“See there…” He pointed to where a large fissure cut down the craggy rock wall. From where they were crouched, they could see that there was a narrow trail, barely wider than the span of his hand, leading down to where Emma sat hunched against the whipping wind.
“I’ll—”
“Don’t move,” he ordered.
“But I am trained in gymnastics—”
“For God’s sake, do as I say! One gust, and your bloody skirts will turn into a kite.”
She had the sense to step back. “B—be careful, Alex.”
His boots began to inch along the windblown rock. “Don’t worry,” he muttered. “Having made it made it this far in life, I have no intention of cocking up my toes now.”
A sliver of shale broke away from beneath his boots and was quickly swallowed up by foaming waters. Through the linen of his shirt, Orlov was aware of the knife-edged rock against his back. As if he needed any reminder of his precarious position.
On finally reaching the ledge where Emma sat, he slowly inched to within arm’s length. “You’ve been a brave lass, sweeting. We have just one more balancing trick to do.”
“I—I remembered what you told me, Mr. Oliver. D—don’t look down and you won’t get dizzy.”
“Exactly right.”
“L—like balancing at the very topmast of a ship.”
“Aye, no pirate captain could have done it better.”
Fortunately, she was too scared to flinch as his fingers slowly curled around her sleeve and lifted her up. All it would take was one errant twitch to send them both tumbling onto the jagged teeth of rocks far below.
“Steady, lass… now put your arms around my neck.”
Emma nestled against him. He could feel the beat of her heart.
So far, so good. Hugging the child to his chest, he started the agonizing climb back, taking care to keep his gaze from drifting downward.
Shannon’s eager hands steadied his last few steps.
“Oh, Alex! You were absolutely magnificent!”
Orlov realized that he had never felt quite so proud of himself.
“I’m sorry,” whimpered Emma as soon as her feet touched the ground. “I didn’t mean to… but it looked so pretty sitting there.”
Shannon reached out and took the small object the child had clutched to her chest. It was a lump of quartz, so clear and smooth that it appeared translucent in the pale sunlight.
“Very pretty,” she replied.
“I spotted it first on the edge of the trail.” Prescott’s lip quivered. “And I challenged Emma to race me for it—first one there could keep it.” He hung his head. “It’s my fault.”
“It’s nobody’s fault,” said Orlov. “But it is a reminder to both of you that the hills can be dangerous. You must both try to exercise more caution in the future.”
He saw Shannon examining the stone more closely. Her expression was grim. And with good reason. He, too, had noticed that there was not another piece like it within sight.
“But I’ll hold my lecture until later,” he went on. “Right now, let us bundle the two of you back to the castle and get you settled in front of a roaring fire.”
Shannon slipped the quartz into her pocket. “You go on ahead. I’ll retrieve our things and catch up.” A meaningful glance at the verge of grass reminded him of the pistols lying in full view.
Orlov nodded, giving silent thanks that the children had been too shaken to notice them.
A few sweeping strides, and she had the weapons concealed in the waistband of her walking skirt. From there, he saw her circle around the rock outcropping to pick up the picnic basket. Checking, no doubt, that no other threat was lurking close by.
Scottie insisted on walking, but Emma allowed Orlov to take her in his arms. She was so quiet that he thought perhaps she had fallen asleep, sheltered deep within the folds of his upturned collar. Holding her tighter, he began to hum an old Russian lullaby.
It wasn’t until Shannon rejoined them that Emma ventured to speak. “Mr. Oliver was a hero, wasn’t he, Miss Sloane?” Her breath was sweet and warm on his cheek.
He smiled, but his blood went cold at the thought of how close he had come to losing her.
“Just like one of the knights in shining armor we have been reading about in the adventures of Sir Galahad,” continued Emma.
“Indeed, a storybook hero,” murmured Shannon. Her voice was cool, but a sidelong glance revealed that her gaze had a strange sort of blurred glitter.
Damn. The warrior was not weeping, was she?
