by CJ Archer
There was no owl of course. It was Cole, using the call the Guild members had perfected for their nocturnal meetings. Orlando found Cole and Hughe at the edge of the woods. Or rather, they found him. Dressed in black, they were almost impossible to differentiate from the trees.
"Finally!" Hughe stepped away from the trunk of a massive oak to reveal himself, while Cole did the same on the other side. "You took your time."
"I was busy," Orlando said.
"Sure you were." Hughe's voice held a smirk in it.
"You're always busy," Cole, the third member of their band, said. He gripped Orlando's arm in greeting. "Nice to see you enjoying your work." He wasn't fat like Susanna described him, just broad across the shoulders. He must have removed the padding strapped to his stomach for his disguise to make the journey to Stoneleigh's wood. Orlando couldn't see or hear horses, so they must have walked.
"Come to check up on me?" Orlando asked, flipping the hood off his head. He'd worn it to hide his blond hair as he crossed the open grounds of Stoneleigh. It would have acted like a beacon if the moon came out.
Hughe removed his hood too. Cole didn't have one.
"I needed to escape London," Hughe said. "The dowager countess has arrived for the winter." Orlando didn't need to see his friend's face to know he'd screwed it up in distaste. The dowager countess was Hughe's mother, and her favorite pastime was parading potential wives in front of her son. There were many and they were all silly or grasping, so Hughe said. Orlando supposed that was the price of being one of the richest earls in the kingdom. Better to be a nobody and free than a nobleman and hobbled to a wife, estate, and duty. He could think of nothing duller.
He glanced over his shoulder toward Stoneleigh. At that moment the moon came out from behind a cloud and illuminated the vine-covered walls, the steeply pitched roof and windows. He thought he saw a light in Susanna's bedchamber, but he couldn't be sure. Hopefully she was still sleeping and wouldn't realize he'd left her until the morning. Perhaps by then he would know what to say.
"It's going to be a bleak winter for you in that case," he said, turning back to Hughe.
"Aye. And a long one. I think I'll have urgent business in other parts for most of it."
"You won't get far. The roads are poor enough already. Another month or two and they'll be unusable."
"I only need to get as far as the nearest inn," Hughe said.
"And the nearest warm bed," Cole said.
Hughe and Orlando laughed. Cole did not. He never laughed. Their dark, serious friend had a bleak, black streak through him that ran deep and cold. Orlando had not been able to find out why, although he suspected Hughe knew. Bloody Hughe knew everything.
"How goes the investigation into Lady Lynden?" Hughe asked. "We saw her yesterday in the village."
"She saw you too," Orlando said. "She thought your hat was ridiculous by the way." She'd said no such thing, but Orlando knew the sort of hat Hughe usually wore when he was playing the part of the fop and they were always elaborate and impractical.
"That was my best hat."
"She's very beautiful," Cole said, unexpectedly. He never noticed beautiful things, not even women. Or if he did, he never commented. For him to say Susanna was a beauty meant he'd certainly noticed.
"So?" Orlando snapped.
"So I was expecting a murderess to look more...bitter. Shrew-ish."
Orlando's head began to pound inside his skull. "Perhaps she's not a murderess then," he heard himself say.
"If she isn't," Hughe said lightly, "I wonder if she'd agree to become the next Lady Oxley. I wouldn't mind that slender body wrapped around my—" He slammed back into a tree trunk and his muttered oomph echoed through the woods.
Orlando shook out his hand. It hurt, but it felt bloody good shutting Hughe up. It wasn't often he caught him unawares like that.
"I win," Cole said.
Hughe rubbed his jaw and grunted. "That wasn't a wager I wanted to lose."
It took a moment for their words to sink in. It was like a hive of bees had taken up residence in Orlando's head, and their buzzing was making it hard to think. "What are you talking about?"
"We had a wager after the innkeeper pointed out Lady Lynden to us in the village," Cole said. "I told Hughe you'll go the same way as Rafe."
