit scant inches from her head, sending up an explosion of shards.

  She heard Leveritt shout, “Don’t be a fool. She’s done for in any case. We must cut our losses and make a run for it.”

  Glancing down, Siena saw he was not far wrong. Her fingers were slowly slipping, and the drop was a straight plunge, with no other ledge or cornice stone to break her fall.

  “Hold on!” cried a familiar voice.

  No, it was the wind playing tricks against the stone. Her grip slipped another fraction.

  Or wishful thinking.

  “Another moment, and I’ll have a rope to you.”

  Shannon?

  Siena hiked her chin up a notch, hardly believing her ears.

  Sure enough, a knotted line slithered down the wall. She managed to grab hold and wrap it around her wrist.

  Setting her feet to the stone, she inched her way to the window opening.

  “How the devil—” she began.

  “You know the old saying. Birds of a feather flock together.” Shannon took hold of her arm and pulled her into the shelter of the alcove. “You’re hurt,” added her friend, wasting no more time in preliminaries.

  Siena brushed her off. “Never mind about that.” Ignoring the blood on her face, she looked to the archway. “The traitors—they must not get away. But …”

  Where was Kirtland? Torn between duty and a desperate fear that the earl was in trouble, she let her voice trail off.

  Shannon’s face tightened to a mask of misgiving. “But what?” She leaned in close, so close that her bared knife blade touched Siena’s breast. “Why do you hesitate? You haven’t been seduced by the enemy, have you?”

  “By all that is holy, no!” Her voice, she knew, was brittle, but it did not come close to cracking. “How could you ever think such a thing?”

  “I didn’t. But Lynsley fears the worst. He received word that you were in bed with the enemy.”

  Siena was glad that the darkness hid her telltale flush. “It was not what it appeared. The earl—the suspect—has turned out to be a trusted ally, a true friend.” She drew in a ragged breath, straining to hear any sound of footsteps over the thudding of her heart. “The shot should have brought him running. I’m worried that something has happened to him.”

  She felt her friend stiffen. “Is he tall, dark, handsome as sin?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, her own muscles going taut.

  “Damn.” Shannon added another oath. “I think I saw him … being forced at knifepoint into the cellars by a blond Adonis-”

  “Where?” She tried to keep her fear in check.

  Shannon quickly described the exact location of the door. “If only I had known”

  Siena wasted no time in recriminations. She broke away. “To hell with the others. I must help Kirtland. I have Lynsley’s precious document. The culprits are no further danger to England. If he wants my head for letting them get away, he may have it on a platter.”

  “Leave them to me.” Her friend pulled the pistol from her belt. “You had better take this, in case you run into the sun-kissed Satan.”

  “You keep it. I’ll murder the devil with my bare hands if he’s harmed Julian.” She gave her fellow Merlin’s arm a hard squeeze. “You are a true friend, Nonnie. Be careful. These men won’t hesitate to use deadly force, and neither should you. I will explain everything later.” Hesitating, she added, “There is a small statue of Athena in the gallery you just described. I shall hide the dispatch under its base.” It was unnecessary to say any more.

  Their eyes met in silent salute. “Godspeed,” said Shannon. “And may Merlin’s wings carry you safely through the night.”

  After watching Siena disappear into the darkness, Shannon turned and hurried down the circular stairs of the stone turret. She dared not pause to consult her sketch of the castle layout, but she recalled enough of the details to decide her best chance of intercepting the enemy lay on the floor below.

  Easing the landing door open, she found herself in a long corridor. The flickering oil lamps, their flames turned down low for the night, cast barely enough light to make out the doorways lining both sides of the carpeted parquet. She paused to listen …

  It was the gleam of golden hair that gave him away.

  Shannon quickly slipped behind the suit of armor that stood guard in the Medieval Gallery, wondering how a man so tall and broad could move so noiselessly. His feet were like cat’s paws on the carpet. Silent, stalking steps. Her jaw hardened. The hunter was about to become the prey, she vowed, thinking of Siena’s stricken face.

  Another few strides, and the Russian would be forced to answer for his misdeeds. She would see how he liked the bite of steel against his neck.

