Page 88 of How to Love a Duke in Ten Days

“Magnus Redmayne, the son, built Trinity Priory on Redmayne land almost immediately after the fortress,” he recalled. “However, by all accounts, he insisted upon a traditional Viking burial.”

“He was burned on a barge at sea?” Her face shone with an almost romantic rapture and some of the queer chill Piers had been holding in his heart thawed.

“That he was.” He flashed her a teasing smile, aware the effect was somewhat lost due to his deformity. “In the old days, it is said, their wives were burned with them, so the women could accompany their husbands to Valhalla.”

“What tripe.” Alexandra rolled her eyes. “I’m certainly glad of our more modern sensibilities.” Her eyes narrowed, then rounded as something struck her. “Don’t tell me Magnus Redmayne’s wife was burned with him?”

Piers chuckled, finding her outrage adorable. He caught at a ringlet that escaped from beneath her sensible hat. “No, my bride, she lived to a ripe old age with her three unruly sons, always favored by the new English court.”

“Oh. Well… good.” Appeased, she tilted a lopsided smile up at him.

The atmosphere between them shifted, warmed. Piers read in her eyes unspoken and uncertain apologies.

Was he going to remain angry with her? She’d been obscure, but had she been dishonest?

Was she deceitful now?

The look she gave him whispered of earnest emotion; half hope, half despair. All day she’d seemed as though something cataclysmic perched on her tongue, ready to spring forth and further decimate the fragile bond they’d forged.

Without meaning to, Piers leaned down toward her. Closer. The fresh scent of linens and citrus enveloped him; he silently willed her to whisper it to him. To put them both out of their misery.

What are you hiding?he wondered. What secrets lie behind those pools of whisky and honey?

With a polite clearing of the throat, Forsythe announced himself, breaking the moment. “I’ll just… go and garner updates from the workmen on how the excavation of the catacombs is coming along since I was here last.” He tipped his hat uncomfortably and left them alone with the dead.

Piers looked down at the silken lock curled in his finger.Falt Ruadh.Such lovely red hair. Such a unique and lovely wife.

What if she was taken from him?

The concern that had been churning beneath his skin all day boiled to the surface. How could he be so elementally troubled by the loss of something—someone—he’d only known, only desired, for four days?

Why couldn’t he shake the feeling that someone was trying to take her from him?

“Was it you?” he wondered, not realizing he’d spoken aloud until her lips pursed in puzzlement.

“To what do you refer?” she queried, all wide-eyed innocence and incomprehension

But that couldn’t be. He’d only just witnessed firsthand her unique intelligence. He’d trailed after her all day like a sentinel, observing her in her element.

His wife, it seemed, was never more alive than when surrounded by the dead.

Something had his hackles up like a wolf scenting danger in the forest. Too many strange and dangerous things had occurred since they’d met. Mercury’s escape. The gunmen in the ruins. The incident on the ship.

“Falt Ruadh,”he murmured. “Can you think of any reason anyone would have to harm you?”

“I—couldn’t tell you.” She didn’t look guilty, but neither did her denial seem particularly convincing.

The canvas made a thick sound as a burly worker punched it open, storming inside. “Your Graces!” he exclaimed, the outline of his eyes extraordinarily white against the grime covering the rest of him. “They’ve found his sigil! They’ve found the tomb of Redmayne in the catacombs!”

With a exclamation of pure delight, Alexandra drove herself into his arms.

Stunned, Piers looked down at her, struck by the realization that this might have been the first time she’d ever initiated such physical contact.

He folded his arms over her, disconcerted by how well—how easily—she fit within them.

“Let us go have a look, shall we?” he suggested, and was unable to finish the sentence before she was all but dragging him bodily out of the tent.

CHAPTERSIXTEEN