Queen (Regency Refuge 3) (7 page)

The wind left Owen's lungs in a rush, and lightheadedness kept him rooted to the chair. "Wh-what?"

"Your father yelled it. 'You touch Owen, and I'll kill you.' It's the only part of the conversation shouted with enough volume for me to hear from where I was concealed."

"Grant me access to the minister's ledgers, books, paperwork, anything you can get. I need to find out what's going on."

Tobias nodded. "I had thought to ship it here to Chakal Manor to make it easier on you, but there's too much for that to be sensible. You'll need to come to London, but travel with an alias. Parliament is none too pleased with you — or me — at present."

Owen nodded. "I need to go back to Bristol for a day. After that, I'll come straightaway to London."

Rupert questioned. "Is your absence not going to harm your investigation in Bristol?"

"No, it'll be fine. I… The next step of that investigation is still at least a couple weeks away. Until then it's a matter of watching and waiting."

Tobias voiced the question. "And if Queen disappears while you're gone?"

Regret and responsibility both pulled at Owen, forcing him in too many different directions. He needed to keep Isabel safe. Beyond that, he wanted to find a way to make it up to her for everything that had ever gone wrong in her life. Owen tapped his knuckles lightly against the table as he made his decision. "The best way to keep her safe is to find out what happened all those years ago, and if I can clear her parents' names in the process, maybe some of the happiness stolen from her can be restored."

Rupert ambled over to his desk and removed a piece of paper. He jotted down a note, folded it, and applied a wax seal. "Give this to her."

Owen's eyes flicked from the missive to Rupert's stare, and he felt the first measure of peace he'd had since leaving Bristol. Rupert cared for Isabel's well-being as much as he did. "I'm glad to have you as an ally on this."

Rupert's inscrutable nod reminded Owen who he was with. Jackal, a man renowned for his ability to hide his thoughts from people.

Owen turned his attention to Tobias. "I haven't decided about you yet."

The man's sardonic grin met his gaze. "I'm sorry for what's happened to Queen, but I did the best I could at the time. I believe that, or I'd have a hard time living with myself." Tobias paused like a man carefully weighing his next words. The circles under his eyes stood out, bruises against his skin. "I never wanted my investigation to lead me to your father, and if you can find proof to the contrary, I'll be glad for it."

****

Owen had dismissed himself from the meeting and was walking briskly toward the front door when Rupert called his name. He thought to calm himself by studying his fingernails while he waited for the older agent to catch up. Instead, he noticed his hands mocking his bid for self-control as they shook.

"Don't ride back tonight." Rupert's voice was hushed.

"I need to get back."

Rupert followed him out the door and walked with him as he headed toward the stable. "Your horse needs a rest, and the last thing anybody needs is for you to break your neck because you didn't see a tree branch or a badger's burrow."

Owen shook his head. "I don't want to be around Tobias at the moment." In truth, he was strung tighter than the strings on a violin. Owen flexed his hands, tightening them into fists and releasing them. He knew he was near the edge, ready to let a punch fly at the slightest provocation, something unusual for him. As a man normally ruled by logic, the heated pinpricks of anger were unfamiliar and uncomfortable.

Rupert clapped a hand on Owen's shoulder. "You'll sort through it and come to your own conclusion about Tobias. In the meantime, sleep in the stable or under the stars. Promise me you'll wait 'til morning to leave."

Owen gave a curt nod. "
Despiadado
does need some rest — I'll grant you that. Fine, I'll stay the night, but I'll sleep with the animals if it's all the same to you. At least I don't have to question where I stand with them."

Rupert nodded. "Be sure to decide whether you distrust Tobias because of the secrets he's kept or because he accused your father. Knowing which might help you settle this matter more quickly in your own mind."

Owen grunted in acknowledgment.

Night had already fallen, and darkness surrounded them. Rupert's voice conveyed his wry humor. "
Despiadado
, huh? Any particular reason you bought a horse named Merciless?"

Rubbing his hands together to ward off the cold air, Owen answered, "I didn't buy him. I raised him."

"Named him, too?"

"Most certainly."

"Did you call him
Despiadado
because of who you are, or who you wish to be?"

Owen's hands stilled as the words tumbled about inside his brain. "As a reminder of who I want to be and who I don't wish to become."

The cloudy sky hid much of the moon, but there was still enough light to see Rupert's pensive face as he shook his head. "Explain."

"Tobias prefers to assign me to paperwork rather than letting me pursue cases in the field. My mind seems to be designed for that kind of work. I catch things in the ledgers others miss, but I've always had the impression he would better trust me to protect myself and others if I were more ruthless."

"And for that you need to be merciless?"

Owen nodded.

"How then does the name remind you who you don't want to be?"

"God is merciful, and I should strive to be like Him."

Rupert's brown eyes glowed in the night. "You seek to be both merciless and merciful. You have the makings of a conundrum."

