Libby was propped up against the pillows reading. He thought her the most beautiful woman he had ever set eyes on with her sable hair and sapphire blue eyes.
The bruises on her face and the gash atop her head inflicted by Percy Davitt at Wychcombe House in London were healing and fading. Even the long, jagged scar where Davitt had laid her cheek open with a knife looked better, though it was still prominent.
Micah had never regretted ending Percy Davitt’s life after what the man did to Libby, Lachlan and Charlie. Lachlan was healing where he convalesced at his family’s home in London.
Libby was always in good spirits, always happy and always smiling, despite the large jagged scar upon her cheek, which she would always carry.
His dear friend Charlie was dead. Davitt had stabbed Charlie as he tried to stop Davitt’s assault on Lachlan. Charlie’s wound was mortal. He died surrounded by his fellows of the Avalon Society less than an hour after he received the wound.
“I couldn’t sleep.” Libby confessed as she closed her book, placed it on the nightstand and turned back with a bright smile for her husband. She watched him as he undressed.
Micah noted that her sapphire eyes darkened. Naked, Micah slid into the bed and gathered his wife close. He kissed her.
“Sweetheart, I may have to leave for two days to go with August Trevelyan to his home, Priory Place. There is an ancient chapel on his property that supposedly tells the story of Jesus coming to Cornwall. It’s carved into stone on a pre-Norman arch.”
Libby smiled, “It sounds fascinating. Perhaps I can join you?” she proposed.
Micah drew his head back so he could look at her. He carefully smoothed back a piece of her sable hair from her wounded cheek as he smiled at her. “I’m sorry, Libby. We aren’t certain what the Knights of the Brown Order will try next. You should stay here at Menadue where I know you are safe. I’m only going to make rubbings and drawings of the symbols, then bring them back here to Menadue so we can all work on deciphering them. We will be gone but two days.”
Libby frowned slightly. “Very well,” she sighed.
“I will miss you.”
“And I will miss you, Micah.”
“I’ll make it up to you, sweetheart,” he dipped his head, capturing her lips with his.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” Libby said breathlessly when the kiss ended. An amused smile played upon her lips.
Micah grinned at her. “I will try.” His large hands moved to her bottom. He pulled her against him. He began inching up her night rail and gently pulled it over her head. He flung it away and let it float to the floor. He slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her again while his hands roamed over the silken skin of her slender body, caressing and teasing as he explored. “Is this better?” he whispered in her ear.
“Hmm, perhaps a little better,” Libby grinned mischievously.
“I shall just. Have. To. Try. Harder,” Micah whispered as he rained kisses along the curve of her neck and moved lower. He stopped when he reached her breasts. He drew one pink bud into his mouth while his fingers moved between her legs where he set out to prove to her that he could make things much better. He was successful. After she recovered, he slid into her and proved it all over again.
“I told you not to contact me at my home,” the gentleman said sternly as he seated himself across the tavern table from Isaac Madingly.
Isaac simply said, “You’d rather I contacted you at your London office?” his tone was sarcastic.
“The usual manner of communication is preferred.”
Even dressed in a disguise of shabby and oversized clothing, with his hair powdered to appear gray, the gentleman could not disguise his haughty tone or his stately bearing. Every man in the tavern would recognize him as a gentleman.
“I did not have three days to wait. St. Erth recognized me. Why didn’t you tell me he was in Cornwall? I thought you kept up with his whereabouts?” Isaac ground out in irritation.
“There was not enough time to get word to you. He left London much sooner than I anticipated after his return from India. He generally stays in London for a week or more upon returning from a lengthy mission.”
“Menwennick followed me to London.”
“I heard he lost your trail.”
“For how long?” Isaac growled. He was annoyed and irritated with the man across the table from him.
The gentleman removed a sealed letter from his tattered greatcoat pocket. He set it on the table and pushed it toward Isaac with his long fingers. He spoke in a controlled, low tone so none of the other tavern patrons would hear him. “You’ll be safe at this address. Get some rest. Go there. Stay inside. Come up with a new disguise, and a good one. My instructions are in here.” The gentleman tapped the folded and sealed foolscap.
