She squeezed his hand. “There.” A faint clunk echoed around them. A rock maybe? Another clunk, this time voices rumbled. They had company.
Moreham, the consummate strategist who always put the mission first was torn. He wanted to take Gillian back to the door and shove her outside. He also wanted to proceed into one of the cells and spy on whoever was talking in the courtyard.
He needed to go on by himself. Frustration and helplessness ate at him as they waited until the voices faded away. Dare he hope the voices belonged to some farmers taking a respite from tilling the fields?
Moreham followed her and bit back his own groan. No doors on the cells. The stone cubicles would be perfect for an ambush. A body wouldn’t have a chance to escape from an attacker hiding in the little rooms. He hurried after Gillian, intent on passing her and taking the lead. Thoughts of someone hurting her ate at his gut.
Gillian stopped and waited for him. She pointed upward to stairs then pulled him against her, whispering. “This floor is below the courtyard. We will go up one floor to the cells that look out over the courtyard. This is where we will hide when we return. No telling who may be in the courtyard.”
Before she could take another step, he tugged her behind him and assumed the lead up the stairs. Her words about returning to the abbey had rubbed him the wrong way. She was with him today to be his guide. Her presence would not be needed any further. He intended to leave her safe and sound with his mother and Philly the next time he came to this place.
Gillian broke the silence. “Come, we can move down the corridor. Tread carefully and we may be able to see who is talking.”
Gillian pulled him into a room alit with sunlight from a small window. If he had his bearings right, the room overlooked the courtyard. The only difference from the level below was the gust of cool air blowing through the room and the voices floating from the courtyard below.
“All looks to be in order.”
“Yes, milord. I took care of seeing to the courtyard m’self.”
“None of the locals are suspicious?”
“Nay, milord, everyone is excited about the fancy folks coming for the house party. No one has any notion about what you have planned. Most of the folks around here believe this place to be haunted by the old monks. Every so often, a brave soul will venture this way after dark. The wind blowing through the old monk cells is enough to send the lads scrambling back to the village. Just as I told you, the perfect site for your meeting with the bluebloods the duke invited.”
“Yes, well we will see. I must return to Town. We’ve captured an agent of the Crown. I intend to be the one to conduct the agent’s interrogation myself. Stay low until Whitney and his entourage arrive. I will be hot on their heels. Meet me here in two nights at six o’clock. Here…” The unmistakable jingle of coins caused Gillian to look over at him. “You’ve done well, my friend. Months of groundwork will culminate when we meet next. You can be proud of your efforts.”
Gillian stood in the darkness next to Moreham until the only sound she heard was their breathing. She wanted to cry. The voice kept echoing through her mind. He’d said her uncle’s name. Guilt warred with grief in her soul. She had aided Moreham in routing her relative. The only person who had been caring enough to offer her his home as her own. What would become of Aunt Isadora?
She wanted to discount the man’s assertion of Uncle’s involvement. She could no longer fight Moreham. She no longer could deny the real possibility her uncle was a traitor to the Crown. That thought sent shudders through her body.
Moreham took hold of her hand and tugged her back from the window until they stood in the corridor. He turned her around, facing him nose to nose. The starkness of his expression spoke volumes. How she wished she’d listened to his warnings.
“Gillian, did you recognize either man’s voice?”
She’d never felt so at sea. Frozen, filled with fear of how what they’d overheard robbed her of her voice. All she could do was shake her head in the negative. Moreham shook her ever so slightly.
She cleared her throat and spoke. Her voice pitched so low she feared he could not hear her. “No, I had no sense of having ever met either of those men. I wish I could say I did. You have no notion how badly I want to put names to those voices.”
Moreham sighed and pulled her into his arms with his head resting on hers “My sweet, we must go. Should anyone be about, we must be found on the bridle path in the east fields. It will not do for anyone to question our whereabout this morning. Such a discovery will alert those men and they will scuttle their meeting and all our hard work will be for nothing,” Moreham whispered.
He was right, if they were found near the abbey a careless word among the tenants could alert the traitors and ruin everything.
She led the way to the small door. Once outside, she was sightless from the sun’s glare. She stopped and blinked to accustom her eyes to the light of day. Moreham obviously having the same trouble with his vision, walked into her and sent her careening forward. She would have fallen to her knees, if he had not acted quickly to keep her upright
“Can't see a thing after that dungeon blackness. Gillian, hold on to my arm and we will find the horses. Time to make for the east fields.”
“I don’t want to. I brought you
