Chapter 9

Lenore looked around with undisguised interest as Rhys led her up an impressive carved wooden staircase, with snarling lions guarding the newel posts at the bottom of each banister.

Ancient tapestries and suits of armor vied for position with gorgeous paintings and elegant gilt furniture, none of which matched, but which somehow managed to give the impression of being the perfect eclectic combination.

The place was a hodgepodge of at least six centuries, with sections built on top of one another, and little thought to aesthetic harmony. One draughty stone corridor had glazed arrow slits for windows, while another, far more comfortable, had huge panes of leaded glass giving picture-prefect views over the rolling green hills beyond the walls.

Lenore had seen all manner of interesting architectural styles in her travels and had stayed in everything from mud huts to royal palaces, but nowhere had been quite so eccentric nor as interesting as Trellech. It made her glad that Rhys's childhood here had been just as unusual as her own.

She'd love to live somewhere like this.

They passed a whole wing of bedrooms—she spied an ancient four-poster through a door that had been left ajar—and her heart leapt at the thought that one of them might be Rhys's.

Had he ever brought a woman back to his chambers here? Would she ever get the chance to see inside?

They finally came to the entrance to a circular turret, with a winding staircase that got gradually narrower as they ascended. Rhys went up first, and she took the opportunity to appreciate the strong curves of his buttocks and the way the muscles of his thighs rippled under the soft buckskin of his breeches.

"This reminds me of that fairytale about the girl with the golden hair. Rapunzel." Lenore panted, a little out of breath from climbing all the stairs.

She'd asked Caro to lace her stays quite tightly that morning, to accentuate her breasts, but now she was regretting it. She hated blasted stays. She'd gone months without them in the jungle, and the first time she'd had to put on a corset again, back in London, had made her long for the freedom she'd once had.

"I prefer getting to the top this way," Rhys said. "Climbing up the outside is a lot more work."

"That sounds as if you've actually attempted it," she joked.

"Oh, I have. Several times, much to my father's annoyance. I once got all the way up to the third floor, almost up to the gargