Lord of Fortune

by Darcy Burke

  His eyes narrowed to lecherous slits, and before she knew it, he’d put his arms around her waist and pulled her to his chest. “I like the direction of your mind.” He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her. His lips were parted, and she could taste the gin on his breath.

  She suffered his kiss for what seemed an eternity before gently pushing him away. “Come, let’s go upstairs,” she announced loudly, taking him by the hand and pulling him toward the hall.

  He followed with alacrity, stumbling slightly when they started up the stairs. Dear God, please let him fall unconscious from the gin and laudanum.

  If he didn’t, she’d have to come up with an alternate plan or find herself in dire straits indeed.

  Chapter 18

  Penn opened the door slowly and only until it started to creak. Then he stopped and wedged himself through the space and stepped into the room Amelia and Forrest had just vacated. Anger and worry raged through him, and he had to stop himself from going after them upstairs. If Forrest laid a hand on her…

  Hell, he already had. Penn had watched him kiss Amelia through the gap in the door. He’d nearly dashed into the room and thrown the blackguard to the floor. But they were so close.

  And there it was—the book—sitting innocently on the table. Penn picked it up and flipped open the cover. A detailed illumination leapt from the page, making his heart race faster than it already was.

  He glanced about and saw Amelia’s reticule on the desk. Why leave the heart with Forrest if they didn’t have to? He plucked that up and crept toward the hall, listening for any movement from the opposite corner of the house where the kitchen was located.

  From his earlier reconnaissance, he’d ascertained there was a housekeeper and another retainer, perhaps her husband based on the way they’d spoken to each other. The man had left a while ago, but there were two other men who were of far greater concern. They were big, rough looking, and armed with pistols. Camelot henchmen, he guessed. Both had left on horseback shortly before Amelia and Gideon had arrived, but they could return at any moment.

  Penn stepped into the hall and looked toward the stairs. He stood still as a statue, straining to hear the slightest thing, but only silence greeted his ears.

  Perhaps he ought to go up. It wasn’t the plan, but the thought of leaving Amelia alone with Forrest was enough to make him shake with agitation.

  The sound of a door closing and a singsong voice humming prompted him to dash for the front door and make his exit. He ran to the chaise and leapt inside, dropping the book and the heart on the seat.

  Gideon, who’d been standing near the horse, came around to the side, his gaze falling on the White Book. “You got it.”

  “Yes. But she’s upstairs with that snake. If she’s not down here in one minute, I’m going up. Give the damn signal.” His body thrummed with energy. He stared at the house, specifically the window in the gable. He’d no idea if that was where she was, but it was close enough.

  Gideon’s birdcall rent the air.

  They both watched the house, waiting. Images of Forrest kissing Amelia as he had downstairs filled Penn’s head. Along with Forrest touching her, undressing her…

  Penn sprang out of the coach with a curse.

  Gideon grabbed his arm. “Wait! Give her a moment. She’ll come.”

  “What if she can’t?” Penn pulled his arm from Gideon’s grip.

  Penn stared at his half brother, frenzied to make sure Amelia was safe. Gideon nodded. “Go.”

  As he turned to go to the door, it opened, and Amelia stepped out, closing it carefully behind her. She rushed forward, her face a bit pale. “Let’s go! Mrs. Jones thinks I’m going back to town to fetch my things. That’s what she’ll tell Thaddeus when he wakes.”

  Penn helped her into the chaise as Gideon mounted the horse. She picked up the book and her reticule and set them in her lap as Penn climbed in beside her.

  “When he wakes? What happened?” he demanded.

  “He’s been taking laudanum for his wound—the one I gave him,” she said with pride. “Then he drank quite a bit of gin. All it took was me pushing him over, and he lost consciousness. I’d forgotten how much I hated his snoring.” She shuddered and brushed at herself from shoulder to knee. “I’m so glad to be out of there.”

