Romancing the Earl

by Darcy Burke

  Nothing leapt out at her from the weathered gray stone. She stepped inside and was amazed at the number of small nesting boxes built into the walls. Hundreds of doves would have nested here. The birds had provided food, of course, and feathers for mattresses. She imagined the smell of the waste in here would’ve been most foul, but then it would have been removed and used for the garden in all likelihood. Could Dyrnwyn be in such an inauspicious place?

  Cate moved farther inside, careful not to step on any of the stones that had likely made up the roof, but now littered the dirt floor. Once there had been a hole in the top for the birds to come and go, but there was no telling what that part of the structure had looked like.

  Grass had sprung up between the stones, since plenty of light now made its way inside the building. Cate was surprised at how large it was—a good ten paces across—and supposed it would seem even more so if not for the remains of the roof cluttering the space.

  Her brother’s words came back to her. He always said to “be methodical.” And so she was. Starting at the left of the door she moved clockwise, studying the stone nesting boxes for any indication. It seemed a futile effort. There was nothing but a steady line of empty boxes marching around the circle. She went from top to bottom, but made a note to have Elijah review the upper portion since his height would give him a much better advantage. So she spent extra time on the bottom half. About a third of the way through, her eyes began to water and she realized she’d forgotten to blink.

  Taking a sustaining breath, she blinked several times and bent down to look at the lower stones in this section. Was that a blemish in the stone above that box near the bottom? She blinked again and squatted low to investigate it further. A blemish or a mark . . .

  Her heart began to pound as she drew off her glove and touched the symbol. And yes, it was a symbol. It perfectly matched the “mistake” on the back of the tapestry—the X that wasn’t really an X but more like a poorly drawn sword.

  “Elijah!” Belatedly, she realized she ought not to have yelled, but she hadn’t been able to contain herself.

  She didn’t turn, but heard him come into the dovecote.

  “What is it?”

  “Here. It’s here.” She scooted to the side to give him access. “Look at the symbol.”

  He knelt beside her, putting one knee onto the dirt. She waited, breathless, for his reaction.

  And she wasn’t disappointed.

  He grinned at her and her heart skipped. “You found it.”

  “I found something.” She urged herself to be cautious and pragmatic. But it was so damned hard, especially with him here to share the moment. “Is the stone loose?”

  He slipped his fingers into the box and grasped the stone, pulling at it. “I think it might be.” He extracted his knife from his boot and put both knees on the ground to give himself a firmer stance. Using the blade, he carved around the stone in an effort to pry it loose. With a bit of effort, the block came free. He caught it and set it aside.

  Now the nesting box was twice as large as the others. He leaned close to look at it and then pushed his hand inside. “It’s hollow back here.”

  Cate inhaled sharply. Her stomach dropped into her feet. “Is it empty?”

  He pushed his arm in farther and his face tensed as he rooted around. “No, there’s something there. I can grasp it, but when I pull it up, I can’t get it free. I need to remove more stones in order to extract it.”

  “What is it, a hilt?” She held her breath.

  He smiled. “No, but you didn’t expect them to bury it without some sort of protection, did you? It’s a box and it’s heavy.” He withdrew his hand and went to work carving away the stone above the one he’d already removed.

  Anticipation flushed through her. “I wish I could help you or that we had a better tool.”

  “I’ll get it.” He worked slowly and steadily, removing his coat to work faster. Cate fought the urge to pace as well as the desire to stare at him in his shirtsleeves and perhaps encourage him to remove his waistcoat too. She shook herself and called herself a ninny.

  When he’d finally removed three more stones, he sat back on his heels. “Can you see it?”

  She leaned over beside him and put her hand to her mouth. There, tucked into a hole behind the nesting boxes was a box maybe a foot wide. She curled her fingers around the aged wood and tried to pull it up, but he was right, it was heavy. “I can’t get it.”

  “May I?” he asked.

