by Candace Camp
But he had not said he loved her.
Of course, Kyria thought, she had not said the words, either, but she knew that she felt them. She would not have gone to his bed, otherwise, no matter how carried away she had been with passion. She wanted to think that Rafe would not have done so, either, but every time she told herself that, her insecurities rose up to scoff at her.
To get her mind off Rafe, she had decided to think about the problem of the reliquary, instead. That problem, she found, was no more easily resolved. The box should go back to the Keepers, she thought. She could not help but believe that their story was genuine. But she was too honest to ignore the fact that she hated to give it up.
Finally, she had gone to the study and taken the reliquary out of the safe again. She held it in her lap, her thumb unconsciously caressing the black stone. The Heart of Night…
It seemed such an apt name. Lyrical and romantic, an appropriate jewel for a goddess. She thought about the worship of the goddess that Nelson Ashcombe had described to them. The world had once had a number of goddess cults, she knew; after all, the themes of harvest and rebirth were similar to the Druidic religion that had thrived in England in ancient times. Odd, how ancient religion had centered on the female…
“Fascinating, isn’t it?” A man’s voice spoke from the doorway of the study.
Kyria jumped, almost knocking the reliquary from her lap, and she whirled around to look at the doorway, her hands clamping around the box. “Oh!” She let out a shaky little laugh of relief. “Lord Walford. You startled me.”
“I am sorry.” He smiled at her and advanced into the room. “I hope you will excuse me for dropping in on you like this.”
Kyria rose and set the box down on the small table beside her. “Of course. You are quite welcome here.”
However, she thought, she intended to have a talk with Phipps about the servants’ letting a visitor just walk in without announcing him first. She supposed they, too, must be excited by Theo’s arrival, but still…
“Shall we repair to the drawing room?” she suggested, gesturing toward the door. “If you will excuse me, I will just put this away, and then I will join you.”
“Oh, please, don’t put it away.” Walford stopped, looked abashed. “I am sorry. You must think me terribly presumptuous. But if that is the Reliquary of the Holy Standard you have there, I would very much like to look at it. Ashcombe told me about it. I have never seen the man so excited.”
“Oh. Of course.” Kyria picked up the box and held it out to him. She felt a bit uneasy about showing it to anyone, but after all, Walford had done them a favor by insisting that the archaeologist speak to them. Without Ashcombe, they would probably not have been able to rescue Alex the night before.
“Exquisite,” Walford said, taking the reliquary in his hand and gazing reverently at it. “The Star of the Underworld,” he breathed.
“What? Oh, yes, that is one of the names that Ashcombe said the diamond was called. I did not realize that you were interested in such things as the reliquary. I thought it was more your father’s subject.”
“Oh, I’m not interested in the reliquary,” he said carelessly, handing the box back to her. Kyria turned away and began to rewrap the box and return it to the drawstring bag.
“It is the diamond that I desire,” Walford went on behind her.
Kyria turned, suddenly uneasy. She found herself staring into the end of a revolver. The air rushed out of her lungs.
“You,” she said at last. “It was you—”
“I have had the devil of a time getting it,” Walford said conversationally. “I realized finally that I had to stop relying on subordinates and take the matter into my own hands. So—” he motioned with the pistol “—please walk out the door in front of me. I am putting my gun into my pocket, but I will still be able to shoot you if you decide to refuse.”
Kyria walked out into the hall on legs that were suddenly wooden. How could Walford possibly hope to get away with taking the reliquary? She had seen him; she would simply go to the police and—It was then that it struck her. He is making me walk out in front of him because he is planning on taking me with him! That way I will not be able to tell everyone what happened. Her blood ran cold as she realized that the only way he could permanently keep her from revealing his identity was to kill her.
She stopped in the hallway. “No,” she said firmly. “I won’t go. Just take the thing and leave.”
