Page 91 of The Duke's Wicked Widow
“Yes, that is what wehaveto assume.” She’d brightened as they spoke, clearly not just interested in the subject, but excited about it. “Butwhich book? Yes, the Bible is a common one, but it could be any book agreed upon ahead of time. And then, presumably, there would be something about the message or its placement which would indicate to the recipient which of the words in the book would become the keyword.”
In her excitement she’d turned to him, waving a cut-out piece of newsprint as if she wasn’t even aware she was doing it. The blue gown she was wearing made her eyes brighter.
Or perhaps that was her intelligence, her joy.
“I suspect the clue is in the first word of each message. At least, that is whatIwould do, if I was sending coded messages to Georgia. If we had agreed upon a book ahead of time, to use to find keywords, then the first word of each message would be the indicator—for instance, which word on which page.”
Fawkes had crossed his arms and propped his hip against the desk, fully content to watch her excitement as she explained. “Using the key to solve the message?”
“Perhaps—oh, I do not know. Perhaps if the first word starts with a D, Uncle William knew to use the code word from page four, or something.”
Fawkes shook his head, thinking of the few times he’d had to actually go on missions for Blackrose. What did he take with him? “I would guess the keyword system is simpler. Something that would not require Bla—your uncle to carry around an extra book while he was in Canada.”
Frowning thoughtfully, Ellie tapped the newsprint against her chin. “Good point. And good guess that he was in Canada. So the question is; what system did they choose ahead of time so Uncle William would always know which keyword to use?”
Good guess, she’d said, and Fawkes’s throat had gone dry. Had he really just come so close to admitting his involvement in this adventure? Admitting he’d been one of Blackrose’s agents?
Admitting he’d poisoned her father under Blackrose’s orders?
Jesu Christo, ye idiot. What was that ye’d been dreaming about? A future with Ellie? Providing a safe place for her and Merida and yer mother? What do ye think will happen when she finds out ye murdered her father?
Ellie was still talking, but a ringing had filled Fawkes’s head until he could hear nothing besides his own vicious thoughts. And not the good kind of ringing, the Christmas-bells, fairies-helping-Father-Christmas sort of ringing, but the bad kind. The holy-shite-you-might-want-to-inhale kind of ringing.
Och, aye.
Fawkes inhaled, and managed not to fall over sideways.
Just in time. Right as Ellie looked as if she was going to ask him a question, he was saved by a six year old.
“Fawkes! Fawkes, did you get lost—oh,thereyou are!” Merida burst into the room, followed by an overly excited Tramp. “Ellie, comeon.”
Ellie cocked her head, a small smile on her face as she accepted the hand the girl thrust her way. “What is going on? Why do you need me?”
Shrugging sheepishly, Fawkes did his best to swallow down the panic. “I was supposed to fetch ye for decorating the Christmas tree, but I got distracted. Tramp, dinnae eat that, it’s ashoe.”
Ellie’s hands flitted about, straightening her hair and her clothes, as if they’d done something to muss them. “And you allowed me to blather on about my codes?”
Merida was already tugging her toward the door, and Tramp was butting his hard head against Fawkes’s knees, as if he was also trying to help push.
“You asked her about her codes, Fawkes?” The little girl rolled her eyes. “You should only do that when you’re trying to get her to let you stay up later than your bedtime. She can talk about those things forhours.”
When Ellie gasped in—mock?—outrage, Fawkes felt a small grin growing. “Iwastrying to distract her.”
“And meanwhile, I’ve been doing all the hard work! I’ve been working so long that nowfourof my teeth are wriggly! The bottom half of the tree is decorated, and we need your help to do the tippy-top!”
“Well, I suppose I could—holy shite,” he blurted as they stepped into the parlor.
“Fawkes!” Mother scolded, standing with a candle in each hand. “Language.”
“Pardon me.” Stepping toward the monstrosity which easily took up an entire corner of the room, Fawkes shook his head. “Imeantto sayblessed excrement, where in Hades did ye find this thing?”
“Hades?” his mother repeated blandly, thrusting both candles at him. “That’s no’ any better.”
“Hades!” declared Merida, skipping up with Tramp. “That’s like hell, only more pagan.”
“Tramp, lie down. Nay,down, ye dobber.” When the dog finally complied, Fawkes shot an amused glance Ellie’s way. “Her education is a wee bit…bohemian, eh?”
The little girl was bent at the waist, rummaging through one of the boxes of ornaments. “I like learning about old stuff,” she yelled, ensuring to be heard. “Did you know Egyptians scooped out their brains before wrapping themselves in washroom paper? Did you know that they liked cats, and sometimes even wrapped cats in paper too? I dunno if they scooped out their brains first though. Did you know they took out the brains through thenose holes—”
