Feather Castles (33 page)

They reached a hilltop commanding a fine view of the surrounding countryside and the distant azure gleam that was the sea. The sky was cloudless; a cool breeze tossed the tall grasses and ruffled the leaves of the trees, and everywhere was a pastoral tranquility somewhat at odds with the inner thoughts of the riders. Guy drew the team to a halt. Devenish jumped from the curricle and set Mrs. O'Crumbs down where she might peck and forage about in the damp earth. Guy assisted Rachel to alight, and Tristram called Devenish over and guided Charity down to him. Then, dismounting with a lithe spring, he said, “Dev, engage Guy's attention for a minute.”

“How the deuce am I to do that? And why?”

“Dolt! Just do it!”

Charity giggled. Abruptly comprehending, Devenish said, “Oh! Right you are,
mon
Colonel!” And carrying his fair burden to a sunny spot, called “Monsieur—could you give me a helping hand?”

Rachel, pulling a fur rug from the back of the curricle, was suddenly seized by two strong arms. “Your turn, m'dear,” said a deep, beloved voice, and before she knew what was happening, she was perched on the roan's saddle and Tristram swinging up behind her. “My God!” she gasped. “Tristram! No!”

But already the roan was galloping away, Guy's startled shout ringing out behind them.

Her heart convulsing, she cried, “Oh! You are mad! Guy will tell Claude, and—”

“Be still!” growled Tristram, his lips brushing her ear.

“I shall not!” she cried tearfully. “Put me down this instant!”

For answer, he reined up on the far side of a copse of beeches, sprang from the saddle, and dragged her to him. “My valiant, idiotic, darling girl!” he murmured, his eyes adoring her.

“I am not!” sobbed Rachel, distraught. “I am— I mean—you must not—”

Tristram bent his head. Rachel's attempt to reason with him was foiled as one large hand reached up to seize her hair and pull her head back. He found her lips. There was nothing else, then. Nothing but his strength and nearness, the tenderness so different from Claude's greedy mouth, the wild thundering of her heart, the soaring joy that made her soul fly dizzily heavenward and blotted out all thought of caution or fear, leaving only the rapture—the prayer that this moment might never end.

But end it did. Limp, short of breath, her eyes still closed, she rested her cheek against his cravat, hearing the message of his rapidly beating heart, knowing that forever she was his, and revelling in that knowledge.

“My precious, beautiful, foolish sweetheart,” Tristram sighed, kissing her hair. “How I worship you!” Rachel pulled away, her lips parting, and he put his hand across them, admonishing gravely, “No more fustian, love. It is much too late for that.”

She knew it for truth and with a little moan of despair took refuge in his cravat once more. “I tried so hard!”

“Yes. And properly had me gammoned, you would-be martyr.”

“Charity told you! Oh, how
could
she serve me so?”

“I think I knew before she told me. I looked into your eyes last night when you came into the room with that revolting man, and that enormous emerald blinding us all.” He smiled fondly. “You glanced at me only once. But—poor girl, you looked as if you were drowning.”

Her arms tightened about him. “I was,” she sobbed. “I was! But—it didn't matter quite as dreadfully, because I thought—I thought you would—”

“Run away like a craven and leave you in this exquisite bedlam? Never!” He put one finger beneath her chin, tilting her head up. Her eyes were swimming with tears, but the smile she gave him was so full of love he was dizzied by it. For another moment he claimed her lips, then, briefly, clasped her tight and safe against him. “Now,” he said, leading her to an upthrusting root and sitting beside her. “We have little time, love.
Will
Guy tell his brother I have abducted you?”

“I doubt it. He is a very good sort of man.”

“I thought as much. What happened to his face? A disagreement with Claude?”

“Heavens! I never thought— He said he stumbled against the edge of the mantel.”

“Unlikely. And if that is how the land lies, we have one less worry. Now, tell me quickly, does Claude suspect that Dev and I are here for some other reason than because I love you?” His eyes smiled down into hers as he said the last three words, and he took up her hand and kissed it.