He continued, “The Butler will get anything you require, and has the funds you will need locked in the safe. You must change your appearance drastically. I’m sending you ten of my finest men. At the end of the week, you’ll leave for Cornwall. You’ll go to the second address in the letter with your men. You’ll sit tight and wait for my instructions. I only wish your face wasn’t cut. What the devil happened?”
“I had a problem with the Penrose chit. She clobbered me with a limb and ran a jagged stone down my face.”
The gentleman sighed in obvious irritation. “I told you not to touch her.”
“I wanted her. She’s got a body made for pleasure even if she’s an imbecile.”
“Did she get away?”
Isaac sniffed. He glowered at the gentleman.
Amused, the man chuckled. “Hardly an imbecile if she eluded you. Your downfall has always been the fairer sex.” His face grew serious and he gave Isaac an ominous look. “What did she hear? What can she know?”
“Nothing,” Isaac said defensively. “I spoke of nothing. I had two slow-witted brutes and a girl whom the townsfolk in St. Mabyn say is away with the fairies in my company. I didn’t speak to any of them except to give directions. The brutes will talk to no one ever again. I shot the girl. With any luck, she will die, if she’s not dead on the moor somewhere already.”
“For your sake, if she lives, I hope she did not hear anything of import and that she does not talk. The Avalon Society members are gathered at Menadue, which means the scrolls are with them. They will be translating them. We have to get the scrolls and find the relic before they realize what we are truly looking for. We must do this before the scrolls are turned over to the Crown. Time is of the essence. We may have less than two weeks. I still want the sapphire and the cruets. However, the relic is the most important thing. There is a journal I want as well.”
“Why are you sending me back into Cornwall? I barely made it out. St. Erth was on my tail immediately,” Isaac asked in shocked disbelief. “He’s like a hound on the hunt,” he grumbled.
“Three reasons. You worked with St. Erth. You know how he thinks and you know how to anticipate his actions. The same goes for his men. The next reason, you’ve always eluded St. Erth. He hasn’t caught you yet. The last reason is simply that I can’t trust just anyone to do this. I know you can get in and more importantly get out with the scrolls. I know you are not ruffled by pressure and that you will do whatever is necessary to get the scrolls to me. You’ve never let me down on a mission, Isaac.”
The gentleman continued, “There have been too many failures. It’s why I brought you back from Italy. I wanted you in Cornwall, because the key is there, possibly the relic itself. I wanted you to watch the Chynoweths. It was fortunate for us St. Mabyn was looking for someone to fill the post of vicar at that time.”
The gentleman frowned and continued, “I knew it wouldn’t be long before the Avalon society became involved when I heard Glaston took over the Abbey property as his residence, what with the present Lady Glaston looking for her ancestor’s hidden letters. I made an error in thinking Crowhurst could handle something of this magnitude. He is dead, and so is his bastard, Mr. Crow, al
ong with Percy Davitt. I know you can do this because you’re like me. I taught you everything I know.”
Isaac gave the gentleman a sardonic smile. “You trust me?” He gave a low chuckle of disbelief.
“More than I could trust most men. Haven’t I always done right by you, Isaac? Haven’t I always made certain you have everything you need? You make a generous living. Your purse is always full. I protect you. You live like a gentleman, even though you are a bastard born of a whore.”
Isaac gritted his teeth. His mother hadn’t been a whore until she made the mistake of allowing a gentleman such as this man to seduce her. “Yes, you have been generous.” He swallowed his pride. He needed the money now, as well as the protection. St. Erth would not stop looking for him as long as he knew he was in England, this he could count on.
Isaac had to admit the gentleman had always been generous with him. That part was true. He had lived like a king in Italy after being forced to flee England by St. Erth. Italy was not England. He had been a foreigner there.
“When we have the scrolls and find the Holy relic we seek, I will send you to wherever you wish that is not in England. France? Spain? Even Ireland might do.”
