Her thoughts continued to circle, examining that question from every possible angle…until sleep crept up on her and dragged her down.
The next morning, Nicholas remained confined to his bed awaiting a visit from Dr. Kenton, who Penny had summoned over Nicholas’s protests to check his wounds. When Nicholas appealed to Charles, wordlessly man-to- man, Charles met his gaze stoically and refused to countermand Penny. If it made her feel better to have the doctor call, so be it.
They left Nicholas still weak, but now sulking. Charles hoped he’d grow restless and consent to speak sooner; he was very conscious of wasting the day. He filled the morning writing reports; the first, to Dalziel, he dispatched by rider, the second, a succinct note to Culver informing him of the attack on Nicholas, he left on Norris’s salver.
Culver would be shocked. He would sit in his library and tut-tut, then retreat into his books. He was one person whose reactions Charles could predict with confidence. Not so others in this game.
Once both reports were gone, there was little else for him to do. Dr. Kenton came and went, gravely noting how lucky Nicholas was that neither knife thrust had nicked anything vital. After commending Em’s ointment and Figgs’s bandaging, Kenton advised Nicholas that rest was all he required for a complete recovery.
After seeing Kenton off, Charles prowled around the house. Penny was still in conference with Figgs. He wandered through the library, now cleared of the debris from the smashed display cases, then circled the ground floor, growing ever more restless and edgy. The combination was familiar, the prelude to battle; patience had never been his strong suit.
Yet the battle to come would not come today. Everyone at the house was alert, watchful, careful, very much on guard. While he might have thought to surprise them by returning last night, the French agent-Charles felt confident in dubbing him that-would not call today. Soon, yes, but not yet; he’d wait, hoping they’d relaxat least a little of their vigilance.
To pass the time, he walked through the shrubbery, confirming his memories of the villain’s favorite escape route. He’d been right in not following the man into its shadows in the black of night. The shrubbery was old, its trees and shrubs thick and dense; it would be child’s play for anyone fleeing into it to circle any pursuer and return to the house, leaving said pursuer chasing shadows, unaware.
He walked out of the shrubbery and saw Penny on the terrace. She saw him and waved, then descended the steps and headed his way.
They met in the middle of the lawn; smiling, she linked her arm in his and strolled by his side. He listened while she told him of the household’s reactions, of the staff’s determination to hold firm against the unknown attacker who had taken one of their own, then dared to violate their domain.
Lifting his head, Charles looked at the house. With the staff so resolute and guards in place, Nicholas was safe; he could have so many hours to think. For himself, he wanted to keep Penny with him, which meant keeping her occupied. Nothing from London would reach the Abbey before the afternoon…“If I don’t get out of here, I’ll start badgering Nicholas.” He caught her eye. “Why don’t we take a picnic and ride to the castle? I haven’t been there in years.”
She blinked, then her eyes lit and she nodded. “You get the horses. I’ll order a picnic, then change. I’ll meet you in the stables.”
He let her draw away. Smiling, she headed for the house, clearly eager despite her tiredness. They’d got precious little sleep last night, but more, battling an unidentified assailant was inherently draining. He was accustomed to it, she wasn’t, yet she was holding up well.
Better than most females would, but then he’d always known there was a spine of tempered steel concealed within her slender form.
He watched that slender form cross the lawns and reenter the house, then he stirred and strode for the stables.
Distraction was what they both needed.
It was noon when they reached the ruins of Restormel Castle, dramatically perched above the Fowey valley with sylvan views over field and estuary to the distant cliffs and the sea beyond. A favorite picnic spot for the surrounding families in summer, today it was theirs alone.
Built by the Normans from local gray stone, the castle was a rarity-perfectly circular. Disused for centuries, the curtain wall and outer bailey were long gone; they rode across the dry ditch and into the courtyard of the inner keep, a place preserved out of time.
Dismounting, they exchanged glances. Every child from both their families had run wild here; it was a special place, a well for the imagination to draw on. As he tied Domino’s reins to an ancient ring in the wall, Charles recalled battles he and his brothers had staged there, in the courtyard, their boots scuffing on the stones as they fought with wooden swords, high-pitched voices echoing from the walls. Their parents and sisters had looked down from the battlements, and laughed and smiled.
Penny, too, had her own hoard of memories, in similar vein, happy moments bright with the magic bestowed by childhood’s eyes. She handed her reins to Charles, looked around while he tethered her mare. “Leave the picnic for now.” It was stored in their saddlebags. “Let’s walk the battlements first.”
He nodded. Taking her hand, he led her to the flight of steps that gave access to the now empty hall; from there they took another flight up to the crenellated outer wall.
She stepped onto the stone walkway and paused to look around, to confirm that the building below them, the inner keep, was still as she remembered it, then she turned and let her eyes drink in the sweeping views.
The wind was cool yet soft with the promise of summer, the air fresh and clean, the sun warm but not hot. White wisps of clouds streaked across a cerulean sky. It was an idyllic place, soothing to the soul.
“I don’t know why,” she said, tucking back wisps of hair the breeze had teased free, “but I feel as if the villain, whoever he is, can’t penetrate here. Simply can’t exist here.”
Charles squeezed her hand gently; they started to stroll. “I used to think this was one of those faerie places our nurses used to whisper about. A place that was of this world, but also of the other-a spot where the real and the faerie worlds met, and time didn’t behave as it does elsewhere.”
She shivered delicately, but it was a delicious shiver. “An enchanted place-yes, you’re right. But it never felt haunted to me.”
“No. I decided that was because no bad battles, or betrayals, happened here. It’s as you said. This place has always simply been, and bad things aren’t allowed to happen here.”
Glancing at him, she saw the self-deprecatory smile playing about his lips. She smiled, too, and looked ahead.
Noting the various landmarks, they unhurriedly circled the keep. Nearing the hall once again, Penny paused to glance out one last time. To the left across the river and a little way southeast lay the Abbey; Wallingham Hall lay to the right, farther away and concealed behind a spur of the escarpment.
“Where will we eat?” Charles asked.
Hiding a smile, she turned and followed him down the steep stairs.
They spread a rug under a tree that had sprung up by the side of the dry ditch. The spot still gave them views, albeit more restricted, but also protection from the stiffening breeze. In their oasis of comfort, they munched their way through the delicacies Em had packed into the bags. There was a bottle of wine, but no glasses; Penny laughed and accepted the bottle when Charles opened it and, with a flourish, offered it. They passed the bottle back and forth while commenting on this and that, all matters of local life.
Nothing to break the spell.
When Charles had demolished Mrs. Slattery’s game pie, and between them they’d finished Cook’s almond tart, they drained the bottle, then packed everything away. Hand in hand, they walked back to the courtyard.
Charles attached the empty bags to their saddles. Penny handed him the folded rug; he tucked that away, too. “It’s too early for any courier, isn’t it? They won’t have reached the Abbey yet.”
Charles glanced at her. “Unlikely.”
“In that case”-she looked up at the rooms giving onto the courtyard-“let’s explore.”
Anything to prolong their time in this place, this haven from the world; Charles fell in with her wish without quibble, inwardly acknowledging his own inclination. Outside a murderer might stalk their families’ lands, but while here, time and place were theirs, sacrosanct, inviolable.
He caught up with her in the hall and took her hand. Together, they ambled through the rooms, recalling
