A Druid Stone

by Kim Allred

  Maybe that's why, though she'd spent almost two years as his kidnapped guest, she'd never felt fear. Instead, she pushed him, her anger sometimes getting the better of her. And when she'd pushed too far, she'd been sent to her room like a misbehaved child. Witnessing the servants cower in fear under this new viscount was more than enough to want to see the scoundrel forced from Waverly.

  The two men towered over the poor girl, her arms slowly lowering from the strain of holding up the towels. She'd begun to weep.

  "Have you seen anyone else come through here?" One of the men leaned down, his tone like granite.

  When she didn't respond, he nudged her with his boot. "Speak up."

  The young girl's gaze flitted about before it landed on Maire. The girl nodded.

  Maire's heart sank as dread rose. The memory of her dank prison cell threatened to suffocate her. She had nowhere to run. She was fast, but the guards would be equally quick despite their bulk.

  "I'll not ask you again, girl."

  "A man. Dressed like you." She hesitated. "But much smaller. He ran past as I came through the sitting room."

  Every muscle in Maire's body relaxed, and she laid her head against the wall, releasing a long, slow breath. The maid might be scared senseless, but she had enough fortitude to lie—and lie well. There'd been no man, but the room the girl indicated led straight to the front entrance of the east wing. If there'd been a man, he'd be long gone.

  The two men stared down at the housemaid before they glanced at each other.

  "One of the men must have sneaked into the kitchen then worried about being caught," one of the men suggested.

  The other man grunted. "He was right to run. Dugan would have his skin for disobeying orders."

  "We should make sure. Let's be quick, or we'll be late to our post."

  The two men strode past the girl, their pace increasing as they disappeared through the door that led to the front entrance. Once their footsteps receded, Maire rushed out and knelt by the girl, taking the towels from her so she could stand.

  "Thank you." Maire returned the towels once the maid regained her footing.

  She smiled up at Maire, a twinkle in her eye. "Anything for the rightful viscount." Then she scurried off.

  Well, damned. Eleanor had been right. A small resistance had been gathering, waiting for Beckworth's return. They couldn't do it by themselves, but they did what they could in their own way.

  Breathing a sigh of relief as the young woman raced down the hallway, Maire returned to her original mission. She waited, listening for sounds of approaching boots. Hearing nothing, she turned the corner that led to the east wing library.

  When she reached the main foyer, she slowed. Unsure whether Dugan's men had left, she eased her head out. The entryway was clear, and the door to the library was closed.

  She raced across the foyer, thankful for quiet slippers. When she reached the door without anyone calling out, she gathered a deep breath and reached for the door.

  52

  AJ noticed the dozens of coaches when they reached the circular drive and made the turn toward the entrance. The carriages were parked between the mansion and stables. Exactly where Beckworth said they'd be. So far, so good. And it appeared they were one of the last to arrive.

  She glanced down at the mask she gripped in her hand. Its beauty was enhanced by the subtlety of the colors. The single emerald peacock feather, nestled within the rich chocolate spray of pheasant plumes, bore the same deep green as Finn's eyes. The feathers fanned across the right side of her mask, which began just below her hairline and stopped at the ridge of her upper lip. The mask itself was painted with swirls of brown, copper, and splashes of forest green. The colorful effect made it difficult to focus on the woman beyond the mask. When she'd tried it on earlier that afternoon, she expected to feel claustrophobic, but the mask fit like a second skin. She'd worn it around Eleanor's cabin for an hour until she'd forgotten she was wearing it.

  After donning the mask once again, she stepped down from the coach, barely glancing at Lando, who stared straight ahead like any proper coachman. Ethan placed a hand on hers, forcing her to relax the grip on his arm. She glanced up to his masked face, taking a brief moment to notice how handsome he was. At least half the room would be ignoring her, the other women's gazes glued to Ethan. She would have smiled if she didn't think she might pass out.

  Ethan moved them toward the stairs. "Deep breathes. More oxygen, clearer head."