“How about America? I can pass for a gentleman and live like one in the midst of society there.” It had always been Isaac’s dream to move as a gentleman in society, not on the fringes, lurking in the shadows as he had been doing for the whole of his life. Even though his purse was full and he dressed better than some gentleman did, he was not and would never be considered a member of society in England.
Something flashed in the gentleman’s eyes. Isaac wondered what the fleeting emotion might have been. He’d never know. The cool mask the man always wore fell once again into place. The Gentleman rarely showed any emotion toward him. The only people he showed emotion to were those in his own inner circle, his family and friends.
“I would not like to think of you being so far away, but if that is your wish, I will set you up in America. I will make certain you arrive as a gentleman. I will provide you a lineage to carry with you that no one can refute - after this mission is finished. You will be rewarded for your loyalty. I will set plans in motion for you to go to America. As soon as I have the relic in my hand, you will board a ship for New York. Be thinking about exactly where in America you wish to make your new home. I have connections, even across the ocean.”
Isaac actually smiled. He nodded. “New York. That’s exactly where I want to be.”
“Done, New York it is. We’ll change your name. Give you a noble ancestry. I’ll take care of the details. With any luck you can find yourself a wealthy heiress to marry.”
“I will await your instructions when I reach Cornwall, sir.” Isaac rose. He offered his hand. Oddly enough, the gentleman accepted it this time. He rarely did.
“Godspeed and stay safe, Isaac,” the gentleman placed his hand on Isaac’s shoulder before he turned to leave. “I have another pressing matter to tend to before the evening is done.”
Isaac tried to swallow the lump in his throat as he watched the gentleman walk away. It was the first time in his life the man had touched him and looked at him with what was it? Emotion? Gentleness? Kindness? He wasn’t certain what it was. He broke the blank seal and looked at the address written on the letter. A triumphant smile turned up the corners of his mouth. The house was in a relatively fashionable part of Town. He wouldn’t be staying in a hovel at any rate.
Feeling a little better than he had when he came in, Isaac left the tavern. He pulled the hood up to hide his scarred face. No doubt, he’d be scarred for life.
A wicked smile teased up the corners of his mouth as he realized that if Senny Penrose wasn’t dead, he would be in Cornwall soon and could see to it himself. He would make her pay for the way she scarred him. He would indeed. No half-witted imbecile would get the best of him. He also had a score to settle with St. Erth and the Duke of Penrose. He smiled and emitted a wicked chuckle. Things were working out quite well. He hailed a hackney.
Chapter Sixteen
After breakfast, the Avalon Society members gathered in the library once again.
Trevan addressed the gentlemen. “I received another letter from Deveril Pendarves in London this morning. Lord Buxton was supposedly killed in an impromptu hunting accident at a friend’s lodge in Somerset. He supposedly died from a wound to the left side of his chest on the day after Lyon, August and Marcus ran into the Knights of the Brown Order on their way from London to Templecombe. We believe Lord Buxton to be the Knight that Lyon shot and killed on the road to Templecombe that night.”
Trevan referred to the incident of three weeks before. It was the first time the Grand Knights of the Brown Order had shown themselves to any Avalon Society member. Although covered in robes that concealed their identities, they made themselves known to Lyon and the Trevelyans after killing three innocent people and blocking the road outside Templecombe with two carriages. They delivered a verbal threat to the women, children and families of the Avalon Society, and proved that they held little, three-year old Alice, the daughter of Owen and his new wife, Grace, as hostage. They wanted the cruets holding the blood and sweat of Jesus, the Glastonbury Sapphire and the scrolls the Avalon Society had found in Glastonbury in exchange for the life of little Alice.
Gabriel looked at his cousin in disbelief. “Roger Jennings, Lord Buxton, of Hammel Hall in Kent?”
“Yes, do you know him?”
“No. I know who he is, but I have never spoken to him. He was on John Madingly’s list of references. He’s one of the two men whom I received letters of recommendation from for Madingly. Lord Buxton said Madingly had earned the living at St. Anne’s church near Hammel Hall for four years.”
