Page 38 of Who’s That Earl

Chapter 14

After discovering that the outer bailey was already well-secured, Thomas debated with himself before deciding to wake Dougan to tell him that someone might mean Mrs. Higginbotham ill. No point in bringing Ratliff’s name into the discussion, and anyway, the old man seemed to have a soft spot for Jane. Despite his supposedly weak understanding, he latched quickly onto Thomas’s words.

“Keep the gate locked? No one in or out? Aye, lad. Nowt’ll harm Mrs. Higginbotham on my watch.”

Thomas thanked the man and then returned to his own quarters, where he drew his knife from its hiding place in the bottom of his trunk and slipped it into the hidden sheath in the shaft of his boot. Arming himself against an unseen enemy was so familiar as to be almost soothing, but not at all what he had expected to find himself doing at Dunnock.

Then again, what had he expected?

He thought of what she had told him. For the first time, he considered the possibility that every moment in his life had been leading to this one. The threads of his life certainly had twisted themselves into a Gordian knot, impossible to unravel. Was he to take his blade and slice through the whole mess? But Jane—dear Jane, more sure of himself than he was, despite her own welter of worries—was part of the tangle, a tie that bound his past and present.

In the sitting room, he made a cursory attempt at straightening the mess he’d made earlier. On the floor lay volume three of The Necromancer’s Bride.

I suppose you want to know what happens next?

God, yes. Why had she asked him to come back? Why had he agreed?

He could tell himself it was because she needed protection, and it was his duty to provide it. But that wasn’t the whole truth. They wanted something dangerous from one another too.

The memory of a kiss had nearly driven him mad for seven years. What might happen if he were to be plagued by the memory of something more?

A shudder passed through him, longing and lust, and with them, something that might have been a flicker of hope. Or a foreshadowing of pain.

A smart man would plan some other entertainment for this interminable night. With a grimace, he picked up the book, slipped it into his pocket, and set about dousing the candles.

Once through the inner bailey, he made sure all was tightly latched and locked behind him, then set out to look for Mrs. Murdoch’s room. He might have wandered for some time if not for Aphrodite and Athena, who began to howl as soon as his footsteps grew near. Perhaps they were better guard dogs than he’d given them credit for.

The door to Mrs. Murdoch’s sitting room flew open. “Who’s there?”

“’Tis I, ma’am. Forgive me. I only—”

“I might’ve guessed.” With a shake of her head, she retreated into the room, and Thomas followed. It was a cozy space, almost filled by a pair of chairs with wine-colored upholstery sitting on either side of a high-polished walnut worktable. A pierced-tin lamp sent its speckled glow across embroidered cushions, pale green walls, and on the table, Mrs. Murdoch’s work basket and a book lying facedown, as if he’d interrupted her reading. A novel, by its cover. One of Jane’s?

The housekeeper reached into her pocket and tossed some small morsels to the dogs to quiet them. “Cheese parings,” she explained as she wiped her hands on her apron. “Works a charm, but you wouldna want to sleep downwind of ’em after, if you catch my meanin’.”

In spite of his grim mood, he found himself choking down a laugh. “Good to know.” The dogs were watching him almost as warily as Mrs. Murdoch. True to her promise, however, they sat and were quiet. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but Mrs. Higginbotham asked me to tell you to keep the lassies with you tonight.”

Mrs. Murdoch drew her chin to her chest, exuding skepticism. “How’s that? Keep them here?” Her nose wrinkled, perhaps remembering her own recommendation of moments before.

“She’s had some distressing news. That’s why she sent for me tonight,” he said, reluctantly reminding her of the note she’d delivered an hour before.

“Bad news? Should I go to her?” The dogs, hearing the anxiety in the woman’s voice, strained forward, clearly wanting to hurry to her side.

“Please, ma’am. Let her rest. Keep the dogs here. She’ll sleep better without interruption.” Though the pronouncement had been meant mostly for himself, he looked sternly from one dog to the other and back again. Athena’s hackles rose, but Aphrodite lay down almost submissively on the housekeeper’s rose-patterned rug.

Mrs. Murdoch’s gray eyes passed over him, taking in his state of undress. “You’re on your way back down to the gatehouse, I ken?”

As he intended, she took his departing bow for assent. Or pretended to.

“G’night, Mr. Sutherland.”

“Good night, Mrs. Murdoch.”

Taking care to move quietly, he once more crossed the Great Room and ascended the spiral stairs. The door to Jane’s study creaked when he opened it, but inside all was quiet and very nearly dark. Little more than glowing ash remained of the day’s fire, and the single candle she’d left for him had almost guttered.

By that feeble flame, he found another candle and lit it, then scouted the room’s shadowy corners. Empty. To his shock, she’d actually gone to bed, just as he’d ordered.

And for that, he tried to persuade himself to feel grateful.