  She took his advice, breathing in until she became light-headed. She changed tactics and turned to her old ally—counting to ten. After the third attempt, she was as calm as she'd ever be.

  "That's better." Ethan's brow arched. "But try not to smile like that. You'll scare the children."

  She rolled her eyes.

  Ethan laughed as they climbed the steps, displaying the intimate chatter of a husband and wife.

  "I'll try to find a happy medium," AJ grumbled, but found enough of a timid smile for Ethan to nod in approval.

  As suspected, there were only two footmen at the door, and they barely gave the invitation a second glance. A few guests, mostly men, mingled in the foyer, drinks in hand, all in serious conversation. AJ turned Ethan to the right, which led to the sitting room that separated the west and east wings. A cacophony of voices filled the room as guests milled about while others conversed in groups. Women in colorful gowns and matching masks glittered with beads, pearls, and possibly jewels competed with the singular elegance of the finely tailored men behind their simple masks.

  AJ leaned toward Ethan. "Finding Reginald may be more difficult than I thought."

  Ethan led her to the far side of the room. "Try not to stare. Listen for voices, and watch for behaviors. Notice the doors?"

  AJ glanced toward the double doors that led to the east wing. When she'd been here before, the doors had always been open, though she'd been warned to not go beyond them. Tonight, the doors were closed, and two large men stood in front of them. Not only would the guests not get past the doors, but it also removed a possible exit for her and Ethan.

  Ethan took two glasses of champagne from a passing server and handed one to AJ. "One sip for nerves, then keep holding it."

  She nodded and let Ethan guide her around the room. He kept to the outer edge of the guests, stopping to chat with AJ about nonsensical topics while they listened to the conversations around them. Ethan made her laugh, and the earlier butterflies vanished as she focused on their task.

  Ethan winced when her fingers bit into his arm as he guided them to a small group discussing the war. He seamlessly joined the conversation while AJ kept her head down, only raising it long enough to take note of the women. Once AJ was introduced as Ethan's wife from an unknown peerage, the women ignored her. While it irritated her, their quick dismissal of her as no threat worked to their advantage.

  After several minutes of polite conversation, Ethan steered AJ through the foyer to the west wing, where the voices grew louder and it became more difficult to get through the press of people. After gazing at so many men, all of them beginning to look similar, she wondered if she'd recognize Reginald behind a mask, regardless of how similar he was to Beckworth. Without thinking, she finished the champagne, then shrugged when Ethan gave her a disproving glance.

  AJ pushed him toward the dining room. In her time, it was where most people gathered. She didn't know if it worked the same at these parties, but it was a place to start. The room's long table and sideboards were filled high with platters of food—roast pork, glazed pheasant, succulent ribs of beef, and other savory foods that made her stomach growl. She had been told to eat before the party, but she'd been too nervous. Ethan picked up a plate and selected several pieces of cheese and fruit.

  "I can't eat. I'll throw it up." AJ pushed the plate away.

  "If I can hear your stomach, so can everyone else. And after drinking the champagne, you need a few bites."

  She couldn't argue his point. They found a quiet sp
ot along the wall while she nibbled at the food.

  "Where next?" Ethan asked.

  "The conservatory is down the hall to the left, but I don't think Reginald would be that far from his guests. Not this soon. He must still be making the rounds greeting his more prominent neighbors."

  "That makes sense."

  "There's the drawing room and another sitting room, but let's try the library first. It's down the hall to the right."

  Ethan strolled slowly, stopping to admire a painting or piece of sculpture. Little had changed in the décor, which AJ had always found overwhelming and gauche. Now that she knew Beckworth had inherited it all with the estate and was slowly changing it out, she developed a different appreciation. Finding a charming painting or impressive sculpture among the rest of the clutter became a treasure hunt. She was almost sorry she wouldn't be able to spend more time here after Beckworth reclaimed Waverly.

