Page 69 of Lord of Fortune
Immediately, she considered it must be from the Order, or more specifically, from the Camelot group. Foliot purportedly had the book. Had he penned the note? Why go to the trouble to steal the book in London several years ago and decide to trade it now? Unless the heart was just that important to him.
She turned her head to where the stone sat on her bedside table. How did he—or whoever had written the note—even know she was in possession of the heart? Somehow, they were aware that Penn had taken it from the museum.
Penn.
It didn’t even occur to her to abide by the author’s threat. Of course she would tell him. If he was still here.
She dressed hastily without assistance and made her way downstairs. In the hall, she encountered Thomas, the butler. “Excuse me, has Mr. Bowen—that is, Penn—departed already?”
The butler’s gaze reflected a mild surprise, but he covered it quickly. “I believe so.”
“You knew he was leaving?” Rhys Bowen’s voice from the doorway of his study drew her to pivot in his direction.
She saw no reason to lie. “Yes.”
“And you know where he went and why?”
Unsure if Penn’s father knew, she hesitated before answering, “I think so.”
Mr. Bowen gave a slight nod. He looked tired. Defeated perhaps. She briefly considered telling him about the note but decided Penn wouldn’t want that. At least not right now. That she felt a loyalty to Penn ought to have surprised her, but they’d forged a relationship that went beyond what she would have expected.
“We’re glad to have you here,” Mr. Bowen said. “Please excuse my wife and me—we’ll try to be engaging hosts, but this is a difficult time.”
“I understand,” Amelia murmured. What a tangle. She understood Penn’s anger but also saw the regret etched into his father’s expression. “I think I’ll just take a walk outside. Please don’t trouble yourself over me.”
He nodded before retreating to his study. Amelia turned and walked toward the back of the house, eager to see this place in the woods where Penn went. Perhaps being there would help her decide what to do, since she couldn’t talk with him.
She stepped outside, where the late summer morning held a touch of crispness. The temperature would creep lower and lower as the days shortened, but for now, she lifted her face to the cloud-dappled sky and closed her eyes while the sun’s rays heated her cheeks.
Taking a deep breath, she mentally chastised herself for leaving her bonnet inside, but then she hadn’t planned to come out here. She walked toward the wooded area beyond the yard.
As she picked her way into the canopy of trees, the temperature dropped, and she shivered. Wrapping her arms around her chest, she took a few more steps before her eye caught a small shelter nestled into the trees ahead.
Curious, she increased her pace until she arrived at the small lean-to. A bench was built against the only wall. Carvings on the wall drew her to move inside and study what had been written—or drawn. There were what looked like Celtic symbols as well as foreign words. Welsh, she thought. She bent and read the one word she could definitively read, carved just above the bench: Penn.
Again, she wished he hadn’t left. She’d tucked the note into a small pocket in her skirt and now removed it. She scanned the lines again and realized she’d nearly memorized it.
“Find something good?”
The deep masculine voice startled her, and she let out a squeal before turning around, her heart in her throat.
The gentleman leaned against a tree just outside the lean-to. “My apologies.”
Amelia willed her heart to slow as she stiffened her spine. Folding the paper in one hand, she slipped it back into her pocket. “I believe you’re trespassing.”
“Actually, I was going to say the same thing to you.”
She narrowed her eyes wondering if this man could be…
“I’m Kersey,” he said, affirming her suspicion.
She exhaled, relieved he wasn’t a brigand. Given her past experience with the dagger and now the note she’d received earlier, she wasn’t sure what to expect. “I’m Mrs. Amelia Forrest, an associate of Mr. Bowen’s.”
Kersey’s brow arched with interest. “Have you brought a medieval manuscript for him to review?”
“No, not that Mr. Bowen. Mr.PennBowen.”
The interest in his gaze deepened. “Penn is here?”
