Exile's Return (21 page)

Daniel broke the embrace and held his brother by the forearms. ‘Forgive you for what? You have nothing to blame yourself for. It was my decision to follow you to Worcester. Mine alone. I never once blamed you for what befell me. It's you who must forgive me.'

Daniel sucked in a shuddering breath and laid his hands on his brother's shoulders. No more words were needed.

‘It's almost over,' Kit said, breaking the moment and turning away. ‘Do you suppose we can start again in a peaceful world?'

Daniel forced a smile. ‘It is something of a shock to find myself a free man and, apparently, Lord Midhurst. But you … ?'

Kit shook his head and turned back, spreading his hands in a gesture of defeat. ‘My life has always been a tangle. To the world I am a dead man, but I married a wealthy woman and we live a comfortable life, so I have little to complain about, alive or dead.' He smiled. ‘I look forward to you meeting Thamsine. You'll like her. She has had her own share of trouble in the past, but we are content now.'

‘You mentioned daughters?'

A fond parent's smile softened his brother's sharp features. ‘Two. The youngest, Maria, is but a baby and then there is Jane, named for Tham's sister. She is my heart's delight, but unlike her namesake, I fear she takes after me. I worry for any man who would take her on.' Kit stretched his arms and folded himself into the nearest chair as if finally allowing himself to relax in his brother's presence. ‘We also have two wards — Tham's nieces — as well your mother and Frances … '

The breath tightened in Daniel's throat. ‘Did you tell Mother that I have returned in one piece?'

Kit shook his head. ‘She didn't take the news of your death well the second time. I dared not risk a third resurrection unless I was certain.'

There were hundreds of questions battling in Daniel's mind, but there would be time enough to fill in those missing years. He studied his brother for a long moment, his gaze moving from the crooked fingers of his right hand – another gap in the story that needed to be told – to the deep lines etched on Kit's face.

Daniel considered that the decisions he had made in his life had never been moral decisions, just life and death. Yet Kit had thrown away everything he believed in, and his actions had led directly to the judicial deaths of three innocent men. Small wonder he lived with their ghosts.

‘Come back to Seven Ways with me,' Daniel said, adding. ‘Lady Thornton insists the beds here are lumpy.'

A slow smile lit his brother's lean face. ‘They are indeed, but there's no hurry. Pass that wine jug.'.

***

Essie had lit a fire and Agnes hunkered down beside it, poking it into life. She could hear the distant sound of laughter drifting through the house. Daniel had returned with Kit, late in the afternoon. Both in high spirits. Their return had been greeted with warmth by the Thorntons and dinner in the Great Hall had been ordered.

Agnes had sent Essie with her regrets and the message that she was indisposed, and she didn't think she would be missed. Kit Lovell's arrival, his reconciliation with Daniel, and the reunion with his old comrade in arms belonged to the Lovells and the Thorntons, not to her.

She rose to her feet and paced the room, her arms wrapped around her body to still the tears of self-pity that rolled down her face. She knew she should be pleased that the lonely, anguished man she had taken to bed only the previous night had found his brother but his happiness only served to drive home her own loneliness. Kit had given Daniel back something she could never match – his family — and that left a hollow emptiness in her heart.

She told herself that Daniel was no better than James Ashby. He had taken what she had offered, wrapped up in soft words and a consideration that James had never demonstrated, but as she had with James, she had been in danger of mistaking lust for love.

Agnes sank down onto the edge of the bed and lowered her head, twisting the chain around her neck. Her fingers closed around the worn, familiar shape with the lock of Henry's baby hair, unable to explain the feeling of dread that circled her chest like a band as she thought of the child. She seemed to hear him calling for her. She clenched the locket tighter. She had a son who needed her, and she couldn't tarry any longer.

She didn't need Daniel. Back in London she had been grateful to find a man, any man, willing to help her, but as the days had gone by she had gained in confidence. She could, she would, go on without him.

The small matter of money could be overcome, somehow. Perhaps she could prevail on Daniel to lend her some coins, and if she got desperate, sell the locket. After all, it was only a thing, a means to an end.

Filled with this new resolve, she rose to her feet and began to pack her few belongings into the worn leather satchel. She hesitated over the delicate square of cambric Daniel had given her when they were attacked by footpads. By rights she should have returned it, but in a gloomy inn room she had washed it clean and folded it carefully, stowing it away with her few precious belongings. She pressed it to her lips. He wouldn't miss it, and she wanted some small thing to remember him by.

At the bottom of the satchel she found James's book of poetry, forgotten and unread. Pulling it out she pressed it to her face, breathing in the scent of leather and glue, but all trace of James himself had long since evaporated.

Idly, she riffled through the pages of
The Faerie Queen
, nearly dropping the book as a piece of paper worked itself loose from where it had been concealed and fluttered to the floor. She set the book down and picked up the paper, her eye drawn to her name scrawled across the top of the page. Holding it close to the candle, she read:

James had never called her “his” or “darling” in all the years of their acquaintanceship.

Agnes dashed the fresh tears from her eyes and looked at the paper in her hand.
As I once shewed you
… She frowned as a small fragment of memory came back to her.

It had been one of their rare moments of intimacy, a sharing of childhood stories. He had told her of a secret code he and a friend had devised in the schoolroom. Her hand shook as she raised the paper to the wavering candlelight, and her heart skipped a beat as tiny motes of light trickled through holes in the paper.

‘No.' She breathed the word aloud, recognising the holes for what they were – evidence of the code James had told her about.

Setting the paper down on the table, she took a deep breath. The answer was in the pages of
The Faerie Queen
. If she could match the holes to a page of verse, the hidden message would be revealed.

