how, brother mine.”
Roderick glanced at the copy of the letter Delborough had been carrying, which Roderick had been forced to kill his own man, Larkins, to secure. “Hamilton’s at Chelmsford. I sent eight men to follow and harry their party, to keep them in sight. Tomorrow, I’ll take a force of our elite, and join the eight. We’ll have overwhelming numbers-there’s only four men counting Hamilton, and he has the woman to protect as well. We’ll stop him, seize him and the woman, and bring them here.”
Roderick shot a venomous look at Alex. “I’ll have to leave them to your tender mercies-I’ve just got word Monteith’s in the country. And he, too, is heading this way, but from the direction of Bath, with two guards, as Delborough had, and a pirate captain in train. I’ll have to go west to keep him out of Cambridgeshire.”
“This is rapidly degenerating into the worst possible scenario,” Daniel said. “The four couriers are landing at widely distant ports. Our watchers on the coast are stretched thin. Although we’ve already lost men, admittedly we have more, but knowing where to send them in time-”
“It’s just as well,” Alex said, tone dripping superiority, “that our four pigeons are making for a single roost, and that whoever this puppetmaster they’re reporting to is, he’s nearby.” Alex cast a lethal look at Roderick. “Which is why I suggested we move up here. I’ll hold the fort-man our inner rampart-here, with M’wallah and my guard, but you two will have to take command in the field.”
Alex’s gaze shifted to Daniel. Silently, almost imperceptibly, he nodded. Neither he nor Alex trusted Roderick any more than they trusted his-their-sire.
Unaware of the interplay, Roderick nodded curtly. “I’ll take Hamilton tomorrow. We’ve already got a force quartered on the other side of Cambridge-enough to deal with Monteith.” Roderick looked at Daniel. “You could-”
“No. Leave Monteith for the moment,” Alex said. “He’s not close enough to demand immediate action-we can wait for better details of his position before making our plans. As you say, we already have men in the area. Have we heard anything of Carstairs?”
“Not since he left Budapest.” Roderick ran a hand through his hair. “He’s still somewhere on the Continent, and hasn’t yet reached the coast.”
“As far as we know,” Alex dryly replied.
Daniel uncoiled his long legs and stood. “In that case, I’ll assist with Hamilton.”
Roderick inclined his head, accepting what he saw as an offer of help. “We’ll leave at first light and ride toward Chelmsford. A messenger will come north to meet us and confirm their route. With any luck, it’ll be toward us, along the road through Sudbury. Once we locate the carriage and gather our eight following it, we can pick our spot.”
Roderick glanced at Alex. “Given those riding with us tomorrow will be from our elite, I can’t see how we can fail to seize Hamilton, meddling Miss Ensworth, and the letter.”
Alex’s features had eased to their customary elegant serenity. “That sounds excellent.” Alex met Roderick’s eyes, lightly smiled. “I’ll look forward to celebrating your success.”
While they breakfasted by lamplight, Gareth told the others of the attempt to set fire to the inn. “Standard practice for cultists, but to no purpose here.”
Later, while Mooktu, Mullins, and Bister readied the carriage, Gareth showed Jack and Tristan the evidence of the abortive attempt. They found three different spots where fires had been lit.
“Determined beggars, aren’t they?” Tristan spread the ashy remains of one fire with his boot. “But perhaps they achieved what they intended.”
Gareth grunted. “That occurred to me. No one could have imagined a fire would take hold long enough to do any real damage. They just wanted to keep prodding us.”
Jack gazed at the charred logs. “Anyone care to wager we’ll see action today?”
“No bet,” Tristan returned. “Given this, today is the day.”
A
In reality they would circle around and fall in behind the band of cultists following the carriage, as they had the day before.
Emily was already in the carriage, snuggled up beneath a mound of rugs. His breath fogging in the sharply cold air, Gareth glanced at Bister on the roof, at Mooktu and Mullins on the box. “Be ready. Somewhere on our road today, they’ll strike.”
The expressions on the three faces turned his way mirrored his own feelings.
He climbed into the carriage, shut the door, and they were off.
They rolled sedately out of the town, heading north on the road to Sudbury and Bury St. Edmunds. Once they’d left the last cottages behind, Mullins flicked the reins and the horses lengthened their stride.
His hand locked around one of Emily’s, Gareth watched the winter-brown fields flash past-and waited.
He was still waiting-they all were-when the carriage rolled into the village of Sudbury. He recognized the tactic, one cult commanders often employed-make the target wait and wait and wait until, inevitably, they relaxed, then pounce-but he still felt the effects.
After rattling across a bridge over the River Stour, Mullins drove into the market square, paused to ask directions, then headed on a short way and turned into the yard of the Anchor Inn.
Climbing down to the cobbles, Gareth took one look at the ancient inn Wolverstone had directed them to, and felt expectation leap. The inn was so old it was a hodgepodge, a conglomeration of additions made over the centuries with wings here, there, and entrances everywhere-perfect if one wanted men to slip unobtrusively inside.
Leaving Mooktu, Bister, and Mullins to watch over the carriage and arrange for fresh horses, he ushered Emily through the front door.
The innkeeper popped up before them. “Major Hamilton?” When Gareth nodded, the man beamed. “Please-