“Yes. Oh, my darling, I fear he does! I've seen him watching you with such a speculative expression. And Gerard would poison Claude against you even were there nothing between us—purely to revenge himself upon me.”

“I see. Rachel—you understand that I must make a push to discover what Claude is about?”

“Of course, you are an officer.”

“Even if I were not, I—” His eyes lowered and he said awkwardly, “Well, England is—England, d'you see? And—”

“And you,” she murmured, “are—you.”

Her reward for that lover-like observation left her with a strong suspicion that at least two of her ribs had been fused to her spine.

Recovering some degree of sense, Tristram said huskily, “It will be tonight or never.”

“Yes. So I thought. With the house full of guests.”

“Exactly. Everyone will be occupied, and no doubt the servants will claim their share of the celebration. I shall slip outside, and—”

“No—wait!” She clutched his lapel, looking up into his face tensely. “I have a better plan, my dear. I believe I can steal a key to the top floor.”

He stiffened, fear for her seizing his heart with fingers of ice. “How?”

“Diccon told Raoul that Claude carries the key with him always, but he has another hidden in his bedchamber. Gerard uses it when Claude is away.”

“And you know where to find it? Tell me! I'll not have you setting foot in that room!”

“Better I do so a thousand times than have you take so terrible a chance as to try and climb in from the tree!” She saw the stormy look in his eyes and went on desperately, “Dearest love—do not deny me this chance to help you and to be of use to my dear country. Only think—were I discovered—”

“The devil! That's just what I
am
thinking! No, Rachel! I'll not have it! It's too risky!”

“But, Tristram—listen to me! If
I
were to be caught, I could always say I had come to ask him something. We—” Her eyes fell away from his daunting frown, and she blushed, and faltered, “We are, after all, engaged to be married. And—and however odd it might seem, it is not so beyond accepting as it would be were
you
to be discovered there! Once I have the key, I will find some way to get it to you. And then—” She trembled suddenly. “And then—die, every second that I wait!”

He held her close, appalled by her scheme, arguing against it, but knowing in his heart it was their best hope, and eventually agreeing to it only with the understanding that she not attempt it without letting him know. “We will have a signal,” he argued stubbornly. “You can wear a shawl or feathers in your hair, or some such, and when you discard them, it will be our signal you mean to go upstairs. Dev or I will be alert then, and at the first sign of trouble, will come to you. And another thing—” He took her by the shoulders, his face very stern. “I'll have your word you'll not attempt anything if that slippery rogue, Gerard, is near you! If I—” He broke off, looking sharply toward the sounds of approaching wheels. “Here they come! Your word, love! Or I'll not allow you to attempt it at all!”

He stood and pulled her to her feet, and she said quickly, “But—what shall we do if I do not have a chance to get up there?”

“Follow my original plan. By God, I think I'd sooner than have you—”

“No!” And glorying in his concern for her, in the love that shone so clearly in his steadfast eyes, in the wonder of having his strength to support and cherish her, she breathed, “I swear, my Tristram. I swear.”

*   *   *

Luncheon was served alfresco, a long table having been set up on the terrace. It was a pleasant meal, for several of the guests had already arrived and they constituted a distinguished gathering. There were three highly placed diplomats from Belgium, France, and Holland; a German General; an Italian Count and his Countess; a renowned and eccentric inventor who was related to Claude in some way, and who escorted an extremely well-endowed lady of middle age whom he persisted in introducing as his “aunt”; a French Chevalier with a bitter mouth and brooding eyes, also related to Claude; and a Swiss gentleman named Monteil, quiet of manner, with dark, watchful eyes, who exuded wealth, and who was, Guy imparted to Devenish, “in munitions.”

Tristram made not the slightest attempt to communicate with Rachel and, when he was able to decently excuse himself, returned to his bedchamber with Devenish to discuss plans for the night ahead. Devenish was afire with enthusiasm. Once they had the key, he felt it would be less than no time before they were on their way home to England, for they'd soon discover all Claude's secrets, and be off.

“With the girls,” said Tristram.

“Of course!”

“How?”

Devenish stared at him. “What?”

