Page 30 of What A Rogue Wants (Lords Of Deception #1)
Eighteen
Even in the tower the social classes were evident, if you had enough money to purchase comfortable quarters, but there were some crimes, such as the ones Madelaine’s father stood accused of, that prohibited the prisoner being allowed to pay for acceptable quarters.
For the worst criminals the tower was an abominably dreary place crawling with bugs and rats and filled with the constant nerve-grating moans of those who’d been condemned to wait there until trial or death, whichever fate or the king served them.
Grey had walked through the noisy halls three days prior, his body recoiling at the sights and sounds within the dingy walls.
Yet he managed to do his duty and force one foot after the other to take Stratmore to the dungeon where he was to be kept in secret, while he and Gravenhurst tried to get him to confess his guilt and await Edward’s arrival.
In order to lessen the chance of the guards or anyone who might see Gravenhurst or Grey coming or going from the dungeon, they both agreed to stay there until Edward arrived and Stratmore’s fate was decided.
After one night in the shadowy darkness of the dungeon, Grey understood why the tower dungeon was referred to as the pit of Hell.
Dampness permeated the walls, the floors, the air, and worst of all, the bug-infested cot Grey had to sleep on.
And though the pitiful pleas for release were barely distinguishable down here, the muffled moans did carry through the air, down the winding stone steps, and seep under the locked, dark wooden door.
The constant hint of noise was like an annoying whisper in Grey’s ear.
He’d taken to humming to himself to block out the sounds of misery.
But it was neither the dampness nor the noise that kept him up at night.
His worry for Madelaine did that. If Stratmore was guilty, what would become of her?
So far the man had maintained his innocence, but his shifty eyes hid something.
By the third day of being locked in the tower, trying unsuccessfully to get Stratmore to admit his guilt, Grey was relieved when Edward arrived, but his relief was short lived.
“What do you mean, Stratmore murdered Pearson?” Grey asked, facing Edward in the small confines of the entranceway to the room they had Stratmore locked in.
Gravenhurst, who’d been preoccupied shoving the bread and cheese Edward had brought them into his mouth, audibly swallowed his food before speaking.
“Let me get this straight.” He stood from where he’d been sitting at a filthy table.
“You’re telling us Stratmore murdered Pearson—a brother in arms?
” Gravenhurst’s voice had dropped to a low whisper.
“I’m telling you that I found Pearson dead.” Anger vibrated Edward’s fierce whisper. “Stabbed repeatedly in the gut. Beside his body the word ‘honor’ had been drawn in the dirt with an X through it. The conclusion is obvious.”
“How does that prove Stratmore’s guilt?” Grey demanded.
“ Honor is the word engraved on the inside of Stratmore’s ring that the king gave him,” Edward said patiently.
Grey shook his head. “I don’t believe for a second the man would be so stupid as to kill a fellow spy, and then engrave his name in the dirt as a calling card to lead us straight to him. Besides, what would be his motive for killing Pearson?”
“Money.” Gravenhurst’s voice was toneless.
“It’s well known his coffers are extremely low, and he and the king have fought much of late.
Maybe Stratmore’s turned traitor, and he’s being paid by the Frenchies to gather information.
Mayhap Pearson found out, or maybe Stratmore’s been paid to kill us one by one so Napoleon, the rutting bastard, will win the war. ”
“You’ve been a spy too long,” Grey said, not liking how Edward appeared to be considering Gravenhurst’s ludicrous suggestions.
It was one thing to proceed with caution, but it was quite another to proceed on a mad conjecture.
“The man is not so stupid as to trace the word ‘honor’ in the dirt for everyone to see.”
“But he didn’t write it,” Edward said. “Pearson did.”
“His dead corpse told you so, did it?” Grey demanded.
Edward flushed at this, but met Grey’s gaze with sharp green eyes.
“I checked Pearson’s fingertips. They were caked with dirt.
The word had been written in blood. His blood.
I know because I forced myself to bend his stiff arm and hand and write another word in the dirt to see if the width of his fingertip and the markings on his skin would match what was in the dirt.
It did. Perfectly. There’s no doubt in my mind Pearson wrote the word honor and then crossed it out. ”
Grey focused on breathing through his clenched teeth and fought the desire to punch his brother in the nose. “If Pearson wanted everyone to know who murdered him why the hell wouldn’t he have just written Stratmore’s name?”
