Betrayal in the Highlands (13 page)

“I’ll tell him we’re running away to get married,” Abby said. “He’d like that. He’s been trying to marry me off for years.”

“Married!”

Edmund’s face grew even hotter. A knot had formed in his stomach, though it wasn’t a completely unpleasant sensation. Abby was staring up at him with smoldering dark brown eyes. His heart brightened.

She’s going to follow us as soon as we leave this room.

Not in that dress. She’ll need time to prepare.

“Abby,” Edmund said. “I like you.”

He was surprised to hear himself say such a thing and even more surprised that the voices in his head didn’t correct him. Looking at her, something in him seemed to click, like the iron door of the wet cells swinging open.

He breathed more easily.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said with a tenderness that wasn’t entirely contrived, “if you get permission from your father, permission to come with us—in writing; I want it in writing just in case anybody questions my intentions—if you can get his written permission … I’ll let you come.”

Are you serious?

I don’t know.

Abby rose and looked at him sidelong. “You’re placating me.”

Damn, she’s perceptive.

Edmund shook his head.

“Yes you are, I can tell! You’re going to leave as soon as I step out of this room. Your bags are all packed and hidden in the bedroom! I heard you.”

“Abby—”

“You’re a liar and a fake, just like all those other men at that stupid—”

Edmund grabbed her shoulders. Warmth from his face fluttered into his chest. He felt like he was glowing.

“Go talk to your father,” he said.

She has exquisite eyes.

“I’ll, I’ll even meet with him, if he has a mind to. And then we’ll go. We’ll tell him I have a home somewhere and I want you to meet my elderly parents who can’t come here.”

Her face softened.

Don’t kiss her! You’ll ruin everything if you try. Don’t even think about it!

Abby’s cheeks flushed, but her doubtful expression remained.

“I want your word of honor that you won’t disappear as soon as I leave, that you will take me with you. Promise me.”

Terrific! Make it convincing.

“I promise,” Edmund said without a hitch in his voice.

Abby’s defiance waned.

He let go of her.

They stared at each other for another moment before turning away to study the floor.

“Well then,” she said, smoothing out her dress, “I’m … I’m terribly sorry for bothering you like this.”

“It’s no bother,” Edmund replied, meaning every word. “But you can’t stay here alone with me. It isn’t proper. Go home and speak to your father.”

Abby tugged at her white gloves absentmindedly. “You’re a gentleman.”

Am I?

“I like that,” she said. “Thank you. I never thought I’d ever escape from this place. I thought …” Anguish crept over her fair face as she frowned. “Never mind. Just … just thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my impetuous soul. And I’m sorry for yelling. I’m sorry about everything.”

“Don’t be.”

She opened the door.

“You did a nice job telling your story, by the way. It couldn’t have been easy for you, being put on the spot like that. Perhaps someday you’ll tell me what really happened.”

I’ll tell you anything you want to know.

“Well then,” she said again and stepped out into the hallway. “I’ll … I’ll see you soon.”

Edmund smiled, heart racing. “I look forward to it.”

She closed the door behind her.

He sighed.

Now get the hell out of here!

Chapter Thirteen

Edmund searched for Pond, Fatty, and Becky across the expansive front lawns of Baroness Melody’s estate but found no sign of them. It was close to one o’clock in the morning. The damp coastal breezes were gusting, making Edmund’s dress cloak flutter and snap. From the main hall of the manor house came joyous music and the twinkling of lights, as though the entire mansion was filled with dancing fireflies. Out to sea, lightning flashed and a dull clap of thunder rolled over the land.

By the time he had reached the eastern rose gardens, Edmund’s mind was no longer thinking about finding his friends or the fat droplets of rain that periodically struck his head and shoulders. Instead he envisioned the gentle curves of Abby’s legs and the sharpness of her dark brown eyes.

As he wandered, he touched one of the statues lining the gardens and sniffed the fragrant, windswept air. He tried to unravel his many thoughts and emotions, but mostly, he was content to just walk in the darkness.

She can’t come. You know that, right?

Perhaps I can send for her. Maybe once we get situated and find a safe home somewhere
.

