Coming home with her by his side was both a joy and a burden. That he had found her, the only woman he’d ever considered marrying, that she was with him, and one way or another would remain, was all he could ever have dreamed of by way of joyous homecomings. Yet the potential danger she would face setting foot on English soil by his side muted that joy, placed a heavy weight on his shoulders and set a vise about his heart.
Returning the pressure of her fingers, shifting his to close his hand around hers, he silently vowed that no matter the threat, he would keep her safe. If he wanted a future, he’d have to-without her, he wouldn’t have one.
They stepped off the gangplank and onto the docks, shrouded in gray drizzle with night rapidly closing in. With heavy coats and thick cloaks wrapped about them, they followed their baggage, loaded on a small cart, out of the harbor and into the town.
Bister appeared at Gareth’s shoulder. “Cultist on the far corner to the left. He’s seen us.”
Gareth glanced through the damp veil and saw a shocked brown face staring in their direction. “They didn’t expect us to get through their blockade, which means there’ll be no huge welcome waiting for us around the corner.”
Bister shivered artistically. “Just as well. We need to get out of this wet before the cold gets into our bones.”
They’d all forgotten England’s dampness.
Wolverstone had stipulated they put up at the Waterman’s Inn in Castle Street. They reached it without incident. Giving his name at the counter, Gareth discovered that rooms had already been arranged-the entire first floor of one of the inn’s wings.
“Arranged by a gen’leman who’s waiting in the tap, sir.” The innkeeper nodded to a doorway to the right. “Him or his friend’s been in every day for a week, now. Would you like me to fetch him, or…?”
“No need.” Gareth turned, glanced at Emily by his side. “Wolverstone’s guards, I imagine.”
Rejoining the others, they sorted out rooms. As the others trudged upstairs, overseeing the lads ferrying up the trunks and bags, Gareth arched a brow at Emily. “Do you want to go up and change, or”-he tipped his head toward the tap-“shall we go and see?”
In answer she turned toward the tap. Together they walked through the open doorway.
There was a goodly crowd dotted about small tables and booths, couples and friends sharing a drink at the end of a winter’s day. A cheery fire burned in the hearth. Pausing on the threshold, Gareth scanned those present. His gaze halted on a brown-haired man seated in a booth along the side wall, trying to read a news-sheet in the light shed by a wall sconce.
Even as he looked, the man glanced their way-an idle glance that immediately grew more focused, more intent.
Lips curving, Gareth steered Emily toward the booth.
As they neared, the man stood, slowly uncoiling to his six-foot-plus height. Brown brows remained level over shrewd hazel eyes. “Major Hamilton.”
It was a statement, uttered with the same assurance Gareth felt in approaching the man. Like recognized like. This man had been in the Guards, too, and there wasn’t any other in the tap who could possibly have been one of Dalziel’s ex-operatives.
Gareth smiled and held out his hand. “Gareth. Wolverstone didn’t convey any names.”
“He never does.” Their new guard shook hands. He had a ready smile, one he shared equally between Gareth and Emily. “I’m Jack Warnefleet, here to make sure you remain hale and whole throughout the rest of your journey.”
Gareth introduced Emily. Jack shook hands, then waved them into the booth. While they settled he asked, and went to fetch drinks-mulled wine for Emily, ale for Gareth and him.
When he returned with their glasses and passed them around, Gareth sipped, smiled. He glanced at Emily, then looked across the table. “Speaking of our onward journey…”
“Indeed, but first, is all to your liking here? How many do you have with you?”
Gareth told him.
Jack nodded. “We’ve bespoken enough rooms. Before we look forward, tell me how you’ve fared.” Jack’s gaze included Emily.
And Gareth recalled no one knew she was with him. “I’m unsure how much you know of the beginning of this venture, but Miss Ensworth was instrumental in ferrying the vital letter from MacFarlane to us in Bombay.”
Jack looked at Emily with growing respect. “I was told some lady had.” He smiled charmingly. “It’s an even greater pleasure to meet you, Miss Ensworth.”
“As it transpired, Emily left Bombay at the same time I did, and our paths crossed at Aden-luckily, as it happened, for cultists were stalking her, too. From there…” Gareth condensed their travels to the minimum, including only the operational information.
Jack’s expression grew satisfied as he absorbed the details of their recent encounters at Boulogne. “As usual, I don’t know what Royce-Wolverstone-is planning, but I suspect he’ll view the number you’ve managed to draw and eliminate around Boulogne as something of a victory. You’re one of the decoys, so drawing the enemy and reducing numbers was precisely what you were supposed to do.”
“Have you heard anything of the other couriers?” Gareth asked.
“Delborough’s here-he came in two days ago through Southampton. I gather his route will be via London and then on into Cambridge, to Somersham Place. I haven’t heard anything yet about the other two.”
“So what’s our onward route?”
Jack grinned. “Your first stop is Mallingham Manor. That’s Trentham’s-your other guard’s-family estate. It’s in Surrey, not far away. Once we have you safe there, we’re to await further orders.” He straightened. “It’s late, and you’ll want some dinner and a good night’s rest. As you saw, there are cultists in town, not many, but we need them to let their master know you’re here. If you have enough men to stand watch through the night…?”
Gareth nodded. “We’re used to it.”
“Good. In that case, I’ll take the news of your arrival back to the manor, and we’ll send off a messenger hotfoot to Royce. Then, tomorrow morning, Trentham and I will join you for breakfast here, and we’ll make our plans.” He glanced at Emily, then back at Gareth. “If you think you’ll be ready to go on?”
Gareth nodded decisively, from the corner of his eye saw Emily do the same. “We will be.”
“Excellent.” Jack stood, and they did, too. They shook hands again, then he saluted them. “Until tomorrow.”
He strode out, leaving the tap by the street door. With Emily on his arm, Gareth headed for their room.
Uncle trudged along a road-he didn’t even know where it led. Darkness had fallen; he needed to find shelter of some kind to see out the freezing night.
The villagers of Boulogne had chased him out of their town. He was still stunned that they had dared to lay hands on his august person. He’d gone to the chateau expecting to find men, weapons, and the coin cache hidden there. But the chateau had been deserted. Someone had found the coins and taken them.
Mindlessly, he’d turned south. He refused to let himself think of his son. The major had lied-he must have. His jailers had told him some cultists had attacked the major’s party on the docks, but again had been defeated. The attackers had been killed. Was there no one left?
On the thought, a shadow separated from the trees just ahead. Uncle reached for a knife, but he no longer had one. Then he recognized the man beneath the cloak. Uncle brightened. “Akbar!”
Uncle made his legs go faster, already making plans. “How many others have we?”
Akbar didn’t move, didn’t reply, not until Uncle halted before him and peered into his face.
“None,” Akbar said.
“
“No.”
He blinked, focused on Akbar’s face again. “What do you mean, no?”
Akbar’s eyes, flat and cold, held his. “I mean…”
Uncle felt steel slice through skin, through flesh, slide between his ribs…