Rafe? What did their friend have to do with any of this? Then it fell into place. Rafe had left the Assassin's Guild and fallen in love barely two months ago. According to Hughe, the only one who'd seen him since, Rafe was besotted. The thought of ruthless Rafe Fletcher falling in love had made Orlando laugh when he'd first heard it. Now...now it bothered him. No, it angered him. Their friend had abandoned them for a pretty face and someone to keep his house. It was true that he'd left the Guild before he fell in love, but he would have come back when he was ready. Now he couldn't. He was tied to that life and that woman forever. Orlando hoped for the wife's sake that boredom didn't do to Rafe what it did to him.
"You're fools," he said. "Both of you. Rafe might be happy to lose his freedom, but I'm not." He glanced at Stoneleigh, but the moon had been swallowed up by the clouds again and it was shrouded in darkness. "Settling down isn't for the likes of me," he said, quieter.
"That's what I said." Hughe opened his jaw wide as if to see that it still worked. "It would take more than a pretty face to tempt you."
"He just hit you for insulting her!" Cole said. "What more proof do you need?"
"He's a champion of the female species, that's all. Doesn't mean he's developed a foolish attachment to one of them. Does it, Holt?"
The edge in Hughe's voice wasn't lost on Orlando. He could feel both men watching him, trying to gauge his feelings on the matter despite the darkness. "Indeed."
Hughe grunted and rifled through a pack nestled against the base of a nearby tree. He pulled out something and put it to his lips. A flask. He handed it to Orlando and he too sipped. Aqua vitae burned his throat and blazed a path down to his stomach. He hadn't realized how cold he was. Frost clung to the air like an icy blanket and stung his nose and ears. He drank again and handed the flask to Cole.
"So what say you, Orlando?" Hughe asked. "Is she a murderess?"
Tingling warmth spread through Orlando's limbs and dissolved some of his tension. "It's unlikely," he said. "There are no rumors in the village, and everyone seems to like her."
Hughe's hesitation was small, but it was there. "You know as well as I that that means nothing at all."
"You've always trusted me, Hughe. Always."
"You have good instincts, both of you do. I wouldn't have hired you otherwise." He didn't need to add 'but' for Orlando to hear it.
"I don't think she's capable of murdering anyone. I have no proof, but I will get it."
Hughe returned the stopper to the flask and took his time putting it back in the pack. Somewhere in the distance, a real owl called. "You'd better."
"And if I don't?"
"You know what. If we can't prove guilt or innocence with any assurance, we leave her alone, but that won't mean someone else won't be hired instead. And if guilt is proven, we'll dispense justice accordingly. If you can't do it, Cole will."
Orlando had no doubt about that. Cole never flicked an eyelash when he undertook his job, no matter who or what the circumstances. He'd killed women before.
"What if she did kill her husbands but had good reason?" Orlando asked. "You can't go ahead with it then."
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Hughe said.
"No," Cole said and his deep, rumbling voice commanded they listen. "If they were deserving, then we leave her be."
Hughe stood very still. It wasn't often his men defied him. Only one man had dared, and he was buried in a grave somewhere in London after Rafe was forced to eliminate him upon Hughe's order.
"I'm not killing anyone who had no choice," Cole went on.
"She's not like the others," Orlando said quickly, sensing an opportunity to press his case. The murderers they'd been hired
to kill in the past were all cruel, vicious madmen who needed to be stopped. Their crimes were heinous, their victims often innocents, and their positions powerful so that the authorities could be bribed. Moreover, there was never any doubt as to their guilt. Most even gloated to their assassin's face before their throats were slit.
"As I said," ground out Hughe, "we'll decide when we know for sure."
Orlando could punch him again to get his point across, but he suspected Hughe was ready for it this time. He doubted it would make any difference anyway. Hughe respected facts and witness accounts, not emotions or suppositions.