“There was a scene in ‘Bluebeard the Pirate’ where one of his crew climbed a cliff to capture a Spanish cannon,” offered Prescott. “I daresay Mr. Oliver was braver than that…”
Recovered from their initial shock, the children began to chatter like little magpies on the merits of knights and pirates. Orlov was glad to see that they were acting as if the outing had been a grand adventure rather than a traumatic ordeal. The young were resilient. As for their guardians…
He slanted another look at Shannon. Her face was still leached of color, and her spirits seemed as heavy as the clouds hanging low over the distant mountains. She refused to meet his eye and barely managed to respond to the children’s questions.
He had little time to mull on her melancholy mood. As they entered the castle through the back doors of the kitchen, Cook guessed immediately from their dirt-streaked faces and disheveled clothing that something had gone amiss. The events of the afternoon were recounted in great detail, punctuated by enough gasps and dropped pots to draw Lady Octavia from her sitting room.
“Little devils,” she snorted, once the tale was finally done. A “Hmmph” hid a small sniff as she squeezed their shoulders, then waggled a bony finger. “You were lucky to have two guardian angels hovering close by. Promise us that you will be more careful in the future.”
“Yes, grandmama.” Emma and Prescott looked dutifully chastised.
Under the dowager’s basilisk eye, the children were plied with plenty of hot chocolate and freshly baked shortbread before being sent up to a bath and bed with the housekeeper.
“You two—follow me,” she added, leading the way back to her sitting room.
Orlov nudged Shannon, who appeared lost in her own thoughts.
“Whiskey all around, young man. And make it more than a wee dram, if you please.”
Obeying orders, Orlov poured three generous glasses. He made Shannon down a warming gulp before he took a seat by the fire.
“Accidents do happen, Miss Sloane,” said the dowager softly.
“Yes,” said Orlov, anxious to ease the anguish he saw etched on Shannon’s face. It was unnerving to see her look so down, so defeated. “Even when one takes the utmost precautions, things can go wrong.”
“That’s just it—I didn’t take the proper precautions. I let my guard down.” Her voice was barely audible above the crackle of the coals.
“How the devil could you have anticipated what happened?” he growled. “You cannot be expected to read the future in your morning tea leaves.”
“I can be expected to do my duty,” she said bleakly.
He raised the glass to his lips, surprised to find his fingers clenched so tightly that the crystal was in danger of cracking. He wished he might wind them around Lord Lynsley’s neck. Damn the man for sending a lone young female to fight England’s deadliest battles. It was dangerous, dirty, depressing work, even for a cynic such as himself.
But thoughts of Lord Lynsley could wait until later. Right now, he must find a way to pull her up from the depths of despair.
After a moment’s thought, he assumed his most offensive sneer. “For God’s sake, Shannon, it’s not like you to wallow in self-pity.”
Shannon’s head jerked up, indignation sparking in her gaze.
Finally, a flare of her usual fire. He hid a smile.
She looked about to speak, when Lady Sylvia burst into room. “What’s this about my niece and nephew nearl
y coming to grief on the moors.” She flung an accusing look at Lady Octavia. “I would be remiss in my duties as aunt if I did not inform Angus of this incident. I’m sure he will be absolutely appalled at such lax watch over the children.”
Orlov had never in his life contemplated striking a female, but on seeing the look of self-reproach return to Shannon’s gaze, he was sorely tempted to slap the smirk off Lady Sylvia’s face.
“Seeing as you have accepted the gentlemen’s invitation to join their hunting party on the morrow, Mr. Oliver, I thought I would take the children on a visit to St. Alban’s Abbey. The trip will be an educational experience, and it would do them a world of good to get away from here for a bit.”
“Not necessary,” snapped Lady Octavia. “When it comes to the education of my grandchildren, I am convinced they are in capable hands.”
“Who are you to judge,” muttered Lady Sylvia under her breath.