Thunder rumbled closer. Somewhere in the blackness below the cliffs, waves rose and crashed upon the exposed rocks.

Don’t be a fool. She’s not really interested in you! She only wants to adventure.

Still
…

He realized he was humming.

More long droplets of rain pelted the neatly trimmed grass.

Pond’s right. There’s something magical about spring rain by the sea.

He felt like singing.

Something rustled nearby.

Off to his right, Becky pushed herself through a row of sculpted rosebushes.

“Hey, girl!” Edmund called to her.

Becky dashed to him, mouth chomping at the wind.

“Hey, Beck! How’ve you been? Been good?” He scratched her neck playfully. “Where’re Pond and Fatty, eh?”

The fur around her muzzle was damp. Edmund examined his hand. In the faint starlight, blood glistened on his fingertips.

“Blood?”

Carefully he picked thorns and twigs out of Becky’s coat.

“Did you cut yourself going through those roses?”

Blood dripped from the fur around her mouth.

This isn’t from a simple scratch
…

Becky snapped at the air.

“What is it, girl?”

She raced back to the spot she had crawled through, rooted around for a few seconds, and then reappeared with something hanging limply from her mouth. Edmund took it.

“Fabric?”

Bloody fabric
…

Edmund examined Becky again. The blood didn’t seem to be hers.

Then who
—
?

Pond!

“Becky, bring me to Pond! Do you understand? Bring me to—”

White lightning split the sky.

Thunder shook the ground.

Becky sprinted back the way she had come.

Running after her, Edmund pushed between the rosebushes, tearing his new dress cloak and tunic.

Grey sheets of heavy rain started to fall.

In the dimness ahead of him, Becky shot between two towering topiaries.

“Becky?” The gusting wind threw Edmund’s voice back at his wet face. “Pond? Fatty?”

He stumbled after her, running into wrought iron benches and tripping over raised flowerbeds now muddy with rain.

“Pond?”

Through the storm, the ocean roared around him.

He crashed through a wall of swaying evergreens.

Lightning flashed.

There!

In a clearing surrounded by high hedges, two figures lay sprawled on the ground. One had to be Fatty Moron; lying on his back, his enormous belly rose like the silhouette of a distant hill. Edmund couldn’t tell who the other figure was, but he feared the worst. Becky stood before them, chomping silently on the whipping wind.

Edmund reached for his sword but found he wasn’t wearing one. “Damn it!”

He ran and slid to Pond’s side.

“Pond!”

Thunder answered him.

Frantically he glanced around. Shadowy topiaries loomed like assassins in the night. Again his hand felt for a sword that wasn’t there.

“Pond!” he shouted again.

Unable to see much in the growing storm, Edmund swept his hands over Pond’s head and body. He was wet, but there didn’t appear to be any wounds.

Becky leapt repeatedly.

“Pond!” Rain trickled from Edmund’s matted hair. He shook his friend. “Pond!”

Please be all right. Please!

“Pond, can you hear me?”

Pond’s eyes half opened but didn’t focus in Edmund’s direction. His mouth moved. Rain poured into it. He spit and tried to speak again. At first his voice emerged strained and distant as the wind whistled through the hedges, and then he said, “They thought I was you.”

Chapter Fourteen

“I don’t know,” Pond repeated, slumping in his chair. “I … I just don’t know.”

Edmund yanked the heavy velvet drapes, one by one, across the windows of their parlor. Running with him, Becky leapt and reared and pawed at his legs, snapping at the air. Yet she still wasn’t making a sound.

“There … there might have been three of them.” Pond attempted to push himself into a straighter sitting position. “Maybe more. I, I don’t know. I didn’t really see any of them clearly. Just shapes in the dark.”

“But you’re sure they weren’t Kravel or Gurding, right? I mean, they weren’t goblins. You could tell that much, couldn’t you?”

Pond lifted his shoulders slightly. His dripping head teetered toward sleep, then jerked upright again. A puddle of rainwater was forming on the floor beneath him.

Outside, thunder rumbled.

