Page 38 of Lord of Loyalty

Chapter Twenty

Isobel couldn’t bear to snuff out her candle. She’d been so worried in Will’s absence, and her worries had proved justified. Had Maybury not intervened, Will would now be wrapped in a woolen shroud, not tucked up in bed in the room below her own. For she had no doubt Hubert was behind the attack and had paid his henchmen to leave Will for dead.

The thought made her quiver—not just for Will, but for herself. Hubert would stop at nothing to get what he wanted, not even murder.

No matter how often she told herself that she and Will were both safe now, the tremor refused to leave her limbs, and her eyes insisted on remaining wide open and alert. Her ears were strained for any unusual noises—which was why she heard the moan coming from below.

Stealing out of bed, she knelt on the scrubbed oak floorboards and lowered her head. There it was again, an unmistakably human noise, emerging from Will’s room. He was in distress, but there was an incoherence about the sounds he was making. Was he in pain, in danger, or having a nightmare?

Silence fell. There was no sound of Manners going into the room, no murmur of voices. This was more unnerving than the moan, and she couldn’t bear not to investigate. The night was warm, but she threw a sheet about her shoulders for modesty, slipped into her shoes, and padded to the door.

All was dark and quiet beyond—hopefully, a good sign. She pushed her candle into a holder, seized an empty pitcher in case she needed to defend herself, and tiptoed down the stairs towards Will’s room.

The sight of a large shape sprawled partly across the passageway gave her pause, but her light revealed it to be Manners, fast asleep in front of Will’s chamber.

“A fine watchdog you are,” she muttered as she stepped gingerly over Manners’ legs and tried the latch of Will’s door.

It opened easily, and her fingers tightened on the handle of her jug. She prayed she was correct, and he was just having a dream, not groaning in discomfort, or crying out because he was being attacked.

Will lay on his back, one arm thrown up above his head. His breathing was labored and, from time to time, his head moved from one side to the other as if evading a blow.

She’d seen this before. He was reliving Edward’s death, and the acquisition of the sword wound in his thigh. Or was it now the attack upon the road that haunted his dreams and disturbed his sleep?

“Will? Will.” She shook him by the shoulder. “Wake up. You’re only dreaming.”

He uttered a series of snorts, then his eyes flickered open and focused on the hand shaking him. She increased the pressure, worried that in his half-waking state, he might leap up and reach for his sword.

“Isobel? You shouldn’t be here.”

No. She shouldn’t. “I heard you groaning and had to come.”

He rubbed a hand over his eyes and eased himself up in bed. Laboriously. “Did Manners let you in?”

“He’s asleep. I stepped over him.”

Will’s eyes crinkled with laughter, but his mouth was set in a grim line. “I’ll have him flogged, the lazy scoundrel.”

“Please don’t. He still has his uses, I dare say.”

“You look worried. You shouldn’t—all is well. We have Pike’s confederates in irons—they’ll say anything to keep themselves out of trouble. Soon, we’ll have your cousin by the collar, and you can live free from fear once more.”

He shifted sideways and patted the bed beside him. “If we are to talk, pray, sit. It’s been days—what is afoot here? How are the servants coping with your elevated status? I wager they’ll be wondering what unguarded things they’ve said in your hearing, thinking they wouldn’t be understood.”

She didn’t want to discuss such minor details, even though the thought had brought that thrilling dimple to Will’s cheek.

“I don’t think Hubert’s men were thieves. I fear they were assassins.”

Will raised an eyebrow. “Has that wretched dog Maybury been frightening you? Trust me—he has surely exaggerated the danger, in order to make himself out more of a hero. They were thieves who weren’t expecting me to put up such a fight.”

“What were they after?” She remembered Will had been carrying her locket.

“Those incriminating papers Manners stole from Pike. He must have assumed I was heading off to call the law down upon his head, rather than going to fetch a chaperone for you. I left the papers here—I’m glad to say.”

“Oh!” But she had them now—she’d pushed them down her bodice when she’d been planning to start the hunt for Will and hadn’t had the time to return them. Perhaps now was not the best time to mention that scheme. “I was so anxious when you didn’t return.”

“I’m honored you should care a fig for my unworthy hide. I can only regret I returned empty-handed. As soon as my thigh’s mended, I’ll make the attempt again—I swear to you.”

She’d rather he didn’t risk his life on her account. “Take Manners with you, I pray. Or Master Maybury—or, indeed, both of them.”