“My dear Lady Kyria, I cannot possibly do that. You must see that it is impossible. If you refuse to go, I will have to shoot you, and then all the servants will come running, and I will have to shoot them, as well. Unless you want to have their blood on your conscience, I suggest that you start walking.”
Numbly, Kyria did as he said. The man was mad, she thought. He sounded perfectly reasonable, but his words were stark, staring mad!
She walked on, hoping that a maid or footman would see them and then tell Rafe and her brothers what had happened. Where were all the servants, anyway?
They made it to the front door without attracting anyone’s notice, and Kyria was both relieved and terrified. Once they stepped outside, she realized that the servants were no longer in danger, so drawing a breath, she let out a piercing scream.
Walford, cursing, grabbed her around the waist and picked her up, carrying her to the dark, plain carriage that stood in front of their house. Kyria kicked and screamed and tried to hit him with the box. But it did no good. The man atop the carriage jumped down and opened the door for Walford, then grabbed the bag from her and tossed it in onto the seat. Together the two men grasped Kyria’s arms and started shoving her into the carriage, as well, despite her struggles.
There was a flash of white, and Kyria realized that someone was running toward them, shouting. It was one of the Keepers! Hope surged in her, but Walford pointed his gun and fired, and the monk went down, blood staining his white robe.
“No!” Kyria screamed, and suddenly the world went dark as Walford punched her in the side of the head, then threw her into the carriage.
* * *
Rafe was humming beneath his breath as he alighted from the hansom and started up the steps to Broughton House. He was rather surprised that no footman opened the door at his approach, as was customary.
He had just entered the house when a wild-eyed footman came hurrying toward him. “Mr. McIntyre! Thank heavens!”
“What?” Alarm rose up in Rafe. “What is it? Where’s Kyria?”
“That’s just it, sir!” The footman looked close to tears. “She’s been taken!”
For an instant Rafe could say nothing, could not even move. Then he sprang forward, grabbing the servant by the front of his jacket. “What the hell are you talking about? What happened?”
Fortunately for the footman, who went pop-eyed and started jabbering incoherently, Phipps came hurrying in, saying, “Mr. McIntyre!”
Rafe abandoned his unsatisfactory prey and turned to the other man. “Where’s Kyria?”
“She has been abducted, sir.” The butler retained his preternatural calm, although the level of his disturbance was evident in the beads of sweat that had formed at his hairline. “We thought she was leaving with a friend. Milly saw them walking out the front door, and she said that the man did not have hold of her and Lady Kyria did not seem to be forced. But there was quite a commotion after they stepped outside, and a man—I believe you call them Keepers, sir—was shot.”
“Shot! Is he dead?”
“No, sir, merely wounded. The doctor is with him right now, but he insists on speaking with you. He will not let the doctor give him chloroform until he has spoken with you.”
“Where is he?”
“Right this way, sir.” The butler led him quickly toward the smaller formal dining room.
A gaggle of servants stood outside in the hall, obviously upset, and with them were the twins, white-faced and abnormally silent. When they saw Rafe, they ran to him.
�
��You’ve got to do something! They’ve taken Kyria!”
“I know. Phipps told me. Let me talk to the Keeper and find out what happened.” Rafe put a hand on each boy’s shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze. “Hold fast.”
The twins nodded, looking calmer. Rafe went past them into the dining room. The doctor was standing beside the long mahogany table, looking both worried and irritated, and before him on the table lay a white-robed monk.
“Sir!” The Keeper saw Rafe and let out a relieved cry.
“Tell me what happened,” Rafe said, going to his side and taking the hand the man held out to him. He was little more than a lad. His face was deathly white, and one side and sleeve of his robe were stained grimly with blood. “Did you see who took Kyria?”
“Yes, but I did not know him. He was…tall…dark hair.” The man winced at a sudden pain, his words coming out in gasps. “She screamed. She was fighting. He threw her…in the carriage. I ran to them. He shot me.”
“Can you tell me anything about the carriage? Was there anything distinctive about it?”
