Chapter 8
Dear Sir,
I find your continued lack of communication unacceptable. Your failure is as egregious as it is disappointing, and if this is what passes for proficiency amongst your associates, I despair of your profession. Clearly your skills have been exaggerated and I will be forced to conclude this matter without your involvement. I expect the immediate return of the full amount already paid, or I will have no choice but to ensure that the outcome of our contract becomes known amongst your potential future clients.
- Grim Hill
A handful of nights later, Brenna decided to go for a walk after dinner. She’d come to enjoy spending her off hours in companionable conversation with whichever of her housemates happened to be at home, but on this occasion she was feeling too restless to sit.
She changed out of her working clothes into a more sensible outfit, reassured Dora that she would be quite safe, and headed off to become better acquainted with Camber.
At least, that was her excuse. In reality, she was filled with nervous energy and desperate for news. She’d heard from neither Rom nor Quinn, and the silence was infuriating. Did they expect her to sit by idly while they solved everything and presented her with a culprit after the fact? And how could she rest not knowing whether Faline was well? Her maid could take care of herself, but she was alone, and there was no telling what she believed about her mistress’s fate.
Brenna needed to know what was happening. It seemed impossible to rest or even know how to behave when she had no idea whether her life was still in danger and no way to find out. At that moment, her irritation with the present situation was great enough that she rather hoped the danger was real. She even hoped whoever had tried to kill her would hire another assassin, because the opportunity to cross blades—or merely fists—with someone would make her feel a great deal better. Most of all, though, she just wanted information, and she wasn’t going to get it by staying meekly and properly at home.
Brenna took a meandering route down the uneven, cobbled streets, not particularly bothered by the darkness, at least until she realized she was being followed. When the sound of the same ill-sprung carriage continued to assault her ears, stopping when she stopped and only moving on when she did, Brenna headed towards the wealthier side of town. It was better lit, and the streets there were smoother, so she took her time strolling through the well-kept neighborhoods, watching the other pedestrians. While she waited for her pursuer to make up his or her mind to act, she pondered what she ought to do next.
She could always walk back to Lorenhall and threaten Lord Griffin with a knife again, but as fun as that would be, she needed to be at work the next day and sixteen miles was a long way to go on foot. She could also tempt fate and return to Crestwood with a harrowing tale of escape from some dastardly kidnapper. However, without knowing what Quinn and Lord Griffin planned to do, that hardly seemed sensible, and Brenna was nothing if not sensible. At least most of the time. In Brenna’s experience, it simply wasn’t possible to exercise prudence in every circumstance.
For example, a prudent woman with a price on her head would stay quietly in the house whenever she wasn’t at work, and would definitely not be wandering the streets when she knew someone was following her. She would never learn much of anything for herself—rather she would stay safe, do her job and wait for the danger to be over. But hiding from danger wasn’t who Brenna was, even if that was who the rest of the world wanted her to be.
And that, she realized, was very much at the heart of the entire mess she now found herself embroiled in. She had come here hoping to find out who she was meant to be. Was she really Louise Seagrave’s daughter? Or was Lady Seagrave a role she was playing—a role that she felt entirely inadequate to fill?
She was happier at that moment than she had been in months. Alone on the dark streets of an unfamiliar city, contemplating the possible motives behind her own attempted murder, waiting to find out who was now pursuing her, she felt alive and free. Fully herself. Did that mean she had no hope of ever becoming the countess she needed to be—the countess who stayed tamely at home, seeing to her estate, appearing at court, and behaving with placid decorum as she married and produced a suitable heir to the earldom?
Or was there any reason to believe that she could somehow do both, as Lizbet had? Would anyone accept her as she was, if she decided to simply be herself?
She was still contemplating the question when a hackney drew up beside her.
Camber wasn’t big enough to have many vehicles for hire, but there were a few. They largely plied their trade between these streets and the merchant’s district, catering to wealthy women who couldn’t keep a carriage but didn’t care to walk in order to do their shopping. These vehicles did not, in general, spend much time in Brenna’s neighborhood. They also did not follow poorly dressed women walking alone.
The driver called down to Brenna in a thick northern accent. “Late to be out, my lady. Might you care for a ride to save your feet? Can take you anywhere in town for a silver coin.”
Brenna thought about it for a moment and suppressed a chuckle. From where she stood, she could see three couples, two well-dressed men and a small family, all of them clearly enjoying the advantages of more wealth than she could currently boast. If she were a driver, she would have picked any of the other potential fares.
Unless, of course, she were not a driver, but a bit of hired muscle with a contract on a missing heiress…
Brenna grinned evilly to herself, tossed a silver coin to the driver and opened the coach door. “Can’t thank you enough, my man. I’m bound for The Bad Apple.”
“Thank you, madam.” The driver tucked the coin away and tipped his cap as Brenna entered the hackney and shut the door behind her.
The horse began to move and Brenna parted the grimy curtains to watch as the wealthy part of town fell away. It was quickly evident that they weren’t headed to any area of Camber she’d visited before. The buildings passing by the window grew close and dark, the streets narrow and rutted. Soon, the cobbles ran out and there was only dirt beneath the hackney’s wheels.