  “Please.” She sat back and watched as he liberated the box, appreciating his endeavors. She couldn’t make out the muscles working beneath his sleeves, but imagined them quite clearly.

  He set the box on the ground between them. The wood was old, but in excellent condition. While the container was a foot wide, it was at least four feet long. There was a clasp in the middle.

  “There’s no lock,” she said, somewhat stupidly. After everything they’d been through, she expected another obstacle.

  “Are you going to open it?” he asked.

  “I’m afraid.” She looked at him helplessly as dread snaked up her spine.

  “Don’t be.” He gazed at her with encouragement. “This is a moment to celebrate, no matter what you find. You’ve come this far—farther than anyone else before you.”

  “I hope so. If it’s not inside, it’s safe to say someone did get here first.”

  He shook his head. “You are an exasperating woman. Open the damned box before I do.”

  She couldn’t resist smiling at him and wondered if he’d provoked the reaction on purpose. With a silent prayer, she released the clasp and gently opened the lid. As light found its way inside the box, her breath lodged in her throat. There, nestled in a bed of red linen, was a sword.

  It was a humble-looking weapon, long, but with a very simplistic cross-guard. The pommel was also simple, except for a small red jewel glimmering in the center. The blade was aged, but not dull, and it looked as though it could be over a thousand years old.

  “Dyrnwyn,” she breathed. With suddenly trembling fingers, she curled her hand around the hilt.

  The cock of a pistol rent the still summer air.

  “Cate, I must thank you for finding the sword. Now, I’m afraid you must give it to me.”

  Chapter 18

  Elijah picked up his knife and leapt to his feet. His pistol was tucked into his coat, which was an unfortunate meter away. Not that it would’ve helped since they were well and truly outnumbered as six masked brigands filled the dovecote.

  He couldn’t tell which one had spoken, but his attention was immediately grabbed by one of the men—again they were masked—when he snatched Cate by the arm and hauled her up beside him.

  The villain held a pistol to her temple. “I won’t miss at this range, and ye’re not getting another piece o’ me.” He had to be one of the men Elijah had injured the other day. “Drop yer knife.”

  Though it went against every impulse in his body, Elijah let the blade tumble to the ground and clenched his hand into a tight fist. “Let her go. You only want the sword.”

  The villain sniffed Cate’s hair. “She’s awfully pretty.”

  Elijah snarled and barely kept from launching himself at the man.

  “Stop. Do let her go.” It was the crisp, refined voice of the man who’d spoken initially.

  Cate turned her head toward him. “Kersey?”

  Fury blistered through Elijah as he looked at the man who’d spoken and watched as he removed his mask. “I ought to have known you would recognize my voice, cousin.”

  “What are you doing?” she asked, anger filtering into her surprise. “Are you part of this mysterious Order that wants the sword?”

  If he was, and it seemed so, he was also behind Matthew’s death. Rage clouded Elijah’s vision and stole his reason. He rushed forward and his fist connected with the man’s jaw in a satisfying blow.

  Instantly, two men were on him, pulling at Elijah’s arms and dragging him aw
ay from Kersey.

  “Don’t make me hurt the gel,” the man holding Cate said.

  Elijah froze, his chest heaving and his pulse racing. “If you harm her in any way, I’ll kill you.”

  “You have my word she’ll be unharmed.” Kersey went to the box with the sword and bent down.

  “As if I’d trust you,” Elijah spat. “I hope you have a plan to be very far away from me for the rest of your life because when I get my hands on you, you’ll wish you’d never threatened her.”

  Kersey looked up at him, his eyes narrowed in irritation. “I’m not threatening her, you oaf. You’re the one putting her in danger. These men are the worst sort. I’ve instructed them not to hurt either of you, but as you can see, they’re a bit difficult to control. Do Cate a favor and just be quiet. Please.”

  Elijah longed to pummel the man senseless, but the situation was exactly as Kersey described. Elijah tried to strategize a way to reverse the power in the dovecote, but the numbers were against them.