Wind swept through the paddock with the mournful howl of a hungry beast. "
Despiadado
is a constant reminder. I must search for the balance between the two. There is a place in the midst of God's grace where a man can be strong, protect his country, fight for the good of those he loves, and even kill if necessary. That is what I seek."

"You are on a noble quest, then. Once you find what you seek, come back and tell me what it looks like."

Owen tilted his head to the side and stared at Rupert. "Have you not found it?"

"Oh, I found it a long time ago. Nevertheless, I am curious to hear if it will look differently to a different man." Rupert held out his hand, and Owen took it in a grip of friendship. "Godspeed, friend. Godspeed."

****

Owen found himself on a bed of fresh straw in the stall next to his horse's. Try as he might, sleep would not come. He eventually abandoned the idea of slumber and did what he should have to start with. Lying on his back with his hands cushioned behind his head, he began talking to the One who had all the answers.

Why have You allowed such terrible things to happen to Isabel? If I were honest, I'd tell You I'm angry with You. You should have protected her. I know, I know. You didn't cause evil to be in the world. Man chose it. I can grasp the theology behind it, but when I remember what a sweet kid she was and how needlessly her childhood was torn from her hands, I get angry.

And while we're on the topic, I'm not too happy about having to listen to Tobias speak of my father and treason in the same sentence. He's a good man and doesn't deserve to be maligned this way. I'm pretty sure You holding me back is what stopped me from flying across that room and showing Tobias how I felt about the whole thing.

I need wisdom. In dealing with Isabel tomorrow night, and in reviewing the documents still in storage from the minister's home.

Owen finally drifted off to sleep in the wee hours of the morning.

****

"Are you dead?" Poke, poke.

Owen pushed at the offending weapon of torture and rolled over.

"I can tell you're not dead, so you might as well get up."

That voice…

Owen jumped to his feet, his hands raised in a defensive posture, alarm filling him with jolt after jolt of adrenaline.

"It's about time."

He studied her. The old woman. Mrs. Burnham leaned on the stall door, her cane pointed at him.

So I guess the poking wasn't a dream.

Owen glanced toward the end of the stable and saw the still-dark sky outside. Then he narrowed his eyes in the light of the lantern as he stared at the woman who had once tried to give him a caning. "What's the time, and why are you here?"

She grinned, but her skin was so tight and drawn it looked not much different from her normal expression. Rupert had once said she had skin to rival a mummy, and Owen had to agree.

"Speak, woman."

"I needed to have a private conversation with you."

This couldn't be good. "About?"

Mrs. Burnham moved with care toward a barrel left in the stable's aisle, and sat down upon it. It was close enough to the wall she could have leaned back, but she instead sat straight, prim, and proper. Owen's patience — something he'd never had with the old woman to begin with — became dangerously thin.

"You need to know some things, and I need your word they'll stay private between you and me."

Owen glared but said nothing.

She gave a satisfied nod. "Female agents have existed for as long as I can remember. Queen wasn't the first, although she was the most unfortunate."

What?

"Tell her the pigeon hides at Chakal Manor."

Owen took a step closer. "Say what you mean."

She glowered at him. "I did. She'll understand."

"I want to know what it means."

Mrs. Burnham shook her head. "The message isn't for you."

Owen spun away and stalked back into the stall he'd slept in to make sure he'd left nothing behind. Then he collected
Despiadado's
saddle and began to prepare the horse for the day's journey.

"You should speak to your father."

Owen's head snapped around until she was in his line of sight. "You speak as if you know something."

She shrugged. "I know many things."

Senile old woman.

Mrs. Burnham rose from the barrel and began walking toward the stable's entrance.

Owen forestalled her with a question. "Why sneak down here in the darkness to tell me these things?"

"Just deliver the message I gave you. If you don't…" She lifted her cane in the air and swung it toward him.

Owen was out of her reach, but still, he flinched.

She cackled briefly. "It serves you well that you remember what I'm capable of."

Isabel pulled Owen's note from her dingy apron's pocket for the umpteenth time.

Iola,

Something came up, and I had to leave. I should be back in four days' time.

Oscar L.

It gave no clue as to why he'd gone, but she'd have bet a dozen egg-laying hens it had to do with Tobias. She'd given up on the coded message. It had proven to be nothing but nonsense. That meant a different message had held something important enough to pull Owen away from Bristol. Granted, they weren't doing much more than waiting for the
Âne Hurlants
to make port. But still, Owen didn't seem the sort to run off on a whim.

As Isabel wiped down the last of the tables for the night, she contemplated, not for the first time, what her life might have been like had it taken a different turn. The weight of responsibility bowed her shoulders as she thought of the family she'd constructed with Red and Maggie. If her parents had never been accused of treason, she would have grown up with morning gowns and soirées until she wed a charming young man and was set free in the world to raise a family of her own.