‘Which page?' she asked aloud. Like most of Spenser's work it was a long, rambling poem.

She sat down at the table and, opening the book, laid the paper over the first page. The paper fitted the page size exactly but none of the holes aligned with the text. On the second page the holes aligned but the resulting letters were nonsensical.

On the fifteenth page of the poem she ran her fingers over the page, feeling the slight indentations he had used to mark the letters. Holding her breath she laid the paper over it and, painstakingly extricating each letter, read the message James had left.

Just to be certain she checked all the other pages of the poem, but this was the only one that made sense and the only page with the indentations.

‘What does that mean?' she asked the dead James.

But he deigned not to answer.

The children were the clue. Her mind ranged through the well remembered corridors and rooms of Charvaley. The nursery. Who would think to search for gold in a children's' nursery?

She jumped at the gentle rap on the door, but before she could answer, the door opened and Daniel sauntered in, his jacket unlaced and the cloth loose around his neck. She set the book and paper back on the table and rose to meet him.

‘Lady Thornton said you were unwell,' he said.

‘I was … I am,' she replied.

‘But I would like you to meet Kit.'

‘I have met him,' she responded, conscious of the hard edge to her words.

‘I wanted you to know that you were right, Agnes … Kit paid a heavy price for my Pardon.'

‘And all is resolved between you?'

He nodded. ‘Much lost time to catch up on but I think we have reached an understanding and for that I have you to thank.'

She shook her head. ‘Please don't thank me.'

I couldn't bear it.

‘Agnes … ' He reached out, cupping the back of her head in his hand and drawing her toward him. She recognised the look in his eyes, a wolfish, hungry look, for what it was – lust.

She knocked his hand aside and took a step back.

‘No,' she said, before he could speak.

A flash of anger creased his brow but was gone as quickly as it came. He dropped his hand and stared at her, a frown creasing his forehead.

‘I don't understand … ' he began.

Fuelled by her latest resolution, Agnes brought her chin up and glared at him. ‘You presumed because I came willingly to your bed once that I would do so again. You were wrong. I will not be used or presumed upon again.'

As I was by James.

He reached out and stroked her cheek, a frown creasing his forehead. ‘Is it something I said … something I did? I thought … that you and I … '

At his touch, Agnes's resolve began to waver. His gentle caress sent shivers of desire running down her spine.

It took an effort, but she batted away his hand.

How could she explain that it was precisely because the nature of their relationship had changed that she had to turn him away? For both their sakes she had to make the cut and make it deep.

‘I came to you last night for one reason only. Because you needed me. But not tonight. I am not a whore to be used at your convenience.'

He flinched and she knew her barb had struck home. ‘That is harsh, Agnes. I will never think of you that way.' He touched the tip of her nose and when she turned her face away, he withdrew his hand, the wolfish gleam dying in his eyes.

‘I will be leaving in the morning,' she said.

He frowned at her. ‘Leaving?'

‘You are recovered and no doubt you will be returning with Kit to Hampshire to see your family. I will continue on to Charvaley … alone.' Even as she said the word, her resolve wavered. What genteel woman travelled the roads of England alone?

His eyes narrowed. ‘How? I made you a promise, Agnes.'

‘And I'm not holding you to it. Your circumstances have changed in a way you could not have foreseen. Mine have not. I still have two children who need me and I have to find my way to Charvaley.'

That cold dread, the fear for Henry, clutched at her once more. She would leave this minute if she could.

He considered her for a long moment. ‘But you're wrong, Agnes. Nothing's changed,' he said at last. ‘Not while Tobias Ashby is at Charvaley.'

She laughed. ‘Surely you don't really plan to kill him?'

His high cheekbones coloured at her derision. ‘That has been all I have thought of for the last ten years, Agnes.'

‘That is a boy's dream, Daniel. Put the past away. You have a future now.'

He stiffened. ‘I don't understand what has changed between us, Agnes.'

Nothing
, she thought. It felt like every nerve in her body had been strung tight. If he touched her again, she would fall apart.

Mercifully, when she did not reply he straightened, setting his jaw. She had hurt him and her heart yearned to take him in her arms again, murmuring apologies.

‘We will talk in the morning, Agnes. If nothing else, I cannot in good conscience permit you to travel alone. If you do not want my company then suitable arrangements will need to be made.'

He gave her a perfunctory bow and turned on his heel, the movement catching the paper on the table. It fluttered to the floor and he stooped to pick it up. Before she could snatch it from his hands, he had scanned the contents.

‘James Ashby's idea of a love letter?' He turned back to her, handing her the paper.

‘His last letter to me.' She took the paper, glancing down at the familiar handwriting. ‘He said more in those few short sentences than he said to me living. I found it in a book he gave me on that last day. I hadn't thought to open it until tonight.'

Daniel shook his head. ‘I'm sorry. It was wrong of me to read it.'

She shrugged. ‘It's of no matter.'

He turned again for the door. ‘Good night, Agnes. Stay your plans another day and we will contrive to work something out.'

She shook her head. ‘No. I must go, Daniel. I … I can't explain.'

He turned back, his eyes wary. ‘Agnes?'

‘I have a terrible … feeling about Henry. He's in danger.' The words sounded so foolish said aloud.

In two strides he had returned to her, placing his hands on her shoulders and turning her to face him.

‘Is that what all this is about, Agnes? Henry?'

She nodded.

Daniel reached out and touched her hair, his hand once more cupping the back of her head and drawing her toward him, but not as it had been before, with lust in his eyes. This time she saw only understanding.

He folded her in his arms, kissing the top of her head. ‘You are right, Agnes. It's no longer about Tobias Ashby. That was a boy's anger.'