Will rarely saw his cousin’s almost legendary temper, because Rufus had learned many years ago to keep it well under control. But he sensed now that Rufus was very close to the brink, and Will understood why.
“He holds the stewardship for the crown,” he suggested tentatively. “Surely he couldn’t divert such revenues to use against the crown.”
“Why not?” Rufus demanded. “The man’s a cheat, a liar, a traitor. He’s broken his oath of fealty to his sovereign. What possible moral code do you think he has? Don’t be naive!” He paced the room, and the walls seemed to close in on Will as his cousin’s powerful presence and enraged spirit filled the space until it seemed it couldn’t possibly contain him.
Suddenly Rufus slammed his clenched fist against the wall and a shelf of crockery above shivered, setting pewter and stoneware rattling against each other. Will, for all that he knew that he personally was safe from any explosion, began to wish he could slip from the room unnoticed.
“I will not permit it,” Rufus said, and his voice was now as quiet and as venomous as an adder’s sting. “That cur will not divert Rothbury revenues for his own purposes. I will have those for the king. And when he’s gathered his treasure, then I will have that too. I will have every piece of silver, every golden guinea, every jewel, every lead bullet and steel pike that he collects. I will have them for the king.”
Will didn’t know whether he should respond. His cousin didn’t seem to be speaking directly to him; this soft, vicious promise was a personal one. But Will couldn’t help himself. Into the ensuing silence, he said hesitantly, “How?”
Rufus came back to the table, and his eyes now were alight, the terrifying tension of his contained rage gone from his powerful frame. “I’ve a plan as nasty and as devious as Cato Granville himself, Will.” He picked up his tankard and drained it, before hooking a finger into the handle of a stone jar and hefting it from the shelf, holding it against his shoulder as he drew the cork with strong white teeth.
“Are you man enough for this, Will?” He gestured with the jar, his voice teasing, but Will had the feeling that the question applied to more than his ability to drink the powerful Scottish spirit made from malted barley that could put a strong man under the table within an hour.
He pushed his tankard forward and Rufus filled it halfway. “You’ll need a few more years under your belt before you can take much more than that, lad,” he said, perching on the edge of the table, taking a deep swallow from the jar before putting it beside him. “Right, what could Cato Granville have that he would value above all else?” A bushy red eyebrow lifted.
Will took a cautious sip of the spirit. “I don’t know. How could anyone know?”
“He has a daughter,” Rufus murmured in an almost musing tone. “Indeed, I believe he has three daughters… He has a beautiful wife…?” He regarded Will with the same lifted eyebrow.
Will was beginning to feel befuddled, but he didn’t think the condition could be entirely ascribed to the drink. Rufus seemed to be talking in riddles. He kept silent, regarding his cousin warily.
Rufus picked up the jar again. “It’s simple enough, lad. Cato will yield Rothbury revenues to me in exchange for his oldest daughter.” He tilted it to his mouth while Will stared aghast, Rufus’s plan finally making sense.
“A hostage… you would hold the girl for ransom, as a hostage.”
“Precisely.” Rufus set down the jar and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “In exchange for Rothbury-for the revenues of my rightful inheritance. His father betrayed mine for those revenues, and now I will bargain for their return with a coin he will not be able to refuse. They are mine, Will,” he said with soft savagery. “Mine. And I will not endure that they be used by a Granville sewer rat.”
Will gulped at the contents of his tankard and choked violently, doubling over as his eyes and nose streamed and the fire scorched his gullet. Rufus thumped him on the back with controlled vigor. “Small sips, Will, small sips,” he advised, and the intensity had left his voice, which was once more light and amused.
Will looked up through his fiery tears. “How are you going to do this?”
“I’m not sure yet, but it’ll come to me. Now, get you to supper. I’ve a deal of thinking to do.”
Will left his cousin alone with his thoughts and the stone jug. Rufus built up the fire and sat beside it. The spirit infused his body with warmth and relaxation but did nothing to tamp down the surging rage in his mind. Of all the injustices done the house of Rothbury, the hardest to bear was that the marquis of Granville had been given in perpetuity the stewardship of the confiscated Rothbury estates.
And now this, the final humiliation. That Rothbury revenues should be used to support Granville’s allegiance in this civil strife.
Rufus drank steadily and deliberately as the fire in the hearth died down, and with it his fury. Cold commitment, clear planning took its place. And when he finally cast aside the almost empty jug and made his way up the stairs to his solitary bed, he had a plan as perfectly formed in his mind as it was possible for it to be. He had learned quite a few useful facts during his brief-and surprisingly entertaining-visit to Castle Granville.
Chapter 6
The men, wavery shadows in the flickering light thrown by horn lanterns, just seemed to melt into the wall of Castle Granville. The whicker of a mule rose from the flickering darkness far below Portia’s spy hole. She couldn’t see the animal or animals, who were standing somewhere beyond the circle of lantern light waiting to have their panniers unloaded, but she could see the men, bent double beneath their loads, emerging from the darkness, heading for the secret door, visible in the thick stone only to those who knew what to look for.
The secret entrance was approached from the moat beneath the drawbridge and, as she’d discovered on one of her daylight reconnaissances, was too low to admit a man standing upright.
There was no other sound, not a whisper or a rustle from the silent workers. She could make out the brawny figure of Giles Crampton supervising the operation, but as usual could identify none of the others.
No one knew she was here, not even Olivia, who was presumably tucked up in bed. But Portia had always had the habit of familiarizing herself intimately with her surroundings. Such familiarization was best done at night, and unobserved. And it was amazing what one discovered-the scene on the moat below her being a case in a point.
“We have something in common, you and I.” Damn the man! Why did he keep intruding on her thoughts? Portia swore vigorously to herself. The problem was that it was true. She was spying, just as Rufus Decatur had been doing. She was creeping around at night trying to learn things about an environment where she didn’t really fit. She was an outcast looking out for herself in exactly the same fashion as the infuriating Rufus Decatur. And he’d seen this and she hadn’t.
With another vigorous oath, she forced her attention back to her present observation.
She was looking down on the scene from one of the ancient privies set into the battlements. This one overlooked the drawbridge. Installed when the castle was first built some three hundred years earlier, the garderobe had not been used in a generation, but the chute still gave a clear straight shot down into the moat. Lying on her belly, she had a bird’s-eye view of the activity below. And it was most intriguing.
It was the third night in a week that she’d witnessed the same scene. The mules arrived just after midnight, to be met by waiting men from the castle. The unloading was swift and silent, and even as she watched now, the last man disappeared into the castle wall with his lantern and the night was returned to absolute darkness and silence.
Portia pushed herself backward until she was sitting on her haunches. The tiny space was damply malodorous, moss growing on the walls and between the flagstones. But it was an excellent spy hole and there was a series of them set into the battlements hanging over the moat, so one could have a bird’s-eye view of any number of spots encircling the castle.