Page 29

A round the broad oak table, Bridget, Thomas, Barrington, Townsend, and Tresham studied the brittle pages spread before them. Their edges curled with age. Professor Tresham adjusted his spectacles, fingers hovering over the faded script, his brows knitted in intrigue.

“This text isn’t just a record. It’s a cipher,” the professor cleared his throat, “an instruction on how power is maintained. Not wealth or land, but influence. It speaks of leveraging alliances, toppling adversaries, manipulating rulers, and all from the shadows. To possess what’s written here isn’t about owning a kingdom.

It’s about ensuring that whoever does remains in your debt. ”

His fingertip traced along a particular line until he came to a stop, tapping the document where his finger landed.

“Alastair must have believed this referenced something tangible, but it’s more than that.

It speaks of something lost, something that must not fall into the wrong hands.

Something that could change the course of nations if wielded properly. ”

Barrington leaned forward, his gaze sharp. “Lost? Are we speaking of an artifact? A document? A person?”

Tresham hesitated. “That’s the question.

The Order’s legend speaks of a source of power so influential that to possess it would mean absolute control.

There are references to lost histories, rewritten accounts, and carefully placed figures of authority.

But the wording is frustratingly cryptic.

It speaks of ‘the key to dominion hidden in plain sight, veiled by knowledge itself.’”

“Are you certain of your interpretation?” Barrington interjected, his expression skeptical. “Men have misread prophecies before. Could Alastair have seen danger where there was none?”

Tresham pursed his lips. “I would argue the opposite. If anything, the wording is deliberately confusing. Someone didn’t want this knowledge to be easily accessible.”

Bridget nodded. “That’s common in oral traditions, layering meaning so only those with the right knowledge can decipher it. My father used to say the oldest truths were hidden in plain sight.”

Thomas shot her a glance, something flickering in his eyes before he looked away.

Bridget frowned, leaning closer. “Some of these markings don’t translate directly,” she murmured, running her finger along the text. “It’s an older dialect, likely a blend of Latin and Old Scots, but there are regional symbols I don’t recognize.”

Thomas removed a sheaf of parchment from his pocket and laid it on the table.

He tapped the brittle page, his brow furrowing.

“Professor, we found this hidden in Alastair’s desk.

Is there any chance you could decipher more of this?

If Alastair believed this document was important enough to hide, then we need to know why.

” His voice was calm, but urgency simmered beneath it. ”

Tresham exhaled through his nose, adjusting his spectacles as he studied the page again.

“Given time, possibly. But I’ll need reference materials.

Some of these symbols are unfamiliar, and the blend of Latin and Old Scots is inconsistent.

If this was meant to obscure meaning, it was done skillfully.

Leave it with me and I will see what I can do. ”

Bridget hesitated. “My father used to tell a story about the lost words of the Druids. Some of this reminds me of that.”

Townsend exhaled sharply. “Are we chasing a ghost, or do you truly believe this is worth bloodshed?”

“The Order doesn’t waste their efforts.” Thomas’s voice was firm. “If they want this, there is a reason.”

Townsend rubbed his jaw. “That sounds like something Scofield will want to see. If this document outlines how the Order has infiltrated key institutions and how they have controlled policies, wars, and even sovereigns, then this isn’t just history.

It’s an active threat. If they still have access to these people, they’re still pulling strings.

That’s not something the Crown can afford to ignore. ”

Bridget studied the text carefully. “It’s not just about information. It’s about control. The Order doesn’t simply seek knowledge. They seek to own it, bend it, wield it like a weapon. If Alastair has pieced together that truth, it’s no wonder they wanted him silenced.”

A sharp rap at the door interrupted them.

Mr. Simmons entered, his expression uneasy as he presented a sealed envelope.

“This just arrived, Lord Barrington. There was no name on the delivery.” Mr. Simmons hesitated before stepping back.

“It was left at the servants’ entrance, my lord. No one saw who delivered it.”

Barrington took the letter and broke the seal. As his eyes scanned the contents, his jaw tightened. He handed it to Townsend without a word.

Townsend read aloud. “ The price of secrets is blood. Surrender what was taken or more will be spilled. There are no second chances. ”

Bridget exhaled, the chill creeping through her bones.

