"I said you shouldn't forbid her, Your Majesty. Moira grew quite independent in the United States."
"Ah, yes. I know all about that."
"I know you do. So you understand."
"I understand my wife ordered breakfast and is not here."
"Yes, well, the footman mentioned that. As much as it confuses me, it seems she went to meet Miss Marshall."
"Why did she not come here?"
"I don't know."
"Did she leave the castle?"
"I'll find out."
Something was not right. As much as it seemed to confuse Emma, it frightened William. Angered him. Was Miss Marshall, as Emma called her, behind the three attempts on his bride's life? Had she returned to do her harm? It made no sense to him, except that he knew Moira's life had been in danger from the time her father sent for her. And he didn't know who was to blame.
He was dressed by the time Emma got off the phone. "Where are they meeting?"
"No one knows for sure, Your Majesty."
He never should have released his prisoner. There had been no more "accidents" while the man was locked up. And now this. He would find her. And if her friend was up to no good, he'd lock her up and throw away the key."Moira, my love, where are you?"
* * *
"Humphrey, are you sure she's in this tower?" Chloe asked. They'd trekked in a roundabout way through the entire length of the castle. Humphrey apparently knew Baesland Castle intimately, because most of the passages they'd taken hadn't seen light, in any form, in a hundred years.
"Quite sure, Your Majesty. She swore me to secrecy. Be careful now, the steps are narrow. I'll be right behind you."
"Wait here."
"I'm worried about the steps, ma'am. As soon as you reach the top, I'll come right back down and stand guard."
Chloe climbed steps that wound tightly around a central newel, confident she wouldn't fall backward into Humphrey's arms. Now, if it had been William behind her, she might have pretended to—just to touch him again, to feel his arms close around her body, to find out what it was like to make love in an ancient tower. If Moira hadn't been waiting up above.
Chloe topped the last step, paused to catch her breath, then noticed there was no one there.
"Humphrey, you must have the wrong tower."
Great! Dancing until two, lovemaking until we passed out from exhaustion —I don't need this exercise, much less climbing another tower.
She heard an ominous creak behind her, the stuff haunted-house movies were made of. She turned to follow him back down the steps, just in time to get a thick wooden door slammed in her face.
"Humphrey!"
His voice was only slightly muffled through the wood. "Sorry, Your Majesty."
She pounded on it with her fists. She kicked it with her foot until she thought she'd broken her toes. "Open this door!"
Nothing. She ran to the windows, which were nothing more than arrow loops cut in stone several feet thick. The room was one small circle. There was no way out other than the door. No one on the ground would hear her if she screamed until she was hoarse.
"Humphrey, open this door at once!" She could hear noises outside. Scratches, maybe. Tapping? "Humphrey?"
Then his voice, quite close, clearer than it had been before. "I've set a rather large explosive, Your Majesty."
She moved backward, away from the door, fruitlessly searching for something to shield her from an explosion. "Why?"
"I have a family. I have to keep them safe. It will be over in a moment, I promise you. I used a short fuse. You won't suffer."
What the hell did he think she was doing now?
"Count to a hundred, if you like."
As much as she tried not to, after beating on the door for several more seconds, she found herself counting. She figured she'd used up about thirty counts.
Thirty-one. Thirty-two.
She ran to the closest arrow loop, leaned her shoulders in and judged whether her body would fit.
"And if it could, then where?" she asked thin air. A hundred feet down to what? Cobblestones?
Forty-nine. Fifty.
"Moira!" she heard in the distance, far below her in the tower. "Moira!"
"William!" she screamed his name.
She heard him call out to her again, but it sounded farther away. He was going away.
Fifty-five. Fifty-six.
"Moira!"
Sixty-two. Sixty-three. "I'm in the tower!" Sixty-five. Sixty-six. "Oh my God, William, no! Go back!"
"Moira, are you up there?"
There was no need for both of them to die because of some madman. "William, you have to go away. There's a bomb."
"Moira, I hear you!" He continued to call out to her, and she knew he was climbing the steps in leaps and bounds.
Seventy-seven. Seventy-eight.
She grabbed the handle, rattled the door on its hinges, but it wouldn't give. "William, go back down! Get away!"
"It is locked," he said from just outside the door.
"I know. Go on, go!" Eighty-three. Who the heck knew if she was counting too fast...or too slow?
"What's this?"
"It's a bomb, you idiot. Get the hell out of here!"
"Moira, move away from the door."
"It won't help. There's nowhere to go. Run!"
"Get away from the door," he said in a tone that, even in her petrified state, reminded her of a lion's roar.
She backed off. A second later, the door cracked.
Ninety-one.
It splintered. His foot crashed through the wood, followed by his leg, his body, and then his arms were scooping her up over his shoulder and he was running.
One hundred.
The roar deafened her, right up until the second she passed out.
Chapter Fourteen
William came to in a pile of rubble and dust. He had to brush debris from his head, out of his hair and off his face before he could safely open his eyes. Sprawled head down on a small, cramped, winding stairway, he could not fathom what the hell he was doing there. He had been in bed with Moira.