“I can’t say, Grey . I’ve not got access to the dead man’s thoughts, so all I can do is speculate.”
Grey jerked his gaze away from the insect climbing the wall that he’d been focusing on to try to calm himself and met his brother’s gaze.
“I don’t see what this has to do with the king’s paper.
If Stratmore is selling secrets to the French or killing spies for money, what would he need the damned paper for? ”
“Nothing.” Edward pulled out a chair to sprawl in it. “I don’t have the answers yet, but I plan to get them.”
Gravenhurst drummed his fingers on the table. “If Stratmore is guilty then we’ve stopped him. He’s locked up here, and our secrets, as well as our lives, are safe.”
Edward shook his head. “It’s not so simple. Someone tried to shoot me when I was leaving Pearson’s house. I tracked them to the woods, but I couldn’t find them.”
Fatigue crashed into Grey, and he reluctantly pulled out the last chair and sank into it. “So you really think Stratmore was working with someone who is still out there?”
Edward nodded. “And if I’m right, that person will be coming for us.”
Grey rolled his shoulders to combat his mounting tension. Evidence was piling up against Madelaine’s father. Evidence that seemed hard to deny.
Gravenhurst leaned forward. “Keep the faith, Grey. Edward isn’t always right. Only usually.”
Edward took a drink from his flask, then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, eyeing Grey with what appeared to be amusement mingled with respect. “No, I’m not always right. But I’ve never been wrong when it comes to my work.”
Grey glanced at Gravenhurst who nodded in confirmation.
“Then what do you propose we do? Stratmore isn’t confessing, and I’d venture to say the threat of death won’t even break the man.”
“I’d have to agree,” Edward said thoughtfully. “So we won’t threaten him . We’ll strike at the one person he cares about.”
“You can’t mean to use…” Gravenhurst began, but got no more than that out before Grey’s fist crashed into this brother’s nose, sending him sprawling backward onto the floor with blood gushing down his face.
White fury consumed Grey as he towered over his brother. “You’ll use Madelaine to break her father over my dead body.”
Edward glowered up at Grey while searching for a linen square.
Growling when he found his pockets empty, he snatched the rumpled cravat that Gravenhurst shoved at him.
After the bleeding of his nose was stopped, he lowered the blood-soaked cravat, his eyes narrowing into dark, green slits.
“Am I to take it,” he said, in a voice muffled by his blood-clogged nose, “that you care for the lady?”
“Take it any damn way you please,” Grey snarled, unable to bring his temper down. “You won’t use her. I won’t stand for it.”
Shrugging off Gravenhurst’s help, Edward stood and dusted himself off. “Need I remind you that you vowed to serve the king over all others?”
“You need not,” Grey said. His father would be damned disappointed if Grey failed at being a spy on his very first assignment.
His stomach burned with the poison of what he had to do.
He could not fail the king, and he had to somehow protect Madelaine.
“Whatever you have in mind for Lady Madelaine, I’ll be the one to do it. ”
“You’re sure?” Edward’s eyes lost their hard edge, softening now with sympathy. “Wouldn’t it be easier for you to let Gravenhurst or myself handle the lady? If what I have in mind doesn’t work, then we’ll have to use her, deceive her, and maybe even put her life in danger.”
He recoiled at his brother’s suggestion.
“I’ll do it,” he said, determined to protect Madelaine from his brother, her father, and whoever else might be lurking out there.
He’d promised to protect her, and that was one promise he’d keep, no matter what he had to do not to break it.
He may have given the king his vow, but he’d given Madelaine his heart.
With the queen gone from the castle for the last month life should have been perfect for Madelaine.
Yet despite, her solid friendship with Elizabeth and having as much time to slip away and practice archery as one could hope for, unhappiness shrouded each day that Grey failed to return.
The least he could have done, if he had a sensitive bone in his body, was to write a letter and let them know he’d arrived home safely.
Maybe he was not writing because he’d decided that courting her was more trouble than she was worth, but he should be kind enough to send word to his sister.
Elizabeth had almost died for goodness sake.
Didn’t the man know worry could put a person back in their sick bed?
Convincing herself she had to write Grey for Elizabeth’s sake, Madelaine put pen to paper and demanded he write to his sister immediately if he wasn’t planning on coming back before they were all old and gray.