Did the driver really expect that she wouldn’t notice where he was taking her? Brenna sighed and settled back into the seat. It really was difficult to hire good evil henchmen these days. Unless of course this was Quinn’s way of trying to contact her, but she really hoped he would be more inventive.
Surprisingly, the edge of town rolled by and the hackney kept traveling into the dark, where there was nothing but moonlight to reveal the shadows of trees falling across the road. Brenna supposed she ought to stop their journey soon. She really hadn’t intended to go for quite such a long walk, but she was still just a little too curious to see where he was taking her.
Fortunately, only a moment or two passed before the hackney finally rolled to a stop. Brenna listened, wondering whether her fate was to be “runaway hackney” or “held up by highwayman.” Or perhaps simply “stabbed and left in the woods to die.” She would prefer either of the latter, as the former would make it necessary to actually stop the runaway horse, and while that was possible, it involved more athletic exertion than she was properly attired for at the moment.
The door opened, and the driver stood outside, with a heavy scarf tied over his face. “I’m sorry, miss, but this is as far as we go. You’ll have to come out now.”
Not the runaway horse then.
“What? Why are we not at The Bad Apple? Where have you brought me?” Brenna allowed a bit of hysteria to sneak into her tone, though it was closer to hysterical laughter than tears. “Why are we… we’re in the woods! Are we lost?” She stepped into the road and pretended to stumble just as the driver reached out to fasten both meaty hands around her throat.
So that was his game. Brenna lifted one arm over her head and brought the point of her elbow down directly onto her would-be murderer’s arm. He yelped as his arm folded, and Brenna stepped in to bring her knee directly to bear on that portion of the mal
e anatomy most guaranteed to bring an offender to tears.
His hands left her throat after that, allowing Brenna to circle behind him and press her boot knife into the side of his neck, drawing both a trickle of blood and a terrified whimper.
“Don’t kill me, lady. Please, not the knife.”
“Stop sniveling,” Brenna demanded. “It’s terribly undignified. And why shouldn’t I? You were going to kill me and leave my body for the wolves. What do you have for me that might make it worth my while to preserve your miserable life?”
“Nothing!” the man shrieked as her knife pressed deeper. “No, wait, I mean… I was hired! I don’t care what happens to you, but I was paid to make sure your body was never found.”
“Who hired you?”
“I don’t know,” he whimpered. “I don’t know. It’s always by letter. I do odd jobs, now and again. Sometimes for a man named Grim Hill. He wrote to me last night. Gave me a description of you and said where you lived, where you worked. Offered gold if I could take care of you quick like.”
Grim Hill. Well that wasn’t theatrical at all. It didn’t sound like something Louise would do, but then, it wasn’t like she knew the woman well. And how had this Grim Hill known where to find her?
“And that’s your best story?” she asked skeptically. “You’re going to stake your life on something that ridiculous?”
“It’s the truth!” the man cried. “I swear it. On my mother, my sister, my grandmother and my wife.”
“Don’t tell me a weasel like you is actually married,” Brenna scoffed. “You’re obviously a liar.”
“No! I am! I mean, I’m not. I’m not a liar. I have two children! Please don’t kill me!” The man broke down into sobs and Brenna let him go, shoving him away from her and leaving him lying on the dirt of the road.
Ugh. If her mother really had hired him, she had terrible taste in henchmen.
Brenna unhitched the horse, cut away the trailing bits of harness and shortened the reins to an appropriate length before using the hackney’s step to mount the animal bareback. “Well, I’ll be off then. You may report to your employer that I am insulted by the attempts to kill me thus far, and look forward to improvement in the future.”
She pressed her heels to the horse’s sides. “And yes, I really am going to leave you here,” she called back over her shoulder as her mount trotted off into the night.
It was hardly a comfortable ride, with the bits of harness chafing in unmentionable places, but it was better than walking, at least with the distance she had to go. Fortunately, it was a pleasant night, dimly lit by the moon, and not cool enough to cause a chill.
The outskirts of the city appeared quickly enough, and Brenna began to wonder what she ought to do with the horse. Had he really belonged to the man who accosted her, or had the amateur assassin stolen it from a real hackney driver?
She was passing the first few houses when another horse bolted out of a cross street and slid to a stop directly in her path.
“Oh, seriously,” she groaned. “Again? Isn’t one ill-advised attempt to kill me enough for the evening?”
“Who tried to kill you?”
That angry bass rumble could only belong to one man, and Brenna scowled at him in the dark.
“You are positively the worst rescuer of all time, Lord Griffin. How is it that you never seem to show up until after the assassin has had his chance?”
“Possibly because I’ve never known anyone quite so difficult to keep track of as you,” he responded, sounding irritated as he swung down from the saddle. “Also, your charming housemates really don’t trust men. They wouldn’t give me the slightest clue where to look for you.”
“And no wonder, considering that I never told you where I live. How did you find out?”
“Myra.” Rom shrugged.
Well that was worth knowing. If Myra was in the habit of handing out Brenna’s location to every man who asked, she could have been responsible for telling Grim Hill where Brenna lived. Then again, Grim Hill had to have found out where she was working first, which meant that even if Myra had betrayed her, she wasn’t the only one.