  “If anything happens to her, your life won’t be worth anything.” Not that it was worth much now, because Matthew’s killer had a name and a face. Elijah’s quest for answers suddenly became a need for vengeance.

  Kersey exhaled. “I’ve already said she’ll be unhurt, provided you cooperate. And your cooperation requires you to remain silent. If you cannot, I shall have the men take you outside where you won’t be a nuisance.”

  With supreme effort, Elijah pressed his lips together to keep from continuing his verbal assault, since that was the only weapon currently available to him. Or it had been, until Kersey had taken that too. Elijah couldn’t risk being taken from Cate’s presence—he wouldn’t leave her alone with Kersey or any of the other criminals.

  With a final glare, Kersey returned his attention to the sword. Elijah would bide his time and look for a way to turn the tables. He couldn’t let Kersey escape with the sword—or get away with murdering his brother.

  “Kersey, what are you doing?” Cate asked. She shook with anger, fear, and probably shock. Kersey was the last person she expected to be after the sword. “You were behind the theft of the tapestry.”

  “Guilty.” He touched the hilt of the sword, his fingertips tracing the jewel at the center of the pommel.

  “How did you know to come here?”

  He glanced up at her. “With the tapestry in my possession, it wasn’t difficult to find someone in Harlech to share information about it. However, once we arrived here, we had no idea where to search. I figured you would show up eventually, and so I waited.”

  He’d had to rely on her to find it. She stiffened, all of her muscles tensing with fury. “It’s my discovery. Mine. You can’t take it from me.” Desperation ate at her insides. She couldn’t lose the sword now.

  “I can, and I will.” He gazed at her with pity, which only infuriated her more. “I sympathize with your plight, but I’m afraid I can’t let you have the sword.”

  Cate longed to hit him as Elijah had. “You can’t ‘let’ me? All these years you’ve suffered from a terrible reputation that I didn’t think you had necessarily earned, but this . . . This far exceeds anything I thought you capable of.”

  “Are you speaking of the drinking and whoring, or the rumor that I killed my wife?” The question dripped with scorn. He sounded like a man who knew he was reviled and didn’t care. But she knew he did—at least, she thought he did. She’d seen him after his wife had died. He’d been broken.

  “You didn’t kill her.”

  “No, I didn’t kill her.” He flashed her a cold smile. This was a side of him she’d never seen or imagined. “But I was a horrendous rake, thanks to my father’s tutelage.”

  “You didn’t have to be like him,” she said softly.

  “And what should I have been like with no one else to guide me?”

  She wanted to say her father would’ve, but he hadn’t been allowed to spend enough time with Kersey. She felt sorry for him, but struggled to understand why he was chasing the sword. “Why do you want the sword? You aren’t an antiquary. I didn’t even realize you were interested in any of this.”

  “Why, because I’m not part of your family’s precious scholarly circle? I know how much your father looks down on my father and his attempts to build a medieval library of his own.”

  She scowled at him. “Because your father is a feckless ass. It’s a diversion, just like his women.”

  “Why does your family have the right to decide who’s important enough to collect books or trinkets?” The derision in his tone permeated Cate like frost in midwinter.

  “We don’t.” She struggled to understand his animosity. “So you want the sword in order to be taken seriously?” She completely understood that goal, since it was hers.

  “Among other things.”

  Then perhaps you should start by realizing Dyrnwyn is not a “trinket.” She bit her tongue, lest she provoke him into changing his mind about protecting her from his men. “And are you a member of this Order?”

  “I’m surprised you know of it. I thought it was secret.”

  She lifted her chin. “I know many secrets. What I don’t know is why you would want to join that group. Was it to gain credibility?”

  His lips spread into an enigmatic smile. “For now, that shall remain a secret that you don’t know.”

  His taunting tone grated her nerves to a fine powder of frustration. “Will you tell me what you plan to do with the sword?”

  He shrugged, and she was again overcome with the desire to strike him. “It belongs to us—the group.”

