“I’ll not,” Lucan answered her in French without hesitation, twisting the pages out of her reach. “You shall leave at once. As soon as I can make arrangements.”
“No, I shan’t. I’ve nowhere to go, any matter,” Iris argued. “Lucan, I know you think this is the best way to keep me safe, but it’s not. If I leave suddenly, it will be suspect.”
“It won’t be suspect,” Lucan argued. “You made it very clear in the hall that you did not wish to serve Master Boyd. Servants run away.”
“It’s not that,” Iris continued. “Lady Hargrave is in very real danger from that monster who is her husband. She confides in no one else save me.” She pleaded with him with her eyes. “I’m all she has. If I leave her, Lady Hargrave will die—either at the hands of Vaughn Hargrave or from a broken heart.”
“Iris—”
“Just listen to me, please,” she pressed. “I have insight here that you do not. I am trusted. Isn’t that worth something?”
Lucan looked at her for a long time without saying anything, and Iris knew her reasoning was working. Lucan was rarely swayed from his decisions, but she could hear the creaking of his resolve.
“Why didn’t you come to the barracks?”
“I needed to make my notes while they were still fresh in my mind,” she said. “I’ll not play chambermaid to that stubborn Scots lout, any matter.”
“No, you shan’t,” Lucan agreed. “Cletus has been assigned his chambermaid.”
Iris snorted reflexively and brought a hand to her mouth. “Cletus? Hargrave’s minion? Perhaps I should have attended, if only for the entertainment.”
“Yes, you should have,” Lucan continued. “Especially because you seem determined to stay on at Darlyrede. You must take up a position in his camp, now that it’s been allowed.”
“In both camps,” Iris lamented. “In what possible capacity could a lady’s maid benefit a rough Scotsman intent on defeating a member of the English nobility?”
Lucan stared at her for a long moment, as if she’d said something extremely stupid—or brilliant.
“Exactly.” He’d had the same look about him on the day when he was ten and six and he’d told her he’d decided to become employed by the king of England. “You shall be Master Boyd’s tutor.”
Iris frowned. “His…tutor?”
“Yes,” Lucan mused, putting the portfolio and pages aside on the cot and, rising, working out his plan to himself as he paced the small chamber, while Iris scrambled to gather all her work together once more. “That could encompass any number of things. We might also say you are teaching him to read—that will amuse Lord Hargrave.”
“I don’t understand,” Iris said, glancing over her shoulder before shoving the portfolio beneath the coverlet. She straightened and turned to face her brother. “What do you actually want me to do with the man, Lucan?”
“Padraig Boyd is…ah,” Lucan paused, squinted a bit. “Rough.”
Iris called to mind at once an image of the large Scotsman standing in his rugged clothes, his muscles straining at the cloth, his square jaw that only—
She cleared her throat as her cheeks began to tingle. “Yes, I’ve noticed.”
Lucan nodded. “So you can imagine the difficulties he will encounter once Hargrave calls his cronies to descend upon Darlyrede, as he surely will. And should the king arrive…well.”
Iris pulled a face as she imagined the Scot dropped into the center of the crowd of nobility that Hargrave considered his circle. “He isn’t quite eloquent.”
“Believe me, his table manners are worse than his speech.”
“He’ll be completely humiliated. The king will laugh at the idea of giving a man like that Darlyrede and its title.”
“Which is why it shall be your job to educate him on the ways of the nobility. By the time Padraig Boyd encounters Henry, he needs to be a perfect gentleman.”
Iris paused. “How can you be sure this is the right thing to do? Aren’t we placing ourselves—you, especially, with your position in the Order—at risk of losing everything if the king sides with Hargrave? If we let it play out without interfering—”
“It’s the right thing to do,” Lucan interrupted, “because Padraig Boyd is Thomas Annesley’s only legitimate heir. He is our only chance of toppling Hargrave from this lofty perch he seems to have grown so comfortable upon. If I cannot prove who had a hand in the fire that killed our parents and forfeited their lands to the Baron Annesley, I can at least do my best to see that Vaughn Hargrave loses everything he has to a man who deserves it, by rights.”
Iris stared at her brother. She could see the ardor in his eyes beneath his perpetually composed exterior. He was ready and willing to risk it all for this rough Scotsman. But would the reward be worth it?
“Will we regain our lands? If Padraig Boyd succeeds?”
Lucan gave the slightest shrug. “I don’t know. Sheep and cattle graze about the ruin. Have you been?”
A scratching sounded upon the window, prompting Iris to huff in annoyance when in reality she was glad for the interruption that prevented her from answering her brother’s question. “He must have heard you.”
“Who?” Lucan asked, and then almost immediately, “Surely not—”
Iris opened the window and the white, slithering fog that was Satin slid through the opening and bounded to the floor, trotting at once to Lucan to wind about his ankles.
“Bon jour, mon petit ami,” Lucan said, a smile in his voice as he bent and scooped up the cat. “My God, I thought I’d never see this scoundrel again. I can’t believe you brought him.”
“I couldn’t leave him,” Iris lamented as she stepped forward to scratch Satin’s forehead. “Unfortunately, cats bring out hectics and choking asthma in Lady Hargrave. It’s been all I can do to keep him hidden, and keep Cook from taking a cleaver to him every