The words on the parchment felt like a promise, not a warning.

Her breath caught. Without thinking, she took a half step closer to Thomas, drawn by his quiet intensity that steadied her even now.

She could feel the heat of his presence, the quiet intensity that had become familiar.

But he said nothing, only tilting his head slightly as Townsend spoke.

“Do you believe they’ll act soon?” Townsend’s voice was sharp, controlled. “Or is this meant to rattle us?”

“They wouldn’t threaten if they weren’t prepared to follow through,” Barrington muttered. “We need to be ready.”

Thomas’s fingers curled into a fist before relaxing again. “Then we don’t wait for them to act. We make the first move.” His voice was calm, but the edge beneath it was unmistakable.

The room went still, each of them absorbing the veiled threat.

Barrington exhaled sharply. “The Order doesn’t make idle threats. This means they are watching.”

Bridget’s breath quickened. “They know we have what they want even if we’re not certain what Alastair’s notes say.”

Thomas set his hands flat against the table, his expression unreadable. “Then we make them think they’re getting what they want.”

Bridget turned to him. “You mean a trade?”

“Not exactly.” His gaze met hers, understanding flickering between them. “A deception. We don’t need to give them the real document. We just need them to believe we have it.”

Bridget straightened, her mind racing. “A decoy.”

Tresham frowned. “That’s a dangerous gamble. If they realize the ruse—”

Barrington frowned. “And how exactly do you plan to age a document to match something centuries old?”

Bridget shook her head. “We don’t have to. It’s not the parchment they want. They want the translation. They already believe we’ve done the hard work for them. If we present them with what looks like a complete transcription, they’ll think they’ve won.”

Bridget’s lips parted as the idea took shape. “We craft a replica, something close enough to convince them they’ve retrieved what they want. If we control the circumstances of the exchange, we can lure them into revealing themselves.”

Tresham gave her a questioning gaze. “And how do you know they’ll accept the decoy? Surely, they will verify it.”

“They won’t need to,” Thomas said, his voice measured. “They’re already convinced we’ve done the hard work. If we play this carefully, we dictate the terms of the exchange.”

“And if they realize it’s false?” Townsend pressed, his tone sharp. “Then we’ve just made ourselves the next targets.”

“Then,” Bridget said, lifting her chin, “we ensure they have no reason to doubt us. The key isn’t the pages themselves. It’s the illusion that they got what they wanted.” Her confidence rang clear, though a glimmer of uncertainty coiled deep inside.

Thomas studied her, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “A dangerous gamble, Bridget.”

“A calculated risk,” she corrected. “And one we need to take.”

Their gazes held for a moment, charged and unspoken. There was more between them than strategy and survival. He saw her determination, and she saw his loyalty. And something warmer pulsed beneath it.

Thomas’s expression was unreadable, but there was something else in his gaze, something deeper. His eyes lingered on her, something between admiration and exasperation flickering beneath the surface. “That is a bold plan.”

Barrington crossed his arms. “And incredibly reckless.”

Townsend nodded slowly. “But it might be our best chance to flush them out.”

Bridget met Thomas’s gaze again, heat creeping up her spine. “You don’t approve?”

He hesitated, tilting his head slightly, watching her. “I wouldn’t dare underestimate you.” His voice was low and smooth, and something about it sent a thrill through her. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t be standing right beside you if this plan goes wrong.”

Her lips twitched just slightly. “Is that a promise, Captain?”

His mouth curved, though his eyes still held that warning gleam. “A certainty.”

Barrington cleared his throat. “Then we best start planning. We don’t have much time.”

Townsend leaned back, considering. “I’ll get ready to take a copy of this to Whitehall. If there’s even a fraction of truth in what we suspect, they need to know.”

Barrington nodded. “Not until we make the exchange. They are watching, and I don’t want to give anything away.”

Townsend nodded.

Thomas turned to Bridget. “We don’t have time to second-guess this. We start now.”

Bridget looked away from Thomas, but his words lingered, curling through her thoughts. He would be standing beside her. And for the first time in days, that truth didn’t just steady her. It made her feel strong.