Deliah glanced at the other ladies gathered about the long table in the breakfast parlor. All seemed to share Alathea’s sentiments. “So we really were
Nods and affirmations came from every occupied seat. It transpired their men had been rather inventive in their choice of restraints-silk scarves, cravats, silk curtain cords, even silk stockings.
“And,” Honoria said, eying them all from her position at the end of the table, “not one of us got free. For that, they’ll all have to pay.”
“Hear, hear,” echoed around the table.
Having discovered, the instant she’d smelled food, that she was ravenous, Deliah made steady inroads into the selections she’d heaped on her plate, and tried to assess the other ladies’ thoughts and intentions. In the end, she simply asked, “What do you mean by pay?”
Honoria’s fine gray eyes came to rest on her face. “After behaving in such a high-handed fashion, they’ll expect us to react. They’ll be expecting us to extract our ounce of flesh”-she paused to smile-“in one way or another. And, of course, we will, not least because we would never want them to believe we’d grown resigned, or, heaven help us, were no longer annoyed by said high-handed ways.”
“If they ever thought that, we’d be in dire straits.” Patience sipped her tea.
“But,” Deliah allowed her inner frown to show, “you don’t seem all that annoyed. You
“That’s because you’re new to this…for want of a better description, emotional game.” Phyllida toasted Deliah with her teacup.
“The emotional game of being married to a strong, dominant, possessive-and protective-gentleman,” Flick added. “Sadly, you can’t take the protective-to-a-serious-fault characteristic out of the mix. It’s an inescapable part of who they are-the sort of men they are.”
“Exactly.” Chin propped in one hand, Alathea nodded. “If we want all their other characteristics exactly as they are-as we do-then we have to accept their sometimes overactive protectiveness.”
“Especially,” Catriona said, “when you realize that that protectiveness, and its sometimes extreme nature, is a direct reflection of how much we mean to them.” She smiled at Deliah. “They’re really quite simple and straightforward in that way.”
“Mind you.” Honoria set down her teacup with a definite click. “That does not mean that they get to exercise that protectiveness to the extreme without paying us our due.” She met Deliah’s eyes. “Over the years, we’ve grown increasingly shrewd. Anything you ask-and if you’re wise you can extend the boon time to quite a few days- he’ll feel forced to grant.”
“To make up for his high-handedness,” Flick explained. “I once managed to get Demon to take me to a horse fair he never would have countenanced me attending otherwise.”
Alathea nodded. “I’ve managed to get Gabriel to more than one ball on the strength of an overprotective incident.”
Catriona smiled serenely. “And then there’s the other, more personal benefits.”
All the ladies smiled in what was clearly fond memory, and equally fond anticipation.
Deliah blinked, imagined… “I see.”
“Indeed.” Honoria folded her napkin and laid it beside her plate. “And, of course, they’re all together.”
“We would be much more exercised if it was any of them alone,” Phyllida told Deliah, “or even just two of them against unknown others.”
“In this case,” Honoria said, “we don’t need to actually worry for their safety-they’re as safe as they could be even were we there to watch over them. However, while I will admit us being anywhere near the cathedral while they’re dealing with this Black Cobra person would distract them utterly-and we don’t want to forget they have Sangay to protect-there’s no reason I can see that we shouldn’t arrive the instant the action’s over.”
“Which by my calculation,” Patience said, “means we should leave as soon as possible.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Flick glanced around the table. “So-how many horses, how many gigs?”
Del sat on the floor of one of the stalls around the octagon in Ely Cathedral and prayed he wouldn’t get a cramp. At least the stall floor was timber, not stone. The cathedral-so much massive stone in the depths of winter-was as cold as the proverbial tomb.
Waiting for time to pass-it was exactly like being on picket duty. Not that he’d been a picket all that often, let alone recently, yet at least in war, there was an element of omnipresent danger to help keep one alert. Here…they all knew nothing would happen until after Sangay arrived.
Which would be shortly, Del hoped. Shifting silently in the confined space, he pulled out his fob-watch. It was almost nine o’clock. Outside the stained-glass windows of the octagonal tower, it was full daylight-or as full as the light was going to be that day.
Settling back into his hunched position, he found himself staring at the hilt of his sword. The sheathed blade lay on the floor beside him. He had a loaded pistol, too. Many of them had elected to carry one, just in case Larkins resorted to firearms. The cultists, thank heaven, abjured such weapons on some convoluted religious grounds, which was all to the good. He had no doubt that, regardless of how many came to the cathedral, his side would see victory, at least of a sorts, that day.
He was in a mood for victories. Succeeding in gaining Deliah’s promise to marry him had meant more to him than he’d thought it would. He’d intended to ask her regardless and had told himself he’d been asking then because of the necessity of his mission-because he’d needed the right to ensure she didn’t arrive at the cathedral too soon.
While all of that had been true, he’d needed to know she was his on some much more crucial, personal plane. Knowing she’d agreed had filled him with a…certainty. A jubilation, an assurance and an absolute conviction that this-all of this-was proceeding exactly as fate decreed. Exactly as it was supposed to be.
His only remaining uncertainty was a small, tiny, niggling one. He hoped his and Deliah’s exchange of promises would be strong enough to stand against the inevitable ramifications of his morning’s actions. He hoped she’d understand that he’d simply had to do it, that given what she meant to him, he’d had no choice.
Regardless, he thought, as he shifted awkwardly again, he couldn’t regret tying her to the bed. She was safe, and in his new world-the future he’d taken his first steps into last night-that, to him, was the most important thing.
A loud creak had him raising his head, listening, straining his ears.
Light shafted above his head, then slowly faded as the sound of a heavy door closing reached him.
Someone had just entered through the main doors at the end of the nave. Sangay? Or someone else?
Carefully shifting into a crouch, he slowly raised his head, until he could look out over the front lip of the stall. His line of sight was across the octagon, past the altar, and down the nave. He could see Gervase in his borrowed monk’s robe seated halfway along a pew three rows from the front, head bowed, apparently deep in prayer. Glancing to his right, Del saw Tony, also garbed as a monk, all but invisible, seated at prayer in the shadows of one of the stalls across the octagon from Del’s position. Gyles, the other monk, Del couldn’t see, but he knew Gyles was sitting or kneeling in prayerful attitude beyond one of the columns on the other side of the nave.
Whoever had entered had hesitated at the far end of the nave. Thinking of how awestruck Sangay would feel in an edifice that struck awe into the hearts of grown men, Del prayed the boy would remember his instructions.
Assuming it was he.
Finally, on slippered feet, the newcomer crept slowly up the central aisle. It was Sangay.
Del exhaled. Watched as the boy, still wary, but with increasing assurance-presumably he’d sighted his bodyguards-made his way to the second pew from the front, and slid into it to perch at the end by the aisle.
Everything was in place. No matter how he strained his ears, Del could hear not even a shuffle to give away the presence of the other men concealed at various points inside the cathedral. Even the monks were as still and silent as statues; in their gray robes in the shadows, they were difficult to see unless one looked directly at them.
Sangay looked around, scroll-holder in clear view in one hand. Seeing no one frightening, the boy settled on the pew.
He didn’t have long to wait. As they’d surmised, the Black Cobra had had someone watching the cathedral, too wise to get trapped inside. Less than two minutes had passed when a door somewhere opened and shut, then footsteps-confident and assured-came striding in. They were coming from the south transept, past the vestries.
