* * *
If the stakes hadn’t been so high or the company so repulsive, the banquet would have been a grand affair. Tables had been set up in the agora outside the tavern and the evening was fine. Lanterns were hung on ropes overhead to create light and candles lined the tables. Castor had spared no expense, Patra noted immediately. It made her nervous. ‘He is trying to lobby the villagers with his largesse,’ she explained in quiet tones to Brennan as they took their seats. ‘He has an agenda.’
It was an old ploy of his to promote his influence. Money was good for anyone’s economy. Fishermen might not like him, but Castor paid good money for the rare brown lobster he bought from them. Vintners might not approve of his politics, but they approved of his taste in wine and the price he’d pay not just for bottles of wine, but for casks of it. And his luxuries were for everyone tonight. All the villagers were offered a seat at the banquet. The villagers had shown up in their Sunday best, unwilling to turn down the elegant free meal and the chance to be part of what was sure to be prime gossip for the next several weeks. Patra wished the village had chosen not to show up. It would have been very gratifying to know the chairs went empty, the lobster uneaten. But to do so would have been outright rebellion against a powerful man and by extension a powerful organisation. She understood why they’d chosen to come.
She could barely eat. Castor had seated her and Brennan across from him in the centre of his table, his eyes on her constantly, making the rest of the table keenly aware of his interest. Beside her, Brennan, dressed in formal foustanella and embroidered shirt, fairly bristled with energy. She sensed he was planning something, although he’d said nothing about it to her.
That worried her even more. She didn’t want rash actions. Nor could she forget that if Castor had his way, if she had her way to see Brennan safe, it would be her last night with Brennan. He had to be gone by tomorrow’s end. She tried not to think that Brennan’s leaving was something she and Castor had in common. He probably took perverse delight in having designed a goal they both shared.
Castor was determined to hold everyone captive as long as possible before delivering his news. Finally, as fruit and cheese were placed on the tables, Castor rose and called for attention. He was tall and commanding in the lights of the lanterns, his smooth orator’s voice carrying easily across the agora to reach all the diners. He could be very compelling when he wanted to be, very believable.
‘Several years ago we began the fight for independence. We won key victories and took our first steps. The men and the women of the Peloponnese stood up for what was right. They weren’t afraid to die for it and they are heroes, every last one of them!’ he began, to a round of applause.
Patra’s eyes ran through the crowd. The wine had been flowing freely. No wonder he’d waited until the end. He wanted people well lubricated.
‘But the fight isn’t finished. We aren’t truly a free Greek nation yet. We have an Austrian king on our throne. We are governed by a monarchy.’ He almost spat the word. ‘A monarchy, by Zeus, to rule Greece, the birthplace of democracy! We have traded the Ottoman Empire for the Austro-Hungarian Empire,’ Apollonius said emphatically.
He went on to enumerate the sins and failings of the monarchy, how it fell short of being a glorious beginning for independent Greece.
Apollonius ended, ‘Nothing has changed except who we answer to. Greeks should govern Greece. It’s time to take further action. But this time, I am not asking for an army.’ There was more applause at that. Patra recognised the technique. He wasn’t asking for the thing the people feared most—sending more men to die. Anything he asked for now would look small and reasonable by comparison. ‘I have been charged by the head of our organisation with putting together a small force of men and going to Athens for the purpose of deposing King Otto. My organisation will be waiting to take over the government and structure it into a democratic body more in line with Greek ideals.’
Patra’s hands clenched in her lap. Good lord, he meant to overthrow the king at best. At worst, he was talking about regicide. His blood thirst had no limits. Then his gaze fell on Brennan, dark eyes blazing with fervour for the cause, a passion rivalled only by his madness for her. ‘I need men to come, Mr Carr. To have an Englishman with us would signal to Europe that we are ready to take the next step and govern ourselves without a king. You would not be the only private British citizen who feels this way. We have been aided by several in the past. This would be no different.’
