Page 28 of The Knight's Pledge
He noticed a folded piece of parchment slid behind the tie. Lucan freed it and opened the note, written in French.
Our apartments have been turned out twice since our arrival. Do not, under any circumstances, carry it with you. Trust no one.
All my love.
A feeling of disquiet washed over Lucan. They were searching the rooms at Westminster. Padraig was being watched by guards. Tavish and Lachlan were being politely detainedin the palace.
It was obvious Henry was not taking any chances. And so where once Lucan thought the king had been an unbiased ally, it was clear that Henry must for now be considered an enemy of the mission. He’d made it very plain that he’d felt Thomas Annesley—and, perhaps to a lesser extent, Lucan—had made a fool of him and his judgement. He had two noblewomen crying murder of their husbands in his court, the child of an accused criminal in his care, and a guest wing full of England’s acrimonious Scot neighbors. The lands of Darlyrede House and Castle Dare were on the line. Lands that could fall back to the Crown, to be doled out as favors to more agreeable, less troublesome nobles. And a forest full of robbers who had tormented Northumberland for more than a decade were running the streets of London, beneathhis very nose.
Lucan refolded the note and set it aside. He reached into the satchel for the thick leather portfolio, but paused even as his fingers gripped the smooth, worn covering, his intuition once more ringing.
“Everything well, lord?” Lucan hadn’t even noticed Stephen’s return.
Trust no one.
Lucan nonchalantly withdrew his hand from inside the satchel, dragging out a bit of the dark cloth onto the tabletop.
“Yes, very well, actually,” he said. “My captain has just returned some clothing of mine that I’d left behind in the barracks when last I was in London. I suppose he thought I would haveneed of them.”
“Ah,” the steward said. “Fortuitous, indeed. Now you will have something else to wear on your journey then, lord.”
“Mmm,” Lucan murmured noncommittally as he pushed the cloth back into the satchel along with Iris’s note and fastened the tie. He hadn’t told Stephen about the journey, and he was quite sure none of Effie’s troupe had, either. Perhaps Stephen had never truly left any of them alone—only waited outside the chambers, listening to themall the while.
The steward stepped forward. “Shall I seeit laundered?”
“No, I don’t think that will be necessary. It will only get soiled at once, any matter.” Lucan pushed back from the table and took hold of the strap. “I think I shall retire early tonight, Stephen. See that I’m not disturbed,if you would.”
“Certainly, lord,” Stephen said with a bow as Lucan walked around the man. He called after him, “Leaving on the morrow then,are you, lord?”
Lucan kept walking. “I’ve not yet decided.”
“Very well. Good evening, Sir Lucan.” The farewell faded as Lucan mounted the stairs in the entry hall and took them two at a time to Lady Margaret’s bedchamber. Once inside, he bolted the door behind him and listened at the seam for footsteps on the stairwell, butall was silent.
He looked down at the satchel dangling from its strap, still gripped tightly in his fist.
Iris had said to trust no one, and in truth, there was no one he could trust. Not even Stephen,for God’s sake!
Perhaps no one hewantedto trust, he corrected himself darkly. But there was one who had perhaps even more to lose than did Lucan were this information to fall into the wrong hands.
BlastedEffie Annesley.
Chapter 7
Effie was on her way back across the wharf alley from the privy house when she heard the stealthy footsteps on the damp, sandy gravel behind her. She whirled around with her blade at the ready.
Lucan Montague held up his palms in the dim, ambient light of the near-full moon. He was in his typical black garb once more, his slender, pale face and the strap of a satchel across his chest the only discernable features in the night.
“Easy,” he said.
Effie slid her blade back in its sheath. “You’re lucky I didn’t gut you. What are you doing sneaking about in the middle of the night, accosting women in dark alleys?”
“Unless I wished to alert the staff, I had no other way to ensure I did not miss your return. I’d like a word. In private.”
“Come to apologize, have you?”
“I’ve nothing toapologize for.”
“Well, what do you want, then?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her bosom. The cider she’d drank that night and the lively company of the taverns had relaxed her, and she was feeling just kindly enough to indulge thepompous prat.