  Gideon drove the chaise up the lane as fast as he dared, causing Penn and Amelia to lurch forward a bit. She nearly dropped the book, and he reached to catch it, his hand covering hers.

  She turned her head, and their gazes connected. Relief and joy and love surged through him. Unable to stop himself, he leaned forward and kissed her. It was brief but wonderful, their lips clinging to each other for a delicious moment.

  “I’m glad you’re out of there too.”

  Amelia shot a glance back toward the cottage. “I don’t think he’ll follow us. He’s not capable.”

  “There were a couple of Camelot henchmen hanging about earlier,” Penn said. “But I haven’t seen them return.”

  “Do you think we can alter the plan and all go to the inn to retrieve our horses and things?” she asked. “We could look at the book there.”

  Penn considered that. “We could, but I always find it best to keep moving in these kinds of situations. They may not follow us, but they’ll come looking, and I’d rather not be in Glastonbury when that happens.”

  Gideon steered them to the copse of trees where Penn’s horse stood. When the chaise came to a stop, he turned to look at them. “I agree. We should continue as planned.”

  Amelia looked to Penn. “Did you hear what he said about the dagger? We need it and Foliot has it.”

  “Yes, I heard.” Penn had been so distracted by Amelia’s safety—as well as jealousy, if he was honest with himself—that he’d forgotten that bit. “It certainly sounded as if we won’t be able to complete our task without it.”

  “I’ll get it,” Gideon said without hesitation. “You drive the chaise back to town and fetch the horses and our things.”

  Penn leaned toward Gideon. “You can’t mean to go to Foliot’s on your own?”

  Gideon shrugged. “Why not?”

  “Isn’t he angry with you for not delivering the sword?”

  “Perhaps, but Forrest didn’t deliver the heart either, and he was fine today, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes,” Amelia said. “But he was clearly agitated about Foliot. When he learned I had the heart, he was quite pleased—relieved, actually. Said I saved him a great deal of trouble.”

  “I have the sword.” Gideon inclined his head toward the bottom of the chaise where he’d fastened Dyrnwyn before they’d left the inn. “I can dangle it in front of him. He’ll be thrilled.”

  Penn frowned. “You can’t give it to him.”

  “I don’t mean to.” When Penn opened his mouth, Gideon held up his hand. “Will you allow me to do this?” It was less a question and more a demand. “I’ve much to atone for. I will get the dagger—and I won’t have to forfeit the sword to do it. It may take me some time, however.” He stroked his chin a moment. “Instead of meeting at the abandoned cottage, go to Wells. There’s an inn on the west side of town—The Stag and Hare. Go there and wait for me. It’ll be far more comfortable.”

  Penn appreciated Gideon’s determination or bravery or whatever it was. It didn’t alleviate his concern, however. “How long do you suspect?”

  “Depends on if Foliot is home, which he usually is. He prefers to have minions do all the work of the Camelot group.” He dismounted and walked toward Penn’s horse, stroking the animal’s neck. “I’ll go with the sword and tell him I’m back with the group. He’ll likely invite me to dinner, then he’ll disappear with one of his mistresses for a bit. That’s when I’ll get the dagger.”

  “One of his mistresses?” Amelia asked.

  “He’s not as uncouth as my father was, but they share many of the same appetites.” He climbed onto Penn’s horse. “I wouldn’t expect me before midnight. But it may be later than that. Try t
o get the room in the corner. It’s the nicest and easily accessible from the backstairs. If not, I’ll find you regardless.”

  Penn climbed out of the chaise and looked up at Gideon. “You might be good at this treasure hunting.”

  A short laugh escaped Gideon’s mouth. “We’ll see. Don’t get separate rooms. It’s best if you’re together.” With a nod, he turned the horse and set off in a trot.

  Penn turned back to the chaise. “This is frustrating.”

  Amelia set the book and reticule on the seat beside her. “Why, because you can’t go with him?”

  “Yes. He’s doing what I do. It’s as if our roles have already reversed, and I’m stuck being the bloody earl on the periphery of all the excitement.”

  “Some would argue that being an earl is plenty exciting,” she said softly. “But not for you.”

  His gaze found hers, and he felt a pull to go to her. But he didn’t. “No, not for me.”

  The air grew thick around them, and everything seemed to fall away. She was the one who broke the spell. “Can we go? I’d like to get as far away from Thaddeus as possible.”

  “Yes, of course.” Penn climbed onto the horse and drove the chaise toward Glastonbury. All the way there he wondered how in the hell he was going to inhabit a single room with her at an inn and keep his hands to himself.

  * * *

  By the time they walked into their room at the inn, Amelia was a bundle of nervous energy. She was anxious to look closely at the White Book. She and Penn had discussed it earlier, and both were excited to find the palimpsest and see what they could make of it.

  But it was more than that. There was a current of tension stretching between them. It was neither good nor bad, but it felt as if they were each waiting for something to happen. She supposed it was normal for them to feel awkward after everything that had occurred. And given the way their future had been altered by Thaddeus’s appearance. Again, Amelia regretted that her bullet had only wounded him.

  And again, she admonished herself for such awful thoughts.

  “I’m sorry to have made you wait to investigate this,” Penn said as he set the book on the table situated near the window. “I’m afraid I was ravenous for dinner.”

  “It’s fine. I was too.” Plus, dining downstairs had postponed the inevitable—the two of them sharing this small space.

  Gideon had said it was the inn’s nicest room, and it was quite charming, with a well-dressed four-poster bed, an armoire they wouldn’t use, and a decent-size table that would allow them to complete their work. Two lamps lit the space, and Penn had obtained a third from the kindly innkeeper who believed they were husband and wife, which he’d set on the table.

  Next, he fetched parchment and a pencil along with the paper on which they’d written the code from the broken heart. He set these on the table and waited for Amelia to take a seat before he joined her. They sat on adjoining sides of the table with the book set at an angle near the center between them.

  They both stared at the book, neither moving.

  “You should open it,” she said.

  “No, you should. For your grandfather.”

  She took a deep breath and opened the front cover. A brilliant illumination greeted them, and she smiled. “He would have loved this. I know how much he liked illuminated manuscripts.”

  “He would’ve loved my father’s library.”

  “Yes, he would.” Amelia looked at Penn askance, wishing she’d had more time to investigate Rhys Bowen’s shelves.

  She carefully turned the pages, going slowly so they had time to study each page. All the while, she was incredibly aware of Penn’s presence. Thankfully, he wasn’t close enough to touch her. It was good they weren’t right next to each other, and the sides of the table weren’t long enough to support that.

  Nearly halfway through, they came across the tale of Ranulf and Hilaria. Amelia’s pulse sped, and the concerns weighing her mind faded to the background. “There it is.”

  “My father said this is the earliest recording of it—as we know it now. Every extant version is based on this.” He leaned over, bringing his head close to hers. “It was written by Lewys Glyn Cothi.”

  “That was the monk at St. John Priory in Carmarthen?”

  Penn nodded as he scanned the page. He brought the lantern closer to the book, and light splashed over the page. He squinted, then lowered his face to the parchment. “I see it,” he breathed. “It’s Old Welsh. I don’t find this terribly often.”

  “Can you read it?” She knew he could read Middle Welsh.

  “Yes.” He was silent another moment, during which her anticipation crested.

  “Penn?”

  He gave her an apologetic smile. His eyes were so animated, his excitement so palpable, she would’ve forgiven him anything. She probably would’ve forgiven him anything anyway. Wasn’t that what you did for those you loved?

  “Sorry, I’m afraid I got wrapped up reading it,” he said. “Let me translate. It says the heart was hidden because it caused too much pain. The fake heart was created along with a dagger and the myth that a witch had designed it to counteract the heart, thus nullifying the power of the heart.”

  “That seems like a great deal of trouble when they could just have destroyed the heart.”