He was calling Brennan out publicly. Patra’s fists dug into the linen of the napkin in her lap. She shot Brennan a sideways glance to see if he understood the implications. ‘What better way to prove yourself to the people of Kardamyli, Mr Carr? This is a chance to earn a place here, a chance to show everyone you are one of them.’ He gestured to Brennan. ‘You wear our clothing well enough. Are you more than just a man playing at village life?’ It was a challenge thrown out to the villagers at large, but Patra saw its intent. It was designed to ostracise him, to make him an outcast. Brennan would be forced to go or forced to fight alongside Castor, a man capable of murdering his own soldiers. ‘Unless, of course, you don’t mean to stay?’
There were murmurs at that, undercurrents of people recalling the situation with Katerina Stefanos. Castor’s eyes landed on her, a smile curving his lips, simulating fondness. ‘Patra Tspiras is a woman worth staying for, you have my word on that. I fought with her husband at Modon. The cause has cost her much.’ His voice took on a tone of privacy, making his next words sound personal, meant just for her, but voiced to the group. He put his hand over his heart. ‘If I could bring Dimitri back for you, I would. I can’t, but I can give you the Greece your husband fought and died for.’ Such sentiment would go a long way with the crowd, many of whom had liked Dimitri or who had lost loved ones of their own.
His gaze flicked back to Brennan. ‘Think about Patra and others in the village like her. What this could mean to her. She’s already been through one war. She doesn’t want to live through another. But she will, we all will, if the situation isn’t resolved shortly.’ He raised his arms and swept the guests with his eyes, his voice louder now. ‘Good people of Kardamyli, tempers are boiling. Already in other places on the peninsula Greek factions are fighting each other over petty issues, provoked by a king who doesn’t know how to rule.’
This was Castor’s skill; making the extreme sound reasonable. He spoke the truth and used it for his own gain. It was hard to argue with his words. Patra knew he was right. Otto had been seventeen when he’d been offered the throne. His first years had been spent under a regency where others made decisions for him. That was five years ago. Otto was what? Twenty-two now? Twenty-three? He was younger than Brennan. He didn’t have a clue how to live his own life, let alone govern a nation. Otto hadn’t even been raised to be a king. He’d been in line for nothing until this came along.
Castor wasn’t done. ‘Each of you here tonight, think about what you can do to help your village take the next step towards being part of an independent nation. Give your loved ones and Greece the peace they crave. Give them a life where they won’t be waiting for the next war. I will be here a few days more. Those of you—’ his gaze fell back on Brennan ‘—who are interested in permanent independence should come to the tavern and see me.’
Beside her, Brennan stirred. He squeezed her hand once, pushed back his chair and rose. His voice filled the town square. ‘Important decisions call for important thoughts. Before we leave tonight, I think it’s important everyone have the facts. There are some glaring gaps in Captain Apollonius’s reasoning and I think it’s time you knew them.’
Patra swallowed hard in pride and in worry. She saw Brennan’s intent immediately. He was going to turn the village against Castor. He was going to give them a reason to give in to their dislike of the man. Did he understand that even if his plan worked, he’d signed his death warrant? Castor would
never let him live if he stole the village.
Across the table, Castor caught her eye, his eyebrow arched in intrigued query as if to say, ‘This ought to be interesting, your lover fancies himself an orator. I will crush him anyway.’ Every fibre of her being screamed that she should stop Brennan, beg him to sit down. But she could do nothing that wouldn’t ruin him and make him appear weak. His reputation, his very life, was on the line now and she could only trust he knew what he was doing.
Chapter Nineteen
‘Are you familiar with the dichotomy of false reasoning?’ Brennan drawled with a smile. He had everyone’s attention although Castor hadn’t bothered to retake his seat. Perhaps Castor understood how much control he would yield if he did. Castor was a consummate showman. Still, Patra thought, Brennan came out very well in the comparison.
