by Darcy Burke
He did so and she unrolled it, exposing the intricate needlework to the bright summer day. It was exquisite, the detail impressive and the colors vibrant—a true piece of art. “The drawing on the paper didn’t do it justice,” he said.
“It’s just as I remembered.” Miss Bowen lightly touched the sword, almost reverent in her attention. “Turn it over.” She sucked in a breath as they flipped it . . .
He watched her scan the reverse, noted the enthusiasm slipping from her expression to be replaced with frustration.
“There’s nothing here,” she said.
Elijah recalled what Garber had said about the backside and saw what he meant. There were a few places where the stitching was uneven or perhaps tangled into a knot. “You were hoping for an actual map.”
She looked at him, her brows pitched at a furious angle. “Or a clue. Something.”
“Turn it back,” Grey said gruffly. “Maybe there’s something we’re missing.”
They flipped it back over. Elijah wanted to look at it from the same angle. “Here, take this corner,” he said to Wade as he moved closer to Miss Bowen so they could both look at it straight on.
Miss Bowen gave her top corner to Grey so that both she and Wade held a side. They all studied the image for several minutes.
Miss Bowen made a defeated sound. “I don’t see anything, just a regular depiction of a battle scene.”
“I rather doubt regular battles include flaming swords,” Wade said with a touch of humor.
Grey’s mouth ticked up, but Miss Bowen tossed him a glare.
“What battle is this?” Elijah asked.
“No one is certain,” Miss Bowen said. “It could be any one of the battles Arthur and his knights fought.”
Elijah pointed at the man wielding the flaming sword. “This is Arthur?”
“More likely Gareth, if de Valery’s Ballads of Gareth are to be believed, and given the contemporary poem in my father’s library, that’s what I’m inclined to think.”
“What is this on his shield?” The design was a quartered block with two red lions rampant against a gold field and two gold lions rampant against a red field. “Would it tell you with absolute certainty who this is?”
“No, because it’s Owen Glendower’s banner, which at the time the tapestry was created was simply a popular symbol of Welsh identification.”
Elijah couldn’t quite recall who Glendower was, but he didn’t understand her certainty. “Is it possible this is Owen Glendower instead of Arthur or one of his knights?”
“This tapestry was created shortly after Glendower disappeared—he was the last true prince of Wales. He led the Welsh rebellion in the early fifteenth century. It’s likely that whoever crafted it was a Welshwoman and chose to use his banner to signify the tapestry’s importance to Wales.”
“Or it could actually be Owen Glendower and one of his battles.”
Miss Bowen jerked her head up, her lips parted. But she snapped them closed and stared off into the distance for a moment. When she looked back at him, her lips were pursed and her gaze was skeptical. “That would be a significant departure from the previous line of thought.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”
“No.” She shook her head. “It’s just . . . I have to think about this. Grey, will you?” She relinquished the tapestry to Grey and stepped away, brushing the dirt from her dark green riding costume.
Grey took possession of the tapestry and Elijah stood, following Miss Bowen.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, walking alongside her.
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just trying to think this through. If that’s Owen Glendower in the tapestry, is that really the sword I think it is?”
Elijah thought about everything she’d told him. “I thought that document said it was the sword, that the tapestry was a map leading to it?”
She froze in her tracks. “Yes.” She swung to face him. “I wish I’d studied that document more closely, or better yet, taken the time to write it down word for word.”
“You’re in luck.” He pulled the parchment from his coat and held it out to her. “I thought it might be a good thing to have.”
She took it from him, her dark eyes wide. “You folded it? I realize you’re not familiar with historical documents, so I shan’t blame you. However, in future, never ever crease a valuable piece of history such as this.” She opened it carefully.
“My apologies.”
Staring at the parchment, she shook her head. “I can’t believe you took this. When Septon finds out we took this, he’ll be livid.”
“How will he know who took it?”
She looked at him in admonishment. “He won’t—he doesn’t even know I’m aware of the library—but that doesn’t excuse your stealing it.”
“Borrowing it,” he corrected. “You never did tell me how you knew about his ‘secret’ library.”
“I’m very clever.” Her tone was haughty, angry.
“Not clever enough to figure out that was Owen Glendower.”
Her eyes sparked as she glared up at him. “We don’t know if that’s true. Now, if you’ll be quiet for a moment, I’d like to read this.”
Elijah silently chided himself for provoking her. She wasn’t angry with him; she was angry with herself. He’d seen something she hadn’t and that grated on her pride, something he now understood was incredibly important to her. Yes, she was a most unusual—and exciting—woman.
He waited patiently while she reread the document. When at last she looked up, she no longer appeared upset. Instead, she looked eager.
She pointed to the words. “It says, ‘Tapestry depicting sword of flames, stitched early fifteenth century.’” The timing fit Glendower if he was an early-fifteenth-century leader. “‘The sword exists. One need only use the tapestry to find it.’ That’s how I determined it was a map.”
He comprehended why she’d made that assessment. “There’s more,” he said.