“I wish you will tell me, for I've wracked my brains and—short of stealing the carriage of one of the other guests, and hiding the girls under the seats—I cannot come at an answer!”

“Oh. Well—that's it! That's just what we shall do!”

“Right under the noses of all the grooms and guards—to say nothing of the coachmen and grooms of the guests!”

Devenish looked stunned, but fortunately was not obliged to provide an alternative suggestion, since the groom of the chambers arrived with their ball clothes. True to his promise, the tailor had completed Tristram's attire and done a most creditable job. Devenish grumbled that his own pantaloons were so loose he “could conceal a crossbow in the dratted things!” But although Tristram assured him that were they any tighter he would be unable to sit down, he was not reassured. When the groom left them, he confessed he was worried about Mrs. O'Crumbs. “I wish I could take her down with me,” he said, locating the duck asleep in a half-open drawer. “If we've to run for it, I'll not abandon her, Tris. They'd have her for dinner tomorrow!”

“With all our lives at stake, and England's security in jeopardy,” Tristram said in mild exasperation, “all you can think of is that bird!”

“She is my pet!” Devenish bristled. “And I'll take leave to remind you, Colonel, that were it not for the dear little soul, my cousin would not have allowed you on board
Ma Fille
—and
then
where would you be?”

Tristram laughed, bowed, and acknowledged, “True. You have my humble apology.” He stroked the duck's motley feathers while the “dear little soul” eyed him with hostility. “Very well. Take her down to Raoul—or better, ask Agatha to take her down there for you. You'd likely have a better chance to collect her from the stables.”

“Good thought, old fellow. Agatha can slip her down the servants' stairs at the back.” He scratched Mrs. O'Crumbs' neck, and she swung her head to gaze up at him with what must only be complete devotion. “Silly old lady,” he murmured fondly, “did you think Alain meant to abandon you in this nest of vipers?”

Tristram shook his head wonderingly. “Look at her doting expression! By Jove! One would swear she understood every word you said!”

“Perhaps she does. I'll tell you one thing, Tris. Most folks don't talk to their animals. And the more you do talk to them, the more you'll find they respond. Which reminds me— I wonder what you'll find up on Claude's sacrosanct top floor. How I should love to go with you. Are you quite sure—”

“Quite sure,” said Tristram firmly. “I need a rearguard, Dev. I'd not dare venture up there, did I not know you were guarding my back. The one thing I ask, above all others, is that should I be caught, you'll do all you can to get the girls away—even if it means slipping away yourself so as to return with help. I'm quite sure I do not need to ask that, however.”

Devenish's indignant expression eased to a grin. “Good. For you don't. And it appears to me, friend, you jump the wrong hedge—our first concern is to get you up those stairs without four or five of Claude's trained herd following you. You ain't exactly the type can slip past unnoticed, y'know.”

“True. My best chance will be to get to the back stairs. To do that I'll need a diversion. And you, my friend, have been placed in charge of Diversions!”

*   *   *

By eight o'clock, when they were to gather for a light supper, the great house hummed with chatter, the rustle of silks and satins and taffetas, and the click of high heels that occasionally wandered from the carpets. The air was sweet with fragrance, for flowers were everywhere. On the stairs, Tristram and Devenish encountered a charming group composed of a French nobleman, his wife and their two marriageable daughters. The girls were shy and their parents gracious, but there was a trace of strain about Monsieur le Comte, and his Comtesse looked nervous and unhappy. Unwilling guests, thought Tristram, and wondered what hold Claude had on the gentleman, and how many of the guests would be here tonight were it a matter of choice.

A touch on his elbow alerted him to the presence of Guy Sanguinet, and he dropped back to walk with him. Despite cosmetics, the cut on Guy's face was still visible, and he seemed subdued, his sombre gaze flickering over Tristram's snowy cravat, the plain jacket that set off the broad shoulders to admiration, and the knee breeches that fit like a second skin over the well-shaped legs. “For your own sake, monsieur,” he said softly, “I could wish you did not look so well.”

“Your brother's tailor is most skilled. And I believe I owe you my thanks, sir. I gather you have not informed Claude of my—er—escapade with Miss Strand this morning.”