Anyone looking at the two men together would see the obvious differences. Castor was polished, every aspect of his appearance engineered for perfection, and yet, for all of Castor’s perfection, for all of Castor’s smooth talk and urbane manners, it was Brennan who exuded a sense of openness. When she looked at Brennan, with those stark, jutting cheekbones and those intense blue eyes, she saw an honest, open man. Would the village see that tonight? A cynic might suggest that openness came from his youth. He and Castor were on opposite ends in that regard. Brennan was just approaching his prime, perhaps still growing into it, whereas Castor was nearing forty and had all the confidence of a man who’d achieved his prime.
‘Captain Apollonius would have you believe there are only two choices: march to Athens and demand the king step down, or remain here and tolerate incessant fighting as a few people scramble for crumbs from the king’s table. I would suggest you examine the reasons the captain would have you embrace the choice to march,’ Brennan said smoothly. ‘He personally stands to gain much. The Filiki Eteria stands to regain their power, which has been minimised over the last few years. These are selfish reasons to depose a king. It won’t change anything except who pulls the strings. The scramble for power won’t stop, it will merely be different players. Nothing will change until the factions decide to work together. Until then, it doesn’t matter who is in charge.
‘You don’t have to believe me. But ask yourselves, why would I say any of this? Why would I risk standing up against the captain? I have nothing to gain by disagreeing and everything to lose—your hospitality, your acceptance of me. If you want to take the chance that it will somehow be different with the Filiki in charge, go ahead and join Captain Apollonius.
‘But before you do, you should know what sort of man he truly is. I think in your hearts you already do.’ Brennan’s gaze drifted from table to table, encompassing each of the guests in turn. ‘I saw my friends slink out of the marketplace when he arrived, too afraid to meet his eyes, too afraid to be in his presence. That is not the usual reaction to a so-called war hero. Why are you afraid? Are you afraid he will spend other lives to achieve his own ambitions? He has done it before. He has bought your presence at this dinner with his wealth and promises of good food. What else will you allow him to buy out of your own sense of self-preservation? I say, do not give him an inch more until you truly understand what he is.’
The crowd was starting to shift. Patra could hear it in the rustle at the seats. Furtive glances were exchanged. She began to wonder, what other secrets did people hide in the village? How had Castor raised their fears? Was it possible he wielded power over others like he wielded it over her? Did others feel terrorised by him, as well?
‘What is that I am? I am a politician, a warrior, a man with a cause just like the rest of you,’ Apollonius called out. ‘I have asked for volunteers, nothing more. No one is required to follow me. It is an honour I have asked you first.’
Patra made her decision. She would never know if others also suffered in silence. More than that, no one would ever know the full extent of Castor’s evil if someone didn’t break their silence first. She should not be afraid. These were her friends, her neighbours. Patra rose beside Brennan, reaching for his hand for support.
‘Brennan is right. Your decision is yours alone, but Captain Apollonius is not the war hero he makes himself out to be.’ She drew a deep breath, feeling Brennan’s eyes on her, hot and intense, the grip of his hand firm and assuring. ‘Twelve years ago, he deliberately put my husband on the front lines at Modon, knowing full well such an inexperienced soldier would be killed in the thick of the fighting. There are reports that prove this. What those reports don’t tell anyone is why he did it.’ She paused, gathering her courage. ‘He did it so there would be no impediment to him pursuing me, although it was nothing I wanted or deliberately encouraged.’ She could hear the low murmur of disbelief rumble through the crowd. ‘It wasn’t just Dimitri he put on the line that day at Modon, it was all the men of Kardamyli. The men who went with Castor, who fought with Dimitri, were sacrificed, too, for the sake of one man’s coveting.’ Her voice cracked at the last. ‘I am so sorry. It was all my fault. It is still my fault that he comes here. I draw his attention to this village that would otherwise be left in peace.’
She sat down, unable to stand. Castor’s voice filled the silence left in her wake. ‘That’s quite a story to tell, now after all this time when it serves her interest. She has a new lover and seeks to support him while blackening my own name.’