“Plain.” The young man squeezed Rafe’s hand harder, looking up earnestly into his face. “The reliquary. He was carrying a bag. I think the reliquary was in it. I could sense it. It called to me.”
Rafe remembered Brother Jozef’s similar statement about the sacred object. Whatever feelings the monk might have about the reliquary, Rafe felt sure that he was right: the reliquary would be with them. It was, after all, what the man had come for.
“You did well,” Rafe told the Keeper, giving his hand a squeeze. “I will take care of it now. Let the doctor get to work on you.”
The young man nodded, closing his eyes in relief, and his hand slipped out of Rafe’s grasp. Rafe turned and left the room. The twins, as well as all the servants, were waiting anxiously for him.
Rafe shook his head. “He doesn’t know who the man was. Did only Milly see him?”
It appeared that she had been the only one. She came forward, her face tear-splotched, and told him that she had not recognized the man. “I’m so sorry, sir! I never thought there was anything wrong! She didn’t act afraid.”
“She wouldn’t,” Rafe said. “I imagine the fellow had a gun on her—you just couldn’t see it.”
“Do you think they took her to the place where I was?” Alex asked.
“I think it’s unlikely, since we know about the building. I suppose it will have to be checked out, though. Phipps…”
He turned toward the butler, and at that moment, the front door flew open with a crash and there was the sound of running feet. “Phipps!”
A moment later Reed and Theo appeared at the end of the hall and hurried toward them.
“What the devil’s going on?” Reed shouted, his face etched with worry.
“What did Phipps’s message mean, ‘Kyria’s in trouble’?” Theo said.
“She has been kidnapped,” Rafe replied, and told them the story. “The Keeper thinks they have the box, too, and I feel sure he’s right.”
“But if he has the box, why did he take Kyria, as well?” Reed asked.
Rafe looked grim. “Because she could identify him.”
Theo’s tanned face paled. “You mean, then, he would…”
“…see to it that she can’t identify him, I would imagine,” Rafe finished for him. “We have to find her as soon as possible.”
“Good God! Where do we start?”
Alex once again brought up the warehouse where he had been taken, but Reed, too, dismissed it as unlikely. “I can’t imagine they would go back there, and the police found nothing that seemed to connect the place to anything.”
“What about this opium den?” Theo asked.
Rafe nodded. “That’s a better place to go, I think, although since we have already confronted them there, I wouldn’t think they would take her there, either. I want to talk to Ashcombe again. He clearly knew something. When we followed him to the den, we could hear him arguing with someone about Alex’s abduction. So he knows, if not the man behind all this, at least someone higher up in the organization. And just as clearly, he felt uneasy about kidnapping a child. He would have to be just as uncertain about the possibility of their murdering someone. I can break him, I’m certain of it.”
Given the look on Rafe’s face, no one was inclined to argue.
“Ashcombe?” Theo asked, looking puzzled. He had not heard all the details of the events of the previous night. “Are you talking about the archaeologist?”
“Yes. He is involved somehow.” Rafe’s face cleared. “Say, you can use your influence with Walford. If he confronts Ashcombe, the man will—”
“Lord Walford?” Theo frowned. “The old man? What are you talking about? I don’t have—”
“No, his son,” Reed explained impatiently. “The old man died a year or two ago, and his son came into the title.” He looked back to Rafe. “But why would Theo have any influence with the man?”
“Because they are friends.” At the blank looks on the other two men’s faces, Rafe went on, “Lord Walford told Kyria that you and he had become friends when you were both in Turkey or somewhere.”
“Good heavens, no!” Theo said. “Gerard is a rum one—I’ve never heard anything good about him. There were a number of unsavory rumors about him going around the English community in Turkey.”
Rafe looked at him for a moment, his face hardening. “He is involved in it! Dammit to hell! How could I have been so stupid? I dismissed my suspicions about him because I thought it was merely jealousy.”