"Did you find out anything about the client?" Orlando asked. "If Susanna is innocent, then someone is trying to implicate her because they dislike her."
"Or they want her out of the way," Cole said. He still stood with his arms crossed and his feet apart, as much a part of the woods as any of the massive trees.
"The letter I received was unsigned," Hughe said, "and the casket containing the money has no identifying markings on it. Whoever it was has taken great pains to remain anonymous. I don't even know where it originated from."
Only the members of the Guild knew that Hughe was its leader. The rest of the world thought Lord Oxley was a dandy who split his days between the playhouses, baudy houses, and court. Work filtered through to them via a network of inns across the country and the Continent. Whenever someone came to the innkeepers or serving wenches with a problem that required the Guild justice, they would send the information on to an abandoned building in London. The building, owned by Hughe under another name, was checked often by one of the band in disguise. All were experts in going about undetected or knowing when they were being followed. Only once had Hughe needed to change the house where the messages were sent when an innkeeper had been forced to reveal its location. The innkeeper had found himself dropped out of the network after that, as much for his own safety as that of the Guild members.
It wasn't often Hughe didn't know his client's name, but he always found out one way or another. Until now.
"Keep asking your contacts," Orlando said.
"Thank you, Holt," Hughe ground out, "I wasn't sure what to do next, but you've enlightened me. I knew I employed you for more than your pretty face."
"Ha."
Cole grunted, but that was as much humor as he was capable of showing.
"So we speak to the coroners next," Orlando said. "Did you find out their names?"
Hughe sighed. "There wasn't one for John Bullen, her first husband. He was much older, and his humors tended to be overly sanguine apparently. His death didn't come as a surprise so no coroner was called. It was entered into the parish books as a failure of the heart. Phillip Lynden, however, was different."
"I know," Orlando said. "The parish wise woman sent for the coroner because she thought he was too young and healthy to die suddenly. But the coroner found no suspicious markings on the body. I'd still like to question him."
"He's dead. Died a few months ago from a fever."
Orlando swore. "I'll need to speak to the wise woman then, without trying to raise suspicions somehow." His list of people to talk to was growing. Right at the top was Mr. Monk. "That's not all. There are strange happenings at Stoneleigh. Someone tried to climb through Susanna's window, but I don't think they were trying to steal anything since there is very little to steal and the entire village knows it."
"So what do you think he was doing?" Hughe asked.
"Attempting to kill her."
"Bloody hell," Hughe murmured. "Someone's trying to take our business."
"That wasn't my first concern."
"You're right. If she's innocent, then we have a problem. She'll need protecting until the intruder is discovered, and her guilt or innocence proven."
"Do you know who it might have been?" Cole asked. "Could it be the same person who commissioned us?"
"There's only one other stranger to Sutton Grange and he's living up at Sutton Hall. His name's Monk. Whether he's connected to our client or not, I don't know. It's likely."
"Sutton Hall," Hughe mused. "You think Lord Lynden hired this Monk to kill his cousin?"
"Possibly. He covets what little remaining land Farley has. But...I don't know. I don't think he is greedy enough to kill her for it."
"What about others? Who else do you think may want her dead?"
It felt strange discussing Susanna's life and death so coolly with men he'd watched kill others in the name of justice. Orlando was surprised at how level he sounded, how unaffected. Inside, his stomach churned. She didn't deserve this and certainly didn't deserve to die. If she killed her husbands, she would have had good reason. She was a good soul. He was absolutely certain of it now.
"I don't know. Cowdrey is her nearest neighbor on the other side and has already purchased a lot of land from Farley in lean times. But he wants to wed Susanna, not kill her."
"Are they going to marry?" Hughe asked.
"She's refused him."
"Then he might want revenge. He's angry at being rejected, and he wants her punished for humiliating him..."
"Or he doesn't want anyone else to have her," said Cole.
An icy shiver tore up Orlando's spine.