“I think what Sylvia meant was that perhaps Miss Sloane might be grateful for a day off from her duties.” His step matching the smoothness of his words, De Villiers came to stand by the lady’s side. Turning his eyes on Shannon, he added, “After the recent events, mademoiselle, you must be feeling a trifle exhausted, non?”
“No.” Her reply was curt to the point of rudeness.
The comte lifted his shoulders in oblique apology. “I intended no insult. But alas, I see I have—how do you English say it—stepped on your toes.”
“We are all walking on pins and needles at the moment,” said Orlov with measured politeness, though he was seething inside. Allowing his temper to run away with him would only exacerbate the tensions. “Lady Sylvia’s offer is a kind one, I am sure. But Miss Sloane and I are of the opinion that the children have had enough excitement for the time being. A quiet day of indoor study and reading would be best for the morrow.”
Sylvia did not look at all pleased at his defection from her ranks of admirers. “I had thought you, Mr. Oliver, might be counted on to show some sense. I am surprised that you do not agree that a day away from this dark and drafty pile of granite would be a healthy change. I am only thinking of what is best for the children.”
“As am I.”
Left with no possible rejoinder, Sylvia was forced to concede. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said with an ungracious huff. Her skirts flared as she turned for the doorway. “Come, Arnaud. Will you join us for a hand of whist in the drawing room? Lady Octavia and her hired help seem to prefer their own company.”
“Hmmph.” The dowager punctuated her snort with a rap of her walking stick. “I wonder what sort of game she had in mind with me?” she mused.
“Whatever it was, I think she now knows she cannot play you for a fool.” Orlov raised his glass in salute, but Shannon saw that his smile looked strained.
She could not bring herself to second the gesture. “Let us not celebrate just yet. We have won a diversionary skirmish, if that. As for the real threat…” She pulled the shard of quartz from her pocket. “The truth is, we are desperately vulnerable. Despite all efforts, he can strike us at will.”
“Let me have a closer look at that,” said Orlov. Shannon passed it over. “There are no man-made markings on it.” The translucent stone seemed to glow like fire in the light of the flames.
“We have both walked enough over the nearby moors to know that type of quartz is not from around here,” she pointed out.
Orlov didn’t argue.
Shannon drew a deep breath and continued. “And from what we know of D’Etienne’s cunning, it would be just the sort of trick he would try.” She suddenly shivered. “He’s close. I know it.”
He held the shard a bit higher. Shadows flickered against his face, sharp and snapping as a predator’s teeth.
“Call it woman’s intuition,” she added.
“Aye.” The dowager flexed her frail fingers. “I feel it in my bones as well—and do not say it’s merely the aches of old age.”
“Far be it for me to contradict either of you.” Orlov finally spoke. “In these last few weeks, I have come to have the utmost respect for the feminine mind.” He forced a wry grimace. “Though it is incomprehensible to mortal man.”
“Your understanding of a wide range of subjects leaves most men in the dust,” said Lady Octavia, her grim expression lightening somewhat. “For which I am profoundly grateful.”
Giving silent thanks for how deftly he had rallied the dowager’s flagging spirits, Shannon managed a ghost of a smile as well. She had come to appreciate how his humor was not always intended to be an offensive weapon.
Encouraged by Orlov’s example, the dowager thumped her stick to the floor. “So, what do the two of you suggest we do to counter the dastard’s latest move?”
The smile died as Shannon stared blankly at the fire. She did not trust herself to speak.
Orlov eyed her for a moment before assuming command. “According to Sun-Tzu, if the enemy is substantial, prepare for him. So it seems to me we must take up a more defensive position. Shannon is right—we are far too vulnerable, even here inside the castle walls. The place is too big, too rambling. I suggest we move the children in with Lady Octavia for the next few nights.”
He turned to the dowager. “Your rooms in the central tower are accessible by just one stairway. There is a small parlor at its foot. We will set up our sleeping quarters there—in shifts, of course.”