“Walford? You think it’s Walford behind this?” Reed asked.
“I don’t know. But I think he may very well be involved in it. His archaeologist certainly is. Ashcombe has been searching for that box for years. Maybe he was doing it for his employer. Or maybe the two of them share the mania.”
“Let’s go talk to Ashcombe,” Reed said. “We’ll catch a cab. We haven’t time to bring around the carriage.”
For once, the twins did not protest when told they could not accompany them, and moments later, the three men were rolling down the street in a hansom. They were well armed, Rafe and Theo with a brace of pistols each and Reed with a shotgun. Theo also took the added precaution of concealing a scabbard with a rather large knife in the side of his boot, a souvenir, apparently, of his trip up the Amazon some years earlier.
At Ashcombe’s house, Rafe did not even wait for the maid’s protestations, but shoved open the door as soon as she opened it and marched inside, Reed and Theo following him. The maid’s mouth dropped open as she took in the men, all obviously armed. Raising her hand, she pointed down the hallway at her employer’s study.
Ashcombe was at his desk, and he jumped up, startled, when the door slammed open and Rafe barged in.
“Good Lord! What are you…” He straightened, squaring his shoulders, and went on, “What is the meaning of this intrusion?”
“I want the truth, Ashcombe, and I want it now.” Rafe strode over to the man and wrapped his hand around the lapels of his jacket, twisting and jerking the man forward.
“I…I don’t know what you mean.”
“Who abducted Alex yesterday? Who were you talking to in that opium den? Who the hell is behind all this?”
Ashcombe gaped at Rafe, then began to sputter. Rafe gave him a single hard shake.
“Don’t even try to lie. I will have the truth from you if I have to peel your skin off strip by strip to get it. He has taken the box and Kyria.” Another shake. “What the hell is going on?”
“He…he took Lady Kyria?” Ashcombe looked dismayed, and he glanced around vaguely. “Oh, my God. My God, I told him…”
“Who?” Reed barked. “Is it Walford?”
Ashcombe nodded. “He has gone mad! I told him he would go too far…”
Rafe released him, and the older man staggered back a little. He cast a look around at the three implacable faces, then sighed and began to talk. “Gerard was wild when he was yo
ung. He got into serious trouble here, and his father barely managed to buy his way out of it. Lord Walford sent him off to one of my digs, hoping it would straighten the boy out. It didn’t. He didn’t care for archaeology. All he cared about was himself—and pleasure. He…he got involved in the opium trade in Turkey. And he made a great deal of money.”
He paused, then went on, “He came to me several years ago. He wanted me to find the Reliquary of the Holy Standard for him. Of course I had heard of it, but I had always dismissed it as a legend. He insisted that I change the direction of my studies, that I devote myself to finding it. Naturally, I told him that I would not—I answered only to his father. But he…he knew about my weakness, you see.” Ashcombe cast a glance at Rafe.
“Your opium addiction,” Rafe supplied.
Ashcombe nodded. “Yes, I was injured on a dig many years ago, and I was given opium for the pain. I came to depend on it, crave it, and it is easy enough to come by there. Gerard knew about it, you see, and he threatened to reveal it to my father. And he…he kept me supplied with it, even when I was in England. When he returned here to take the title, he set up that place, the one in Cheapside.”
“So he owns the opium den,” Reed said.
“And he wants the reliquary,” Theo added.
Ashcombe nodded. “Yes, well, it isn’t really the reliquary he wants. It’s the Heart of Night.”
“The what?” Theo asked.
“The black diamond,” Rafe said. “He’s only after the diamond? But why?”
“Because it is an object of great mysticism. Part of the religion of the goddess Inanna. When he was in the Middle East, he came to believe in the goddess. He feels that it was Inanna who helped him into the opium trade, who vanquished his enemies and enabled him to become the wealthy, powerful man that he is.”
“He’s insane!” Reed exclaimed.