“That’s all right,” Edmund said, handing him a goblet of hot spiced wine. Steam swirled above the gold rim. “Here, drink this. It’ll warm you up.”

Pond drank, eyes closing and reopening in weary blinks.

What are we going to do now?

We have to get out of here
…

How? They can barely stand!

On the settee pushed up against the front door, a soaking wet Fatty Moron lay fast asleep again, dead to the world after crawling up the stairs to their suite.

What did they do to them? Some sort of poison or potion? Think! Maybe I can find an antidote or something.

“Did they make you drink anything? Did they … ?” Edmund faltered, not knowing what else could cause their exhaustion. “Prick you with some sort of dart?”

Pond shook his head.

Then why are they like this?

Worry about that later. Find out what happened!

“So what did they say?” Edmund asked. “After they came out from behind the topiaries. What happened? Do you remember? Do you remember anything at all? What did they do to you?”

Pond’s unfocused gaze floated toward Edmund. He listlessly brushed the trickling droplets from his rain-drenched face and swallowed.

“Fatty … Fatty threw the ball. Becky went off into the darkness to chase it.” He swallowed again. “Then they … they surrounded us. They surrounded us, and I couldn’t move. They thought I was you at first. They kept saying that you should be there.”

“I should be there?”

“Yeah, they … they argued about it among themselves. Then they asked where you were. They asked about … about … something …” His brow furrowed. “I think they asked about Iliandor.”

“Iliandor!”

“Diary,” Pond said, voice cracking. “They … they asked if you had his … his diary.”

“Are you sure?” Edmund’s own voice rose to a near shout. “Are you absolutely sure they asked about his diary?”

Pond might have nodded, or he might have been falling asleep again.

“Pond! Are you sure they mentioned his diary? Please! Concentrate!”

“I can’t,” Pond said, struggling. “I can’t recall anything more specific. It was … it was like a dream. Everything in snippets.”

He opened his mouth but didn’t say anything.

“Okay. That’s all right. Take your time,” Edmund said, wishing Pond would speak more quickly. “Can you remember anything else? Even if it’s a snippet, it could be important.”

Hands shaking, Pond attempted to bring the goblet of hot wine to his lips but couldn’t quite manage it. Edmund helped him take a drink.

“Go on,” Edmund prodded. “What happened after that? What did they say? Do you remember anything else? Do you remember anything at all?”

Pond took another tentative sip. “After that, I, I think … I think they questioned Fatty.”

“Fatty?” Edmund repeated in disbelief.

“They didn’t seem to realize that he couldn’t talk. They got really angry with him. Furious. All I could do was lie there. I couldn’t move. It was like I, I was sleeping, or sleepwalking, or … or something.”

Edmund fell into a chair next to Pond, his soggy clothes squishing against the expensive leather. Outside, lightning flashed. The windows vibrated, their red drapes flickering with an eerie shade of blue.

“Curse Iliandor and his damned diary!”

It’s not the diary that’s cursed, it’s that damned metal. Who wouldn’t want unbreakable swords and armor? Every king, every bandit, every assassin would want the formula! If they learn you know it, they’ll—

“Ed.” Apprehension grew in Pond’s hazy eyes. “These men … whoever, whoever they were, they, they were … one of you.”

“One of me?”

With an effort, Pond twittered his fingers to mime casting a spell.

“Magic users! Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?”

Pond nodded.

Cold ripples shimmied up Edmund’s spine.

“That would explain why you can barely move,” he muttered, watching Becky still trying to bark next to him. “And why she isn’t making a sound.”

A silent magic user who could paralyze people would make an effective killer.

“When they … when they questioned me”—Pond tapped his temple—“it was in here, you know? Like, like they were inside me.”

“Inside you? Like they were reading your thoughts?”

“Yeah.”

Swearing, Edmund put his head in his hands. What could he do against magic users who could read minds and put people to sleep?

“And Ed …” Pond grimaced an apology. “I told them everything. I couldn’t stop myself. I’m, I’m sorry. I told them where you were. I told them you were with some woman. I answered all of their questions. All of them.”

Edmund leaned forward in earnest.