“Who is the other gentleman who responded to your inquiries?” Marrek asked. Anything about the former vicar of St. Mabyn interested him.
“Joshua Slade Currier, Lord Daventry, also of Kent replied. He said he knew John Madingly well and recommended him highly.”
“Who else was on that list of references?” Marrek queried.
Gabriel shook his head. “I don’t remember. But I have his references and those two letters in my study at Fairy Cross.”
Marrek rose from his chair. “Let’s you and I ride to St. Mabyn and get his references, shall we. My guess is they are all members of the Knights of the Brown Order. I now feel certain that Reverend John Madingly is involved with our brown-coated knights.”
Gabriel rose. “I agree.”
Trevan nodded. “When you get back, I’ll send a list of those names to Pendarves and Carlyon in London and have those gentlemen watched as well. Take ten men with you. We are not certain it is safe to move about in small groups at this time.”
Marrek motioned for Creed to join them.
After the three men left, Micah asked, “Can August and I ride to Priory Place and check the pictographs on the arch at St. Anthony’s chapel?”
“It does seem to be a necessary thing.” Trevan sighed heavily. He looked to Harry.
“It does. Select fifteen men, leave tomorrow morning, make your rubbings and drawings, stay the night at the Place and leave at dawn the next day to come back. We can’t leave ourselves for too long with any less than we have already,” Harry nodded his agreement.
Micah flashed a triumphant grin. “We will make haste.”
“Let us get back to the scrolls,” Harry said.
Ruan Menwinnick, the Earl of Ince, took the steps leading to the unmarked building that was known to only a few as The Department. To everyone else in the neighborhood, the building was known as a private, unnamed gentlemen’s club.
Once admitted, he crossed the foyer and ascended the ornately carved staircase up to the first floor, then took another flight to the second floor. He entered the head of the Department’s offices.
Lord Lyndhurst’s secretary, David Sheffield, looked up from his ledgers. “Ah, Lord Ince. Lord Lyndhurst is expecting you today. I am to show you right in, si
r.”
“Thank you, Mr. Sheffield.” Ruan nodded. He followed the short, thin, young man down a corridor. Sheffield knocked and announced, “Lord Ince, sir.”
“Send him in, Mr. Sheffield.” An all too familiar voice sounded from behind the door.
Lord Ince entered as the secretary opened the door. He smiled as he saw his friend and superior behind his desk.
Stephen Johnstone, Lord Lyndhurst, removed the wire-rimmed spectacles he used when reading the massive amounts of documents he received on a daily basis. Though he had grown daughters, Lyndhurst was trim and fit. All knew he had married and started a family quite young. Ruan knew his physical strength to be quite formidable. Lyndhurst grinned, showing a mouthful of white teeth. His dark eyes always sparkled. For a man holding such a stressful position, he was always in a fine humor.
“I apologize for being out when you stopped in yesterday. I had a pressing matter to tend to. So you’ve lost Isaac Slaughter’s trail?”
Ruan nodded. “I did. Once he reached London, he vanished.”
“I’ve put some men on it. They’ve turned up nothing thus far. Isaac Slaughter is good. In truth, he’s better than most. My guess is he’s left London. I would, were I him.” Lord Lyndhurst motioned for his friend to sit. He leaned back in his high backed, over-stuffed leather chair.
Ruan spoke, “Marrek doesn’t believe his real name to be Isaac Slaughter or John Madingly for that matter. Do you have any idea what his true name is, or know any other names he might use?”
Stephen Lyndhurst shook his head. “No. He used only the name Isaac Slaughter when he was with us. He had references when he came to the Department. One of his Highness’ second cousins recommended him to me. He had no family living that I know of. I checked out the second cousin of His Majesty quite thoroughly back then. It appears he owed a gentleman a favor and made a recommendation for Isaac at said gentleman’s request. The gentleman, who made the request of his majesty’s cousin, is no longer living. My man discovered that information this morning. He died several years ago of the natural causes associated with old age.”
Lords of Retribution (Lords of Avalon series) Page 32