She moved her finger to below the drawing of the tapestry. “It’s just a description. I admit I didn’t pay close attention when I found it—the part I just read to you drew my focus. ‘The tapestry was stitched by Alice,’” she read. “‘It measures twenty-two inches by twenty-two inches and took seven months to complete. The castle, situated atop a rock with a proximity to water, with mountains in the distance, could be any number of strongholds, though it is believed to be Welsh.’”
“Is that a clue?” he asked.
“I have to consider it is. It was foolish of me not to read it carefully when I first found it.” She pursed her lips again. “Is it directing us to a specific castle?”
He wasn’t sure if she was asking him, or merely musing aloud. He chose to answer. “It seems that way.”
“A Welsh castle next to water and mountains . . . ” She looked up at the sky with a contemplative expression. “I’ve seen so many of them.”
“I’ve seen none.” A bead of frustration lodged in his chest. He wished he could contribute more. He’d somehow been pulled into this mystery and currently found himself unwilling to disentangle himself. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say that he didn’t wish to disentangle himself from her.
She turned and stalked back to the tapestry, squatting down again. He followed her, but remained standing.
She ran her fingertips over the castle stitched in the upper right corner. “If you’re right, that this is Glendower, then it could be Harlech Castle. It was the final stronghold of Glendower’s rebellion. It fell back to the English in 1409 after a siege, during which Edmund Mortimer died.”
He wasn’t surprised that she knew the history, but he was still impressed. He couldn’t tell if she’d reached a conclusion or if she was merely thinking it through. “Does this look like Harlech? I presume you’ve been there.”
“I have. And yes, it does bear a resemblance.” She shook her head. “I will take better care in the future when I look at artifacts.”
She stood and
faced him, her eyes animated and her lips curving into a smile that held a barely suppressed excitement. “I think you are right—that this is Glendower. We need to go to Harlech.”
Elijah felt a burst of elation at having made a significant contribution after all. “Harlech is on the coast?”
She nodded. “It’s at least a two-day journey.”
“Especially since we plan to stop at Stratton Hall.”
She exchanged a glance with Grey that provoked an unsettling feeling in Elijah’s gut.
He lightly touched her shoulder and inclined his head away from Grey and Wade. She stood and followed him out of earshot of their companions.
“You do still plan to accompany me to Stratton Hall?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t like the hesitant quality to her one-word answer. “What aren’t you telling me?”
She fidgeted with her skirt. “I wonder if Grey and I might continue ahead after we stop with you briefly.”
Disappointment sprouted in his chest, and he despised that emotion. He gritted his teeth against the unwelcome feeling. “I had thought you would assist with my portion of this endeavor.”
Her brow creased. “Isn’t getting you into Stratton Hall helpful?”
“Yes.” It was his turn to inject that single word with a wealth of doubt.
Her dark eyes held a sheen of uncertainty. “Will you join us when you’ve completed your interview with the footman?”
Was that an invitation, or was she merely being polite? He could see her wanting to obtain the treasure on her own, particularly without male involvement. “I’m not sure you need me to. My primary goal must be determining the circumstances of Matthew’s death.” He’d lost sight of that as he’d become caught up in Miss Bowen’s quest, or more accurately—caught up in Miss Bowen. “If I’m able to join you at Harlech, I will do so. In the meantime, let us be on our way. We’ll arrive at Stratton Hall by midafternoon, and you should be able to complete at least part of your journey to Harlech.”
He turned to go, but she touched the front of his coat briefly before snatching her hand away. “Thank you. I don’t know if I would’ve puzzled this out without your keen powers of observation.”
Is that why she wanted him to join her at Harlech? Not because she wanted to share the experience with him, but because of what he could provide? Hell, what did he care about experiencing something with her?
He turned on his heel and strode toward the horses, lifting his hand to beckon Wade to follow.
As they rode back to the inn, he welcomed the irritation their impending separation wrought. They’d become far too friendly during this association and now that it seemed she was on her way to finding her precious sword, he could be rid of her at last.
Yes, he welcomed the frustration even as it bothered him to feel it in the first place. He’d much rather do what came naturally, which was to feel nothing. Why, then, couldn’t he?
Chapter 10
Cate shifted in her seat. Her coach was well-sprung, but she’d spent a great deal of time bouncing around the countryside in it of late and had many more miles—nearly a hundred—in front of her.
“It’s the worst part of our endeavors,” Grey muttered, noting Cate’s movements.
“Yes,” Cate agreed, “a necessary evil. But we’ll arrive at Stratton Hall in a few miles. We’ll stop for a bit and take some refreshment before continuing on our way.”
Grey peered at her from the rear-facing seat. “I’m surprised you’re abandoning his lordship.”
Cate was surprised at Grey’s surprise. “Why? I’ve done what I said I would. I took him to Septon House so that he could speak with Septon, and now I’ll introduce him to Stratton so he can continue his investigation.”
Grey shrugged. “He’s been very helpful to you. You must admit, his taking you to where the tapestry was located suggests that you obtained more out of the bargain.”
Cate crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t have the tapestry, however. He still hasn’t consented to sell it to me.”
“You don’t need it to find the sword—assuming it’s at Harlech.”
“And if it’s not, I may need to consult the tapestry again, which will be difficult since it’s not in my possession.”
