the other, and hauled him to his feet-thanking her stars he wasn’t taller or all that much heavier than she. As more arrows rained down, using the bag to cover their backs, she propelled him through the still open front door.
Halting in the hall, she let the footman go. He collapsed to the tiles. She turned back to the door, taking cover just inside to look out.
The doorman picked his moment between showers of arrows and rushed in. Shaken out of his rigid control, he nevertheless called for help for his footman, gave orders for others to man the windows, then came to stand behind Linnet, peering past her shoulder as she surveyed the scene.
“No one else is down,” she murmured, for herself as much as the doorman. Logan had been in the carriage, but must have jumped down and been on his way to help her when she’d acted and got herself out of danger. He’d taken cover behind the open carriage door on this side, protected to some extent by the bulk of the carriage. Deverell had been inside and still was. He was working frantically. As she watched, he passed Logan one rifle, then another.
Logan looked toward the rear of the carriage. Called to Charles, who reached around and took the rifle, then returned to his position at the far rear corner of the carriage.
The arrows were still coming in unpredictable fits and starts. They seemed to be coming from the top of a building a little way down the street. Linnet could see all the footmen now huddled in a group at the carriage’s rear, looking longingly at the front door. But David-where was he? He’d been on the box in full view of the enemy. Had he been hit? Was he even now dying?
But then she saw a shadow beneath the carriage, beneath the box itself, and realized he’d taken cover there. As far as she could tell, he was uninjured, just temporarily stuck in a cramped space.
Relief slid through her; she’d known David for all of a day, mostly as a voice and a presence guiding the horses, yet she thought of him as one of their small band. Refocusing on the continuing danger, she saw a town carriage rumbling down the street toward them. Charles stepped out, waved his arms, called orders-then ducked back, most likely swearing, as another flight of arrows rained down.
The startled coachman halted his horses, scrambled down from his box, and took cover-bobbing up by the side of the carriage to explain to his master what was happening.
After checking that all was clear in the other direction, Logan looked back and called orders to the huddled footmen; they nodded in reply.
Then Logan eased forward, inching to the edge of the box seat, then crouching to aim his rifle-at what neither Linnet nor the doorman could see.
“This is outrageous,” the doorman huffed. “Such things simply don’t happen at The York House. Not anywhere in Bath!”
Linnet struggled not to let her lips curve. “Sadly, they are. Take heart-no one ever died of a little excitement, and your man”-she tipped her head toward the injured footman-“isn’t badly hurt. Now step aside-I think you’re about to get the rest of your footmen back.”
Logan fired his rifle, then Charles took his shot, too.
In a group, the footmen raced across the pavement and in through the door as Deverell fired out of one of the carriage windows.
Logan and Charles were already tossing their spent rifles back into the carriage; they stepped back with pistols and swords. Deverell emerged, and then the three, all armed to the teeth, separated-Charles and Deverell going around the back of the carriage, then racing, doubled over, across the street. Logan glanced at Linnet, signaled that he was going to circle the cultists’ position-presumably to ensure the enemy had fled.
No more arrows had come slicing down since they’d discharged their rifles.
Linnet nodded, waited, saw Logan race across the street, then, hugging the shadows thrown by the shop fronts, ghost away, out of her sight. Inwardly sighing, she turned and took up the role they’d left her. Tugging off her gloves, she swept up to the heavy desk behind which the manager, somewhat goggle-eyed, stood. She vaguely recalled Deverell saying their rooms had been arranged. “I believe, if you consult your register, that you’ll find a booking in the name of Wolverstone.”
The name worked wonders. Within minutes, she was ushered into one of the hotel’s principal suites.
Luxurious, even opulent in its decoration, the suite had two bedrooms giving off a central sitting room; she claimed the bedroom to the left, leaving the other for the men, but when a footman carried Logan’s bag into the room she’d chosen, she didn’t protest.
Inwardly grimaced; there was no point.
Trailing after the footman, she was in time to stop the maid from unpacking Logan’s bag; the scroll-holder was in it. She felt obliged to allow the maid to unpack her gowns and hang them up instead.
When the maid eagerly asked which gown she should leave out for dinner, Linnet arbitrarily picked one of the evening gowns-one in green silk. The question had reminded her that someone needed to order the meal.
She had little experience in choosing menus-Muriel normally handled such matters-but she had the happy thought to consult the maitre d’hotel, and he was both delighted to have been asked and solicitous in arranging an appropriate repast.
That done, she oversaw the disposition of the men’s weapons, then summoned David up to report, confirmed he was unharmed and well-quartered-and insouciantly thrilled by the action-then she settled to pace-only to have a succession of the hotel’s staff tap on the door to offer this, that, and the other.
By the time her three companions walked through the door, she’d been driven to the edge of distraction by the maids’ offers and by an unaccustomed, yet very real, nagging worry-one that evaporated the instant Logan walked in and her eyes confirmed he was unharmed.
That he looked faintly disgusted was neither here nor there.
Dropping into an armchair, Charles explained the disgust. “They’d fled.”
Arms folded, she looked down at him, then at the other two. Then she turned on her heel and headed for her room. “Dinner will be served in half an hour. I’m going to change.”
In these surroundings, even in this company, she felt obliged to play the part of lady, no matter how ill she fitted the role.
The dinner was superb, and served with a smooth, silent efficiency that allowed them to concentrate first on the dishes, then, once the cheese platter arrived and the servers withdrew, on their plans.
“I don’t think there were more than four archers pinning us down out there.” With a tilt of his head, Deverell indicated the front of the hotel. “As there’s bound to be more cultists than that around, I think we can conclude that they reached Bath before us, but then set up ambushes at all the major hotels-there’s not so many of those to cover in Bath.”
Logan nodded. “I think our diversion near Star worked more or less as we’d planned, and by the time they reached here, not knowing we’d been held up, they assumed we were already in residence. Those archers were posted to pick us off if we showed our faces outside. That’s why they were in that position-perfect for when we walked out onto the pavement, but not so ideal when we rolled up in a carriage to go in.”
Charles nodded. “Tomorrow we have an easier day-only about sixty miles in all, along larger, well-surfaced, well-populated roads.” He looked at Logan. “Any insights into what they’re likely to do?”
“This hotel is too solid, too secure, and has too many people in it to attack. They won’t have time to organize anything complicated, like hiring someone local to break into these rooms.” Logan paused, then went on, “I’ve been thinking that our presence here must be causing the cult members stationed in this region some consternation. It’s reasonable to expect that all the cultists in England know by now that three couriers have landed, but there’s one more yet to come. They don’t know where Rafe is going to land, so they have to continue their watch at all the ports. Which means our group currently here-mostly drawn from Bristol-cannot afford to follow us on. They may leave a few to track us-to see where we go and later alert some other group further on, mostly likely much closer to Elveden-but the majority will have to return, might already have returned, to Bristol.”
“That’s a fair assumption,” Deverell said. “It suggests we won’t face an attack tomorrow as we set out.”
Logan considered it. “Only if we try to leave very early, before there are others about. The Bristol contingent might dally long enough to see if we try to set out before dawn again, hoping to mount an attack outside town, but if we leave later, with other travelers around, I can’t see them trying anything.”
Deverell exchanged a glance with Charles. “No need to leave early.”
“Indeed not.” Charles sighed. “Let’s set our departure for midmorning. Say ten o’clock. We’ll still make Oxford by four o’clock at the latest. And while I would prefer to go hunting tonight, to see if we can locate and eliminate