"What about enemies?" Hughe asked. "And don't tell me she doesn't have any. A woman as beautiful as that always stirs up jealousy among the plainer ones. Milner from The Plough told me most of the unwed girls are afraid she'll dazzle all the bachelors now that she's a widow again. They're worried none will look elsewhere until she's safely remarried."
"You enquired about her?"
"Of course. I asked who the beautiful woman outside the chandler's shop was and if she was available. I didn't know it was her at the time."
"As subtle as ever I see."
"Are you going to hit me again?"
"Don't tempt me."
"Or me," Cole chimed in. "I'm often tempted. Very, very tempted."
"He's not used to playing a servant," Hughe said with a laugh. "It's been a long few days. For both of us."
Cole simply grunted.
"Are you staying in Sutton Grange?" Orlando asked.
"Only another day then we'll travel to Harveston to make enquiries about John Bullen's death. You remain here and continue investigating husband number two's death until we return. Be subtle."
"Of course. Cole's the one who couldn't be subtle to save his skin."
"Subtle is the size of a brick and just as hard, is it not?" Cole said.
"Light and dark, you two, and not just in appearance," Hughe said, shaking his head. "Not sure where I'd be without you both."
"Working harder," Cole said.
"Getting your hands dirtier," Orlando chimed in.
Hughe clamped one of those hands around Orlando's arm and squeezed. "Just make sure neither of you get yourselves killed nor follow Rafe's path."
"Same thing," Orlando said, grim. Being a good, reliable, and faithful husband was not for him. He needed open spaces, adventure, and freedom to go where he wanted. Being tied to one place would drive him to boredom and boredom sat like a canker on his shoulders. After their father died, he went to work for his brother in the family merchant business. It had slowly sucked the life out of him. Day in and day out of paperwork and counting—counting yards of cloth, barrels of wine, jars of spices and money. At the end of the day his eye twitched and his legs felt restless. He needed to do something. So he drank too much, fought too often, and made love to all the wrong sort of women.
When one of those women turned out to be wed to a thug with big friends and sharp knives, he'd left. He'd had to. They'd already slashed his brother, Thomas, across the face and promised to come back for his wife May if he didn't pay compensation. He paid, of course, but Thomas had asked him to leave London. So he had, despite wanting to stay and work harder. He owed Thomas. His brother bore the scar of Orlando's actions. The least he could do was give him everything he was capable of giving.
But then, if
he'd stayed, what's to say he wouldn't have spiraled down that path again? He couldn't afford to test his own resolve. Not at the expense of Thomas and May.
Orlando would not shackle a woman he cared about to a man who turned into an amoral arse when he grew restless.
"I don't think you need to fear either of us following Rafe's path," Cole said and Orlando could feel his friend's gaze on him even though he couldn't quite see it in the darkness. Was Cole testing him, questioning him, or something else altogether?
"Good," said Hughe, flipping up his hood. "Come on, Cole, time to go. It's starting to rain."
Cole sighed and snatched the pack off the ground. "It always rains when we've got to walk."
"If you hold the pack over your head, you won't get your pretty hair wet," Orlando said.
"Or I could borrow your cloak. It has a hood."
"I know. That's why I have it."
"Swap with me. It's only a short distance to the house. If you run, you'll avoid most of the raindrops."
Orlando gave him a withering glare, but it would have got lost in the dark. With a sigh, he removed his cloak and accepted Cole's in return.
"Take care," Hughe said, grasping Orlando's arm. "We'll call on you when we return from Harveston."
The damp leaves deadened their footsteps as they walked off and soon even their shadowy figures were swallowed up by the trees and the night. Orlando trudged back to Stoneleigh just as the first golden rays of dawn peeped shyly over the horizon.
He didn't run like Cole suggested, but walked to give himself time to think. He knew what he had to do next and it had nothing to do with making enquiries into Phillip's death and everything to do with the base urge to see Susanna's naked body again.