  Tucking the pistol away, she drew her knife. He slowed, but only slightly, as he passed her. Perhaps it was the faint sound of stirring in the central Tower that spurred him on. A murderer would not wish to be caught red-handed…

  Her breathing stopped for an instant as she saw the streak of blood on his sleeve. And then her lungs began to move, as did her feet.

  With a vengeance.

  She feared the pounding of her pulse might give her away as she crept to within an arm’s length of him. Ahead, the double doors opened to yet another bewildering maze of corridors. He would have to halt and survey the surroundings before choosing his next move.

  He had scoffed at the notion of spirits and specters. Ha! Let him laugh now. He was about to discover that avenging angels did indeed tread the earth. She raised her knife, poised to strike.

  Another step …

  He whirled, quick as a wild dervish, and grabbed her wrist, giving it a wrenching turn that twisted sinew from bone.

  Her blade slipped into his grip.

  Biting back a scream of pain, Shannon spun out of his grasp and threw a hard punch at his kidney. It landed square on target.

  Only to bounce off with a sickening thud.

  “Well done,” he said, touching the tip of her own dagger to her breast. “A perfect move, a well-aimed blow. I would be at your feet now, writhing in agony, save for a bit of luck on my part.” It was only then that she saw the faint outline of a package beneath his coat. “That being said, I must ask you to step back and place your hands atop your head. Otherwise, I shall be forced to do something extremely ungentlemanly.”

  “Bloody bastard,” she said as the prick of steel pressed deeper against her flesh.

  Orlov gave an infuriating smile as he untied the coil of rope from her belt. “I’ve a thick skin, sweeting, so you may keep that sharp tongue of yours sheathed within those lovely lips.”

  “I’ll do as you demand,” she said through gritted teeth. “But only because Siena has sworn to kill you with her bare hands for murdering the earl. Hopefully, she’ll allow me to watch.”

  “I left Lord Kirtland
quite unharmed. Otherwise, I would be quaking in my boots.” He grinned. “On the other hand, the thought of close combat with your comrade-in-arms does provoke a number of intriguing possibilities. I might just take my chances.”

  “Mortal combat,” corrected Shannon. “You would not be intrigued. You would be dead.”

  He laughed, lightly and without malice. “Perhaps,” he replied, raking her with a head-to-toe glance. “The rumors do not do you justice. Lord Lynsley’s flock of Merlins is magnificent.”

  “Who are you working for, that you know about … us?” she demanded.

  “Someone who has paid me to take him a bit of paper. Just not the one that everyone here thought. I take it your comrade recovered the document?”

  “Yes.” She took some small measure of satisfaction in telling him that.

  “Ah, well, if I have to concede defeat on that score, it couldn’t be to a lovelier opponent. Do give my apologies to Kirtland for any discomfort I have caused him.” He paused. “And accept my sincere regret for your injury. I trust your wrist is not too painful. Had I known it was a young lady who was creeping up on me, I would never have taken advantage of the mismatch.”

  She fixed him with an icy glare.

  Orlov shook out the rope and hammered the grappling hook into a lacquered Chinoise cabinet.

  “I hope that isn’t a priceless piece of Ming Dynasty art,” she muttered, watching splinters fall to the floor. “I’m in enough trouble as it is.”

  “A later copy, not nearly as valuable.” He shifted the knife to his other hand. “Tell your comrade not to be too angry with me. Indeed, I have done her a great service, which she shall soon discover.”

  With that cryptic statement, he leapt lightly to the windowsill, performed a jaunty bow, and disappeared into the night.

  “Damn you to hell.” Shannon rushed to ledge, hoping to rip the iron claws loose and send him plummeting to the ground. With any luck, he would break every damn bone in his arrogant body.‘

  Fortune, however, was not on her side. Her hands hit the casement in frustration as she watched him lope away into the woods. A wolf, right down to the grinning gold earring she had spotted amid the tangle of fair hair. And to add insult to injury, the rogue had not only used her own rope to escape, but he had also taken her favorite knife—a silver-handled Andalusian beauty—as a parting memento of his triumph.