“At least he gave you the de Valery document.”
To return to Septon’s library. Surreptitiously. She couldn’t be irritated with Norris for taking it, not when it had proven so bloody necessary to puzzling out the location of the sword. Cate didn’t answer, instead choosing to direct her attention out the window.
“Mayhap you’ll change your mind once we arrive at Stratton Hall,” Grey said.
Cate looked at her friend with a narrowed gaze. “Why do you care so much? Wait, have you and Wade developed a tendre for each other?” Cate had noted their riding together both to and from the folly. Grey wasn’t an accomplished horsewoman, but she also wasn’t terrible. Still, she’d hung back with Wade, or so it had seemed to Cate.
Grey returned her stare with another shrug.
“It’s all right if you have,” Cate said, uncrossing her arms.
Grey’s brows dipped briefly. “I wouldn’t need your permission.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” Cate massaged her temple, mentally admonishing herself for sounding like an employer. While she was Grey’s employer, their relationship was completely egalitarian.
They were quiet a few minutes before Grey said, “Do you plan to dispatch a letter to your parents from Stratton Hall?”
Cate nodded. “I’ll let them know I’m traveling to Harlech.” She was careful to communicate with her parents frequently, both for their peace of mind and to ensure that someone knew where she was going for safety and propriety’s sake. She’d originally told them she was going to Wootton Bassett to visit Miranda, saying nothing about Dyrnwyn or the tapestry or approaching Lord Norris. Then she’d sent a letter saying she was going to attend Septon’s party in order to see his new acquisitions. Before leaving for Worcester with Norris, she’d sent another note indicating that she was helping the earl track down a missing piece of his antiquities collection. It was the truth, even if she’d left out several key details.
“Norris could’ve insisted on going to Stratton Hall first.” Grey apparently wasn’t ready to abandon her attempt to persuade Cate to change her mind. “But he stopped in Worcester to find the tapestry for you.”
In growing frustration, Cate glanced up at the roof of the coach. “Our objective has to be obtaining the sword. Every moment we waste is a moment that someone else could find it.”
“Do you really think someone has figured out the tapestry?”
“I don’t want to assume they haven’t. Finding the sword is the most important thing.” Saying it out loud made it somehow sound hollow. Yes, it was important—to her. But the most important thing? Worth disregarding the man who’d gone out of his way to help her fulfill a lifelong dream?
Cate tipped her head back against the cushion and pushed out a heavy sigh. “You’re right. We’ll stop with them at Stratton Hall. Does that satisfy you?”
Before Grey could answer, the coach came to a swift and tumultuous stop, tossing Cate forward and then jerking her back so that she slid to the floor in an ungainly heap of skirts.
Grey, still perched on her seat, reached down for Cate. “Are you all right?”
Cate stumbled to her feet and fell back onto the seat. “I’m intact. What the devil happened?”
Grey threw open the door and froze.
Cate leaned forward and looked over Grey’s shoulder—straight into the eyes of a masked highwayman with a pistol pointed directly at them.
Grey clapped the door shut and turned to pull two guns from beneath her seat. She handed one to Cate as a booming voice overtook the interior of the coach.
“Stand and deliver or I’ll shoot yer coachman!”
“I’m going to open the door and shoot him,” Grey whispered calmly.
Cate peered out the window and winced. “Don’t. There are two of them. One is standing and he has a pistol—and it’s pointed at Wood.”
Grey swore softly. “We’re coming out,” she called. Then she turned to Cate and spoke quietly again. “Hold the pistol low; try to disguise it among your skirts.”
Cate nodded and Grey opened the door. Wood, the coachman, dashed forward under the watchful eye of a second masked highwayman, and lowered the step. Grey descended from the coach and Cate made to follow her. But the sound of a gunshot drew her to turn her head.
Norris’s coach had been trailing a bit behind them, and they’d clearly caught up. Unfortunately, there was another pair of highwaymen waylaying their coach too.
Elijah cocked his pistol and looked at Wade. “Ready?”
Wade picked up the pouch of gunpowder and shot from the seat and nodded. “Two that I can see, but we ought to presume more.”
Elijah agreed, and he also presumed the “more” were at Miss Bowen’s coach. And that made his blood fairly boil. “I’m going to fire as soon as I open the door. Then give me your pistol and I’ll shoot the other.”
“Yes, sir.”
Wade had lapsed into his old address. Nothing could’ve satisfied Elijah more—save these highwaymen going straight to the devil. Momentarily, he told himself.
With a final look at Wade, he pushed open the door, set his sights on the horseman to the right and fired. The bullet struck the man in the shoulder and he fell from the horse. Elijah thrust his used weapon at Wade and took the next one, which Wade had already cocked. Spooked by the first shot, the other highwayman’s mount danced beneath him. The rider tried to train his pistol on Elijah, but the horse jostled him too much. Elijah fired. The shot only nicked the man in the arm. The second report was enough, however, to send the horse racing down the road, with the rider desperately clinging to his mount to remain astride.
Another highwayman rode toward them, coming from the direction of Miss Bowen’s coach. Wade swiped the pistol from Elijah’s hand and replaced it with the reloaded first one.