“That makes a good deal of sense,” said the dowager. “There are still iron bars guarding the windows, left over from some ancient clan conflict.” Tap, tap, tap. The rap of her walking stick took on a martial beat. “We shall rouse the children and tell them that the move is a special treat in light of the trying day. A grand adventure. And with a roll of blankets on the floor, they may pretend they are pirates, sleeping on the deck of a ship.”
“Whitehall ought to consider offering for your services, milady,” remarked Orlov. “Your talent for spinning a good yarn at a moment’s notice would prove extremely valuable. Diplomats are often called upon to explain delicate situations.”
“My talent for lying through my teeth is probably not nearly as good as yours. Still, I have told enough bouncers in my life to be reasonably adept at improvising.”
The scuff of the stick sounded as Lady Octavia started to rise. Ashamed at her own lack of spirit, Shannon forced her shoulders to square. What was wrong with her? She had never been afraid of a fight. If anything, her desire for action had been too driven, too devil-may-care. Reckless.
Again she wondered whether Lord Lynsley was right in doubting whether she deserved to wear the badge of a Merlin. Her hand crept to her breast, touching the hidden tattoo. Beneath it she could feel the drumming of her heart, unsure, erratic. The marquess had warned her that duty demanded dispassionate resolve.
Her fingers curled in a clench around the small silver hawk and fine-link chain, a sharp reminder of the Academy and all it stood for. Sofia had thought her worthy to wear it. She must not let them down. Or herself.
“Ready to go?” Orlov had moved to her side, his gaze catching hers in a deeper unspoken question.
She set aside her unfinished whiskey. “I’ll rouse the children and gather the blankets while you check that the doors and latches of the Tower stairwell are in good working order.”
“I will recheck the window bars,” offered Lady Octavia. “And perhaps order up a few buckets of boiling oil.” A waggle of the polished hawthorn emphasized her snort. “Hmmph. Just let the fellow try to breach these walls.”
“I doubt the devil himself would dare do battle against us.” Orlov smiled. “I certainly wouldn’t.”
“I’ll bring extra blankets for the guard room,” said Shannon. “Let me take the first watch.”
“You are sure?”
She didn’t blame him for questioning her fitness for duty. He was far too sharp to have missed the signs of self-doubt. Both comrade and enemy must see only unflinching courage.
“I am ready.” I am a Me
rlin. She would prove to everyone—including herself—that she was worthy of her wings.
Chapter Nineteen
“The locks are secure, and as an extra precaution, I’ve added a second deadbolt on the Tower door.” Orlov angled his light over the window, checking that the latches were fastened. “The children?”
“Safely stowed away in Lady Octavia’s bedchamber,” answered Shannon. “Though I’ll not vouch for their getting a wink of sleep during the night.”
“Leave it to the dowager to run a tight ship.” A mattress had been made up in a corner of the small parlor room at the foot of the stairs. He came and sat down beside her, shoulder to shoulder, with their backs against whitewashed plaster. “She found a book on the pirates of the Caribbean that is guaranteed to frighten even the most bloodthirsty buccaneer into slumber.”
“The last thing the children need is a fright.” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded perilously close to cracking.
“They are resilient, Shannon.”
“And you think I am not?”
“I did not say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” Hunching away from his touch, she drew her knees tighter to her chest, though there was no hope of hiding within herself. “I know it’s my fault. I should not have been distracted.”
“Don’t be so damnably hard on yourself, Shannon.”
Surprised, she looked up.
“Do you think you are the only one wracked by doubt, by fears of not being up to the job?” Orlov crooked a weary smile. “Trust me, it gets even worse as you get older.”
“As if you have ever suffered a moment of self-doubt.”
He twisted a lock of her hair between his fingers. “Only a fool or an ass does not question himself. I know you think me both. But if it’s any consolation, there have been times when I wondered whether an enemy blade or a bullet would have been a less painful alternative to my own thoughts.”
Orlov had never allowed such an unguarded glimpse of his feelings. Shannon blinked before answering, “I—I would never have guessed you to have such doubts. You hide them well.”
Merlins Maidens - Secuced by Spy - Pickens, Andrea Page 22