Isabel snorted.
Right.
Or she'd have ended up wed to an ogre and made to attend all the social functions while the nanny raised her children.

With a push, Isabel made her way through the door of the inn and began the walk down the path.

Her father wouldn't have married her off to a monster. He'd have made sure she was taken care of.

Memories of her father teaching her to dance flitted through her mind.

Lost in her world of memories, Isabel didn't at first realize somebody was whispering her name. Sort of.

"Iola. Iola!"

The whisper distorted the voice until she couldn't tell whether it came from friend or foe. Producing a knife from the folds of her skirt, she stepped off the path. As she rounded a rock, she found Owen leaning against the other side, a lit cheroot in his hand.

"I didn't know you smoked."

He snuffed it out. "I don't, but it's an easy way to draw attention after dark if a person wishes to be so noticed. Until tonight, that is. You didn't see me."

Isabel shook her head. "My mind was elsewhere."

"It's a good thing I'm on your side. No matter how easy a job may seem, you can't ever let your guard down. Even when you think you've dispatched the last villain on earth, danger will continue to lurk around every turn in the path."

She frowned at him. "You're awfully glum." She stepped closer and shook her finger at him. "I'm angry at you for leaving."

He nodded and held out his arm. "I think our abandoned little shed is still standing. Shall we go have a conversation?"

Isabel wanted to scold him for leaving such a vague note. Nay. She wanted to hurt him for making her feel abandoned, something to which she did not take kindly. She tried to let it go. Owen had no way of knowing she lived in constant fear of losing the people she loved.

Loved? No, no. She didn't love him… did she?

Isabel sighed and took his arm. The truth was, she'd been a little bit in love with Owen Loring since she'd been a small child. Now that he was all grown up, with his windswept curls and thoughtful smile, she found him even harder to resist.

****

They shared no conversation as they made the trek toward the shed. Once there, Owen shook out the rug before placing it back on the crate for Isabel.

She sat down, her melancholy from earlier still tugging at her. The sinking feeling in her soul told her Owen had nothing good to say.

Owen's voice rumbled in the dim moonlight. "Are you familiar with Chakal Manor?"

Someone many years ago had mentioned that name to her. "Somewhat."

The dark made Owen's eyes a mystery, but she saw him nod. "I have two messages for you, but the first won't make sense unless you're familiar with the place."

She waited.

Owen let out a heartfelt sigh. "I'm supposed to tell you about the pigeon."

Isabel sucked in a surprised breath. Pigeon? There had only ever been one pigeon. Did Owen know about…? She took a deep breath and tried to keep her voice normal. "What about Pigeon?"

Owen tilted his head to the side and examined her. "The message is this:
The pigeon hides at Chakal Manor
."

Of its own volition, Isabel's hand lifted to her mouth, two of her fingers resting against her bottom lip. "Truly?"

He nodded. "Will you tell me what that means?"

She shook her head. "No. What of the other message?"

Owen pulled a folded piece of paper from the inside of his jacket and held it out to her. "A friend asked me to give this to you."

A single glance told Isabel she didn't recognize the handwriting, not that it would have been easy with only the letter
Q
on the front. She flipped it over and examined the back. The seal was made of plain red wax, but the imprint was of an intricately woven letter, a
J
. She'd seen that emblem once, also many years before.

Isabel tucked the note into her skirt pocket before resting her hands in her lap.

"Don't you wish to read it?"

"Later," she replied.

"What if it's about me? A warning that I shouldn't be trusted? An explanation of the threat I pose to you?"

She offered Owen a half smile. "Then be warned. I shall be adequately prepared with daggers and fire the next time we meet."

"Fire, huh?"

Isabel shrugged. "What can I say? I have a creative side."

Though she still couldn't read his eyes in the night, the smile lighting his face seemed genuine. She wanted to trust Owen. She already liked him.
Trust isn't too much to ask, is it, Lord?

She, however, kept her thoughts to herself and remained silent.
Let him speak first.

"I've been called away to London on a covert mission."

The air left Isabel's lungs. "But what of the
Âne Hurlants
? What of
this
covert mission?"

"We've still got a month before the ship gets near. I'll be back in plenty of time. I need to look into some things in London."

"By whose command?"

This time Owen remained silent.

"What is this secret job you're being sent on?"

Owen bit his lower lip before answering. "I'm good with numbers. I read ledgers, look for details that don't make sense. I can find things other people miss."

"Whose books will you be investigating, then?"

"The minister's."

Isabel's heart stuttered in her chest. Parliament had many ministers, but in her world, in Owen's world, there was only one, and he was recently deceased… by his own hand. In an unconscious gesture, she lifted a hand to her throat. "Why?"

"You might hate me if I tell you."

How could she hate Owen? Unless… "Say it and be done with it."

"I'm to investigate whether or not he had any possible involvement with your parents’ deaths."