Page 100 of Their Master

When Smith took it, the bigger man pulled him to his feet with ease. Smith glanced around the room, appalled by the destruction he’d caused. “I’m sorry, I—Good God, did I cut you?”

Malcolm glanced down at the sleeve of his coat, which was indeed cut. “Just a scratch. Here, sit. I’ll get you a fresh glass.”

“Isn’t anyone going to helpmeup?” Gideon asked from his position flat on the floor.

Smith went to the supine man and extended his arm.

Gideon stared at his hand and then at Smith. “Are you sure you won’t try and kill me with a pen nib or some other seemingly harmless item?”

Smith snorted. “I promise.”

Once everyone was resettled, chairs were back upright, and a servant had been summoned to clean up the broken glass and spill, they all sat in silence, clearly waiting for the rest of the story.

Smith took a deep breath before continuing. “When I returned to the area years later, I learned that the same thing that happened to my family happened in at least a dozen other places. Not all were looted or burnt to the ground, and not everyone was murdered, raped, or sold into slavery, like what happened in Mystras, but nobody escaped the roving bands of soldiers unscathed.”

“That’s what happened to you? Blois sold you?” Gideon’s face was no longer confused and disgruntled; it was now a mask of cold fury. Smith knew about the year and a half the other man had spent in an orphanage, where he’d been sold and sexually exploited.

“Yes, one of the men—an English soldier—sold me along with several others,” he said shortly. That was a story he would not tell—to anyone.

“You have no family left—atall?” Malcolm asked.

“None that I could find. Blois and his men were very… thorough.”

“And the men who were there that day—you said it was just eight of them?” Gideon asked.

Smith nodded. “Yes. It has taken me years, but I found each of them.” He didn’t explain what he did when he found the men, but he could see by their faces they could guess. “There is only left alive one, now.”

“That’s why you wanted to wait until after Blois captured you. He sent a letter to the last man?” Malcolm guessed.

Smith nodded, thinking about the name it had taken him thirty-five years to get. “I wasn’t sure he would do it—for years he’d been careful not to communicate with the man who’d been his English counterpart—but it was worth the risk.”

“So, who is the last man?” Gideon asked.

Malcolm gave a snort of disbelief while Edward turned to Gideon and said repressively, “That is none of our affair,my lord.”

Naturally Gideon was unrepressed. “I think I earned the right to know today. Especially after Smith almost killed me.” He crossed his arms and stared. “Well?”

Smith couldn’t help chuckling. “Sir Clayton Tyler.”

Gideon’s brow furrowed. “That name sounds familiar.”

Edward slapped a hand on his forehead and muttered something beneath his breath.

“What?” Gideon demanded.

Malcolm explained. “Clayton was high up in the Home Office—I don’t recall his actual title, but he was driven out and it was a big scandal. Something about missing money.” Malcolm’s gaze was speculative and worried as it rested on Smith. “He had accumulated a great deal of power over the years, so it took some doing to oust him.”

“That is the story,” Smith said.

Gideon whistled. “Lord! An ex-minister?”

“Not a minister,” Malcolm muttered, his gaze still on Smith. “But still a powerful man.”

“You aren’t going to go afterhim?” Gideon asked.

Edward took one look at Smith and then sighed. “Oh, yes he is.”

Gideon leaned forward in his chair and rubbed his hands together. “What is the plan, then?”

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