Brenna decided to take comfort in the fact that her housemates, at least, had clearly proven themselves trustworthy.
“I can’t imagine it would have helped much even if they had told you where to find me,” Brenna said wryly. “It isn’t like I set out on a walk tonight with an elaborate plan to be abducted by a hackney driver and driven out of town. Why are you trying to keep track of me?”
“Why do you think?” Rom strode over to where Brenna still sat her horse, reaching out to grasp the rein as he glared up at her. “I’m beginning to believe Lady Norelle either has no idea what you’re like or has an evil sense of humor.”
“Definitely the latter.”
“That would explain why she didn’t warn me how difficult of a task she’d actually assigned. How does a countess end up with so many enemies? And how in the name of Andar did you end up riding a cart horse out of the woods?”
“Why, Lord Griffin,” Brenna said with a grin, “I do believe you’re even worse at swearing than you are at rescuing.”
“Believe me,” he retorted, “I am far better at swearing when there are no ladies present. Now, do you need help getting off that horse?”
Brenna decided to award him a point for asking. He hadn’t commanded, or simply dragged her off. She’d not expected that much courtesy or respect, judging by his imperious manner on their last meeting.
“Thank you, Lord Griffin, but if I get off now, I’m afraid I’ll never get back up and it’s still a ways to walk.”
“Never fear, Lady Seagrave,” he said with a slight hint of sarcasm. “I’m not so helpless that I can’t lift you back up if the need arises.”
She snorted indelicately. “Lord Griffin, perhaps it has not occurred to you, but I am hardly one of those willowy maidens who can be flung into a saddle with little more than a thought. I’m afraid you wouldn’t be able to make good on that boast, so I’ll stay where I am, thank you.”
To her surprise, Lord Griffin grinned and his teeth flashed in the moonlight. “You underestimate me, my lady.”
“Are you bragging or flirting?” Brenna inquired, with far more aplomb than she was feeling. It had definitely sounded like flirting, but why would Lord Griffin be flirting with her? He knew her for what she was—a common orphan playing countess without much success. Was he the sort of man who flirted with all females, or was he no different than the other nobles who were after her lands and her money?
“Neither.” The insufferable man stepped back and folded his arms, smile vanished. “I came looking for you to let you know that Quinn has confirmed you have the trust of Lady Norelle. He has also informed me that he’s had another letter from the person who hired him to kill you, threatening to expose his failure if he doesn’t return what he was paid.”
“Did he say who it was from?”
“Someone who calls himself Grim Hill.”
Brenna huffed and rested her hands on her mount’s withers. “Then he or she has already hired someone else, though their first hire was quite definitively superior. The hackney driver I mentioned previously apparently works for this Grim Hill on occasion, and had orders to make sure my body was never found.”
Lord Griffin took a step nearer and his gaze seemed to rake her from head to toe. “And where is this hackney driver now?”
She shrugged. “Somewhere on the forest road, with a much healthier respect for seemingly helpless women than he had when he woke up this morning.”
“And you are, presumably, unharmed?”
“He was singularly incompetent.”
Brenna was surprised again when Lord Griffin chuckled and patted her horse’s shoulder.
“That would seem to indicate Grim Hill knows you poorly enough to underestimate you, as I did.”
“If you’re trying to impress me, Lord Griffin, consider your attempts a success.” It was no less t
han the truth. He was handsome enough, and she couldn’t help but appreciate his broad-shouldered frame, but it was his respect for her abilities that proved unexpectedly appealing. “Do you and Quinn have any further plans?”
A scowl spread across her would-be rescuer’s face. “I’m afraid he’s been insisting that we should use you as bait.”
Brenna grinned. That definitely sounded like Quinn, and, coming from him, was actually quite a lovely compliment. Could he have been the one to inform Grim Hill of her whereabouts?
If so, she knew far better than to even suggest such a possibility to Lord Griffin. While he had apparently developed at least some degree of confidence in her skills, she could tell he disliked the idea of exposing her to danger. “You disagree, Lord Griffin?”
“I can hear you getting ready to be angry with me for doubting you,” he growled, “so before you say anything, know that my reluctance has nothing to do with your competence and everything to do with my own skin. Lady Norelle would flay me if I allowed you to be battered, bruised, or gods forbid poisoned because we couldn’t come up with any better way to catch this Grim Hill.”
“Never fear,” Brenna reassured him. “Lady Norelle knows perfectly well that I accept full responsibility for my own safety. It’s why I prefer to work alone. The only reason I haven’t simply dealt with this on my own is the possible involvement of Louise.”
“And if it turns out that Grim Hill is Louise?” Lord Griffin asked quietly.
Brenna gazed down at him, hoping to somehow convey the depth of her conviction. “Then I will do whatever is necessary to ensure that she returns to Evenleigh to face the Crown’s justice. I know my duty as well as you do, Lord Griffin.”
“And if your duty is to trust me in this?”
She considered him silently. Did she trust this near stranger with a case so close to her? Could she step back and believe that he would handle the situation with both justice and discretion?
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