  It bloody well did not. “It belongs to the people of Britain. It should be in a museum. What will your ‘group’ do with it?”

  “Another secret I shan’t disclose.” He turned his focus to the sword. His fingers curled around the hilt and he lifted it from the box. Her heart clenched as she watched him hold it and realized she hadn’t even had the chance to.

  He stood and brandished the sword, gazing at it in stark admiration. “Look at the steel of the blade. It’s tinged blue. If I turn it thus”—he twisted it in the sunlight and it seemed to glow—“it looks as though it might spark into flame.” He looked at her reproachfully. “You didn’t think it would actually burst into flame, did you?”

  Cate didn’t answer. She was too distraught that she was about to lose the fruit of her life’s work. She imagined Glendower lifting it in battle, Gareth accepting it from Rhydderch Hael on his wedding day. “It’s . . . everything I ever wanted.” She looked at him hopelessly. “Please let me have it so I may give it to Penn for the museum.”

  His features darkened. “Of course you want to give it to your brother. No, this discovery is mine now.”

  “At least let her hold it,” Elijah said, his deep voice cutting through the dovecote like an arrow speeding toward its prey.

  She looked at him and saw something in his eyes—a suggestion maybe. If she could take the blade, perhaps she could use it . . . “Yes, will you let me? I didn’t have a chance.”

  Kersey thought for a moment, his gaze skeptical. “All right, but if you try anything, I’d hate for Norris to pay the price.”

  One of the men holding Elijah drove his fist into Elijah’s lower back, eliciting a grunt from him. Cate tensed, but Elijah gave her a reassuring stare.

  “I won’t do anything. Just let me hold it for a moment.” She held her hand out and eventually Kersey transferred the sword to her. It was heavy, weighing her arm down.

  Kersey gave her a sly smile. “I think you do hope it will burst into flame.”

  That would’ve been extremely helpful. However, for it to do that would mean that she was a descendant of Gareth or one of the other knights, as Glendower apparently had been. And she was fairly certain she was not. The blade grew even weightier. Her arm sagged and she had to tip the blade down. She grunted in frustration and pain.

  Kersey snatched it back from her. “Clearly it’s too heavy for you.” And yet he wielded
it with no trouble at all. “I know you think I’m a villain, Cate, but I’m not. I’m simply taking what I deserve.”

  “What does Cate deserve?” Elijah asked sharply.

  Kersey frowned at her. “I am sorry that it has to be like this.” He looked to the two men who weren’t occupied with either Elijah or Cate, but who had pistols directed at them. “Tie them up.”

  The men stowed their weapons and one went to Cate. He pulled her arms behind her back and bound her wrists, while the man who’d been holding her kept his pistol trained on her. Cate didn’t bother fighting, especially when she looked over at Elijah. He struggled, and it took two men, but they wrestled him to the ground and bound both his hands and feet.

  Kersey cast Cate an apologetic glance. “A necessary frustration, I’m afraid. I can’t have you following us.”

  “I’m going to find you, Kersey.” Elijah’s promise was low and venomous.

  Kersey pivoted to stare down at Elijah. “I wouldn’t bother threatening me, Norris. These men don’t like leaving loose ends. If you can’t swear to let this entire matter go, I think you’ll find they won’t leave you alone. You’ll be the one pursued, not me.”

  “He won’t cause you any difficulty,” Cate said, throwing Elijah a pleading glance. For now, they needed to say whatever necessary to survive. She didn’t want him endangering his life—not for this.

  The men holding Cate lowered her to the ground and tied her ankles together.

  Kersey tucked the sword back into the box and hefted it under his arm. “And now I’ll bid you adieu, fair cousin.” He hesitated, frowning down at her. “Perhaps it would appease your disappointment if I left the tapestry with you. I have no further need of it.” He nodded toward one of the men. “Fetch it.”

  “Ye sure that’s a good idea?” the man who’d originally held Cate asked.

  “Don’t question me,” Kersey snapped.

  The other man returned with the tapestry and set it on the ground.