A deafening roar echoed within his ears. He started to sit up, hoping that would clear his head and help him make sense of all this mess, then realized the stones beneath him were soft, not hard. Warm, not cool.
"Moira. My love."
He moved carefully, so as not to hurt her—if she was alive. Every movement he made dislodged stones and raised more dust. He blocked them with his hands and his feet before they could smash into her lifeless body. "Moira, can you hear me?"
Ignoring his own cuts and bruises, he lifted himself off her. If anything in his own body was broken, he refused to acknowledge it. She was still. So still. He wedged his back against the wall and pulled her into his lap. He wanted to hold her, to will life back into her. As his mind cleared, he realized he should not have moved her. He felt her neck for a pulse, but found none.
A dull throb in his chest escalated into a sharp, searing pain. He did not have to look down to know that he would see nothing wrong on the outside. It was inside. He had not kept her safe. He had had her father bring her to this country, and he had not been able to protect her. He did not care if the whole world saw the tears that slipped silently down his cheek.
His heart was broken.
"Mmmm..."
"Moira?" When her fingers curled against his chest, he found it possible to laugh and cry at the same time. "Do not open your eyes yet, my love." He brushed every speck of dirt clear before he said, "It is all right now."
Her eyelids fluttered open, and he thought hazel the most beautiful color he had ever seen. He hoped their babies had that color. Not that he wanted to bring any babies into this world until he had dealt with the crazy person responsible for this mayhem.
"You okay?" she whispered.
"Yes, you broke my fall, thank you."
She snickered against his chest, reached up and softly brushed a tear from his face. "Anytime."
He hea
rd footsteps and shouts in the distance, coming closer. His staff.
"Who did this?" He had to know. He had to hunt him down and deal with him.
"Humphrey."
William remembered Patrick swearing he had left Moira's mare, only for a moment, to help her assistant secretary. Humphrey would have had access to the chandelier over her bed, too. Pieces started to fall into place. Not answers, but pieces.
"He said...something about keeping his family safe."
Were others involved? William swore he would find the truth.
"You have a choice, my love."
"Hmm?"
"I can stay here and hold you, or I can go find the bastard who did this to you."
"Hold me."
She was too kindhearted. Perhaps he should not tell her exactly what he planned. "You will not stop me from throwing this one into the dungeon."
"Are you kidding? Throw the key into the moat this time. William..."
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry about your tower."
He could not care less. His tower—his whole castle—meant nothing without her. "You are rather hard on the antiques."
Chloe let William carry her back to their bedroom only because he was so attentive. One time, long ago, he had said he loved her, and she hadn't believed him. Now, his every action said it, and she no longer needed the words. He stood her beside the bed and peeled her clothes off with the utmost care, as if doing so would take her skin with them.
Dust fell all around her feet. "I'm going to take a shower."
"You are going to climb into this bed until the doctor checks you out."
"But I'm all dirty."
"I should never have moved you, but since I did, you will at least rest quietly until we know you are all right."
"William—"
"Get in that bed." His words were firm, but his voice sounded only of love and concern.
"Make me."
"Do not look at me like that."
"Like what?" she asked with an innocent air.
"Like you are hungry."
"Well, I haven't had breakfast yet."
"I was not talking of food, Moira."
"Neither was I."
He sighed, and she allowed him to ease her into bed, but clung to his hand until he gave in and sat beside her. She curled up against his side, beneath his arm. Emotionally, she wanted to sit on his lap and make wild, passionate love with him to celebrate their safety. Physically, her body ached and burned, and it had nothing to do with her husband's proximity.
"I will have Humphrey locked up by sunset, Moira, but until I find out who else is involved, I am afraid you are not safe. I cannot post a guard by every chandelier, and I have no bomb-sniffing dogs."
She curled tighter into him, sensing that she wasn't going to like whatever he proposed.
"I know how much you like to study and learn things. You like rocks and fossils a great deal. You stare at my art collection as if you plan to paint a masterpiece of your own. Plants and lizards fascinate you."
She had no idea where this was leading, but the steady cadence of his heartbeat beneath her ear soothed her.
"I can send you to any university you want—"
She sprang away from him. "No! Ow!"
"Moira, you must lie still."
He held out his arms in a silent invitation to curl against him again. "No. I'm not going to just curl up and die, and that's what'll happen if you send me away."
"It is for your safety."
"And what about my heart?"
He looked confused.
"I can't live without you, William."
"It is just until I can catch everyone involved."
"I won't go. Wherever you send me, I'll get on a plane and fly right back."
He eased himself off the bed, stiffly, and she realized he must be as sore as she. More so.
"Perhaps I can join you in a day or two, once I get everyone organized."
Chloe wondered what Moira had been told when she was sent away. Had she been told her father would join her, or send for her soon? Had she been lied to, as Chloe thought William was doing now?
He kissed the top of her head, the only part of her she'd let him touch. "Pull the sheet up, Moira. I will have breakfast sent to you. Anything you want."
"Strawberry pop-ups."
"Please, my chef would quit first."