Brennan’s hand moved to the dagger at his waist, but a voice in the crowd stalled the motion. Patra looked up to see Konstantine rise, his arms stretched out in a gesture for peace. ‘Tempers are hot. We need to go home, each of us, and think about what we’ve heard. Maybe others have stories like Widow Tspiras.’ He nodded towards her. ‘You were brave to share your tale.’ Then to the crowd he said, ‘If you do, then you know she is speaking the truth. If you don’t, then you may seek your truth somewhere else.’
Patra felt Brennan draw her to her feet, his arm tight around her. He was the first to set an example of leaving straight away and she was glad for it. She didn’t want to face questions or stares from the villagers. She wanted to go home, wanted to be with Brennan.
They’d both taken a great risk tonight. Lines had been irrevocably crossed. There were going to be consequences, but before she had to face those, she wanted pleasure one last time from the man who had stood up for her tonight and by doing so had given her the courage to stand up for herself publicly, directly. There would be no more passive resistance, no more subtle acts of defiance. It would be all-out war between her and Castor now. For the first time, the thought didn’t fill her with fear.
Brennan bristled with energy beside her in the night. There was purpose in his stride, his hand tight around hers. Neither of them spoke on the short walk back to the house. Perhaps his mind, too, was reeling with the implications of what they’d just done. The evening was overwhelming enough without thinking of what came next. She wasn’t ready yet to ask that question because she wasn’t ready to hear the answer.
* * *
‘You were magnificent tonight.’ Brennan pulled her to him as they reached the house. ‘I had hoped...’ His words trailed off. He let his smile communicate his approval. ‘It was a bold move, Patra.’
‘No bolder than yours.’ She twined her arms about his neck and drew him down for a kiss.
‘Do you think it will be enough?’ he asked between kisses, each one growing more heated than the last.
‘I don’t know, Castor is powerful. But you are, too, in a different way,’ she murmured. ‘Perhaps the people just need a catalyst to break through their fears.’ The tip of his tongue traced her lips and she didn’t want to think about Castor, about tomorrow. She only wanted to think about now.
* * *
Now was all he needed. There were plans that needed to be made and things that needed to be said, but this moment was for celebration, Patra’s throaty laughter at his ear, her arms around his neck, his hands at her wa
ist as he drew her against him for a long kiss. He’d wanted to give her freedom and he had. Better yet, she’d seized the opportunity tonight.
Something primal had welled up in him as he watched her at the banquet, so beautiful, so proud as she confessed Castor’s treachery. Brennan covered her mouth in a bruising demand of a kiss, every fibre of his being concentrated on owning, on possessing, on leaving no question about his feelings for her. She was his and no plan they made, no consequence that followed, would change that.
‘What are you doing?’ Her words came in a breathy gasp, her breathing erratic in response to his rather physical overture.
Brennan breathed against her ear, his teeth catching its lobe with tiny, sharp nips. Rough play had its advantages, too. The premise was still the same: lovemaking had always been a good way to celebrate life’s milestones. There was no reason to reinvent that particular wheel now when there was claiming to be done. He wanted to bind her to him, remind her tonight that they belonged together so that when the adrenaline of this victory wore off, she wouldn’t retreat.
Patra leaned into him, her body fully against his, her mouth hungry. Brennan flicked his tongue in the shell of her ear. She moaned her assent, her encouragement. ‘Ah, ah, Brennan, again, ah, yes, like that. Oh, sweet heavens, you are a genius with that tongue.’
Brennan laughed. He wrapped his hands beneath her buttocks and lifted her, feeling her legs instantly grip about his waist, both of them having reached the same conclusion: they weren’t going to make it inside, let alone to a bed. Her skirts fell back and he pushed her up against the freshly whitewashed wall of the house. His mouth was at her neck, his hands working loose the neck of her blouse. She arched her neck, giving him full access, her gaze skyward, taking in the moon and the stars, and he took full advantage. This was decadence indeed to rouse a man to his fullest; a beautiful woman up against a wall, beneath the moon, the private places of her body bare against him, her breasts exposed to his ravenous mouth, her clothes nothing more than draping.
Rake Most Likely to Sin Page 16