  When they stepped into the library, she'd barely taken a breath before she spotted him. She didn't know why she thought she wouldn't recognize him—even with the mask, she could be staring at Beckworth. Ethan pulled her toward the other side of the room, where two men played chess. Two other couples watched the men play, so she and Ethan didn't seem out of place.

  She couldn't take her eyes off Reginald. If she didn't know better, she'd swear it was Beckworth standing across the room chatting with several men. His midnight-blue mask accentuated the cornflower eyes, the ash-blond hair, and his handsome face. The two brothers must have taken after the duke in appearance. She idly wondered if she was staring at the likeness of the duke before excessiveness had turned him into the fat, blowhard he'd become. If the duke could turn heads like his sons, AJ could understand why he had a bastard, and maybe others no one knew about.

  Ethan casually pointed toward the other side of the room where another group of couples conversed. They strolled toward them, keeping their backs to Reginald. They stood close enough to appear part of the group, but far enough away to avoid being pulled into their discussion. If she ignored the guests in front of her, she could make out bits and pieces of Reginald's conversation.

  His voice was high-pitched as she remembered it, even with his low tone. She only caught a few words—conservatory, east wing, midnight. Then she thought she heard something about a surprise guest. Her gaze flew to Ethan's. He'd heard it too. Who was Reginald referring to? Whoever it was, AJ's tremor of foreboding returned.

  Ethan grasped her elbow and guided her toward the door where they'd entered. As they approached, Dame Ellingsworth walked in, her gaze meeting AJ's. Without a missed step, Dame Ellingsworth turned immediately to her right. Her voice was loud and joyful. "Oh look, is that Lady Wentworth? I haven't seen her in ages." She moved quickly, then AJ understood why. Two women trailed behind her. AJ immediately recognized one of them, mask or no mask—Lady Agatha.

  She must have cringed, or maybe she gasped, because Ethan turned and bent down, partially blocking her view. Whether on purpose or just concerned, his quick reaction was enough to hide her from Lady Agatha, who'd given them a quick glance.

  AJ took the cue Ethan had given her and reached up to straighten his perfectly placed cravat. When he bent his head closer, she whispered, "Lady Agatha."

  She'd warned him earlier about the obnoxious woman. With barely a glance in the woman's direction, he slid a protective arm around her and guided her to the door. As they passed the group, Dame Ellingsworth's loud voice hijacked the previous conversation, but Lady Agatha turned her head. AJ chanced a last glance in time to see Lady Agatha raise a beautifully arched brow above her mask as Ethan turned them down the hall.

  Damn. She hoped Lady Agatha's hawk-like scrutiny had been for Ethan rather than her. AJ clearly remembered the woman's interest in Finn—regardless of her married state. Either prospect could interfere with their plans.

  "Where does the door on the other side of the library go?" Ethan stopped next to another couple in the hallway.

  "To a study that leads to another hallway."

  "So Reginald could exit either direction."

  AJ nodded. Then she dropped her head and turned toward Ethan when she spotted another figure approaching.

  Dugan.

  After dropping off AJ and Ethan, Lando drove the coach away from the front entrance. A liveryman pointed toward a large area where dozens of other carriages had been parked. Winter parties at large estates would typically host the guests overnight, but this invitation had been for one short evening. Fortunately for the guests, it was an evening when the moon would be the fullest, so driving coaches home in the dark wouldn't be an issue. With an early start to the evening, the sun had barely reached the horizon, making this stage of the plan one of the most dangerous.

  He directed the horses to the farthest side of the field, away from the house and toward the stables. Most of the carriages had been aligned in neat rows, however, some of the coachmen from grander estates had ignored the liveryman and parked where they wanted. This played to Lando's need to get as close to the stables as he could while still leaving an exit route.

  Passing an expansive black coach, he circled the carriage around it, so the horses faced the mansion. He waited until he was even with the other coach before pulling the horses to a stop, leaving twenty feet between the beasts.