  “They didn’t want to. The Order—of course it was them—sought to preserve it, so they hid it and created the false objects as well as the tale of Ranulf and Hilaria.”

  “So the story I grew up loving is a creation of the Order?” That left a distinctly bitter taste on her tongue.

  “So it would seem. Which means Lewys Glyn Cothi was either a member or, at the very least, associated enough with them that they had him create the tale.” He looked over at her. “I’m sorry. That does rather take the charm out of it.” He bent his head once more and continued. “The location of the heart is encoded on the objects that were created.”

  He leaned even closer to the paper. “There, I think that’s the cipher.” He nudged the book toward her and pointed to a spot near the bottom of the page.

  She could barely make out the palimpsest. What she could see looked like a jumble of letters. In a completely foreign language. “What does it say?”

  “It says heart at the beginning. I think they’ve used a keyword—in this case—heart to set up the alphabet. Then I see ‘left five.’” He lifted his head as a broad smile split his handsome face. “That’s the cipher.”

  His glee was infectious, and she couldn’t contain her laughter. “I have no idea what that means.”

  “Let me show you.” He pushed the book away from him and picked up the pencil and parchment. After scrawling what looked like an alphabet, he repeated it underneath. Only the second version was slightly different.

  He pointed to the top line he’d written. “This is the Old Welsh alphabet. And this”—he pointed to the line beneath it—“is the alphabet with the keyword. The keyword is ‘heart,’ which makes sense, and this is the Old Welsh word for it. Those letters have been taken from the alphabet and moved to the front for the cipher. The rest of the letters follow in order, minus the letters that were moved.”

  She began to understand. “Do these alphabets then match up against each other as a key?”

  He stared at her in obvious admiration, causing her to blush. “You’re rather brilliant, you know. It’s one of your most attractive qualities.”

  The blush spread through her, heating parts of her body that were better left forgotten as they sat here together. Alone together.

  “So yes, you’d use these two alphabets to decipher the code. But we’re missing a step.”

  She recalled his translation. “The ‘left five.’ Whatever that means.”

  “It’s a cipher Julius Caesar used. Since this employs two different kinds of ciphers, we must take another step. We must shift each letter in this bottom alphabet to the left five spaces.”

  He scratched the pencil over the parchment, writing the new al
phabet at the top of the two lines he’d drafted previously, rearranging the letters as he described. “Now, we can use this to decipher the message on the heart.”

  She reached for the paper with the message and set it closer so he could see it, anxious to see what it read. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

  He lifted the pencil again, then paused, turning his head to look at her. “There is no one I would rather share this discovery with than you. In fact, I’d never considered sharing discoveries with anyone. Now…” He didn’t finish but dropped his head to focus on his work as he deciphered the letters from the broken heart.

  Broken heart.

  Yes, that described this situation perfectly. The two pieces of that stone could very well be the ruptured halves of her own heart.

  He set the pencil down with a pensive look.

  “What does it say?” She could hardly stand it and found his reticence frustrating. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

  He turned his head with a twinkle in his cobalt eyes. “The Vale of Neath.”

  “Where is that?” she asked, hoping it wasn’t terribly far.

  “The valley of waterfalls. It’s the most beautiful place in the world.” His tone was rapturous, his gaze equally so. “It’s about two days’ ride from here, maybe three if the weather doesn’t cooperate.”

  “That is where the heart is?”

  “So it would seem. The vale is quite large, however, so we’ll need to decipher whatever is carved onto the dagger to define the exact location.”

  She thought of Gideon’s quest to obtain the dagger and hoped he was all right. “I hope Gideon can find it. And that he’s safe.”

  Penn’s forehead pleated with concern. “I hope so too. I should have gone with him.”

  She put her hand over his forearm. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

  His brows arched briefly, and she removed her hand. She shouldn’t touch him.

  “It’s all right for you to court danger, as you did this afternoon with Forrest, but I am not to do the same?” His tone held a playful edge, but she wouldn’t let his teasing go unanswered.