She didn't watch him walk out of the room. She couldn't. It hurt too much to love him and know he'd send her away. If someone wanted to kill her so much, they'd find her and try again. Next time, someone else might get hurt. If she didn't leave, it might be William.
It could be worse. He could be killed.
When he was working for her, not against her, Humphrey hadn't impressed her as a dangerous man. He'd said his family was in danger, so she could only assume he'd been coerced into doing what he did. It didn't make her feel sorry for him or like him, but it did make her want to question him. She would, too, as soon as they had him under lock and key.
If he didn't want to provide her with answers, she knew where there was a perfectly good torture chamber, complete with a rack.
It was only a matter of hours before Moira heard that Humphrey had been given a new residence in Baesland Castle's dungeon. When she stooped beneath the lintel and entered it this time, it didn't smell so bad. Not nearly as bad as it ought to, considering where Humphrey had tried to send her with his short-fused bomb. The fact that William's life had been endangered, too, incensed her.
William was safely occupied in a cabinet meeting, along with Louis, so she had no worries that he would come along and stop her from doing what she had to do.
Patrick was on duty.
"I want to talk to Humphrey," Chloe told him.
"Oh, Your Majesty, I don't think His Majesty would allow that."
"Excuse me?"
"Uh, I mean, His Majesty said the prisoner couldn't have visitors."
"I'm not a visitor."
"But—"
"I'm your queen."
He fidgeted from one foot to the other. "Yes, ma'am. I know, ma'am."
"Never mind, I remember the way." As if she couldn't find one cell in this cracker-box prison.
Patrick followed on her heels. "I wouldn't want anything to happen to you, Your Majesty. I asked for this duty, you know."
"Really? Why?"
"Everyone who knows me knows I'd have nothing to do with harming you, ma'am. But I want everyone else to know, too."
Chloe found Humphrey in the third cell—the dankest, darkest corner of the dungeon. "Hello, Humphrey."
"Your Majesty! Oh, thank God you're all right."
Oh, puh-lease. "No thanks to you."
"He made me, Your Majesty. I swear. I love my wife, my children. He said I'd never see them again if I didn't get rid of you."
"Who, Humphrey?"
"I can't say."
"You'd better."
"No, I can't. My children, you see. He'll harm them for sure."
"Is he holding them somewhere?"
"No."
"Does he have someone else watching them?"
"I don't know."
Her own fuse was growing short. "Well, are you just going to sit in there and worry about them, or are you going to do something about it?"
Humphrey stood up, and Chloe saw that he was in chains. "I'm scared."
Her eyebrows rose. "You think this is scary, just wait until Patrick gets you out of there and introduces you to our rack."
Patrick cracked his knuckles and rubbed his hands together with glee.
"No!" Humphrey said. "His Majesty said I had until sunrise to decide."
"Guess again. Patrick, get him out of there."
"Yes, ma'am. I'll get the key." He sounded positively delighted.
It was difficult to see Humphrey's face in the poor light, but his silence told Chloe most of what she needed to know. Above all the ancient odors, she smelled his fear.
"No, no, you can't," he said when
Patrick returned.
Patrick took his time flipping through a whole ring-full of large keys—as if anyone would believe he needed all of them for only three cells.
"It's not right, I tell you."
"Tell me what I want to hear," Chloe said, "and we won't have to see if I can operate that rack. I've never used one before. I'm afraid my touch won't be too delicate. I'd hate to jerk your arms right off at the start."
Patrick clucked his tongue and shook his head. "That would be a shame, Your Majesty. He might pass out, then we'd have to wait for him to come to before we started all over again."
Chloe looked pensive. "Yes, well, I don't know any other way. Get him out of there and strap him on."
"No!"
"Yes, ma'am."
Chloe's sneakered toe tapped the stone floor while Patrick unlocked the door, unlocked the chains and dragged an unwilling Humphrey out to the rack. Eyes darting rapidly, like a wild animal's, he glanced around, but he didn't seem to like anything else he saw any better.
Chloe stood next to a helmetlike device. "How does this work?"
"That goes over a prisoner's head, ma'am. Then you turn the screws until they drill a hole right through the skull into the brain."
In the dim light, it was difficult to be certain that Humphrey's face turned white.
"Which works better, I wonder?"
Patrick shrugged. "Don't know. We can try one, then the other."
"Louis!" Humphrey screamed. "It was Prince Louis, I tell you!"
"My brother?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. He wanted control of Ennsway. He said as the son, it was his right."
"But it isn't even Ennsway anymore. We've merged with Baesland." Just as suddenly as she said it, she realized that if she and William were killed, Louis would rule the new country. "Oh, dear Lord, he's with William now."
She flew out the door, not caring what Patrick did with Humphrey. She had to get to the cabinet meeting—wherever the hell that was. She had to warn William.
William had carefully explained the first stage of unification to his cabinet, seated around the long rectangular table. It was a closed meeting, and he had left strict orders at the door that they were not to be disturbed for anything.
He wanted everything to run smoothly. He wanted everyone in any position of authority to know exactly what was expected of them. He wanted to assure everyone that this was for the betterment of all, and he didn't have any problems there.
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