  Lando waited several moments, ensuring all was quiet, then set the brake and jumped down. He stood by the horses, whispering to them and feeding them treats. He watched as another coach moved away from the entrance, but that coachman followed directions and moved slowly to the opposite side of the field.

  After another scan of the area, Lando patted the closest horse then walked toward the back of the coach. He surveyed the area. Satisfied they were alone, he knocked on the wooden box where luggage was typically stored. Satisfied he was still alone, he strolled toward the far end of the field where other coachmen had huddled to talk. He stopped at the first coach he came to and leaned against it, pulling off a boot as if checking for a loose stone.

  When he glanced back toward the carriage, he caught a glimpse of two shapes holding small bundles racing from the back of the coach. After they cleared the side of the stables and were out of sight, Lando replaced his boot. Rather than meet with the other coachman, he blended into the trees behind the parked coaches and waited.

  53

  The knob turned, and Maire released a heavy breath, relieved the door wasn't locked. The small room was empty, and she scurried in, closing the door behind her.

  She leaned against the door and assessed the room. Based on the stacks of paper, inkpots, and dust box, Reginald used this for his office as Beckworth had. When she stepped to the desk and flipped through the snippets of pages, she changed her mind. This might be the second translator's office.

  She became more convinced of her assumption as she sifted through the piles, trying to keep them in the same order she found them. They were so disorderly she doubted anyone would notice she'd been there. Yet, even the most slovenly of record keepers had a system and could instantly tell when something was amiss. In this case, she would bet Reginald rifled through the man's paperwork on a regular basis. The new viscount didn't seem the trusting sort. Not that Beckworth had been any different on that count.

  After scanning all the pages written in old Celtic, she recognized most of them as the sections she'd already translated. As if confirming her thoughts, she discovered a stack of her own writing. Folding the pages in half, she stuffed them in the oversized pockets Eleanor had sewn in her dress. AJ's inspiration was proving useful.

  She found additional pages of Celtic she didn't remember reading but recognized the translator's sloppy printing. These inscriptions must have been copied from the druid's book. She tucked them in her pocket with the other pages. If they didn't find the book, they would at least have a portion of it. And if they stole the book, they'd leave little behind for Reginald to work with. That alone made her smile.

  She glanced at the door, concerned by ho
w long she'd been there. It seemed only minutes, but she tended to lose track of time when reading Celtic. Knowing she should leave, she flipped through the pages in the other stacks. They were mostly scribbles, and after reading a line or two of the tiny print, she shook her head. They were wild musings about the druids, and she began to wonder if everyone that worked for Reginald was a bit mad.

  Then her hands shook with a new fear when she lifted a book from a stack of letters and recognized two names—Ratliff and Langdon. Ratliff was the man who'd held this century's Heart Stone in good keeping. He'd been killed by highwaymen on his way to Waverly, or so his daughter had been told. Though the daughter hadn't believed the story.

  Langdon was the last name of the first keeper of stones. She skimmed the letters, her mind racing with increased apprehension and anger. Reginald knew Ratliff had the Heart Stone. Ratliff was supposed to bring the stone to Waverly, but he must have suspected foul play. Maire assumed that to be the truth behind the man's death. And though his daughter had been right to question what she'd been told, Maire doubted the woman knew his death might be connected to the Heart Stone.

  But what did Langdon have to do with this? Giving the letters another quick scan, she snatched the ones with the most critical information, leaving the rest. She considered putting the letters back. It was one thing to steal pages about the grimoire, but if Reginald suspected they knew about Ratliff and Langdon, the Heart Stone could be in jeopardy. It appeared it already was, so the letters followed the Celtic pages into her growing pockets.

  As a last thought, she went through the desk drawers, and finding nothing of import, stepped back to the door. She gave the desk a quick scan. Everything appeared as disorderly as it had been when she arrived. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves, then slowly twisted the knob.

  She opened it an inch before she quietly closed it and whipped around. A guard had been stationed in the hallway. Her gaze flew around the room, but she knew there wasn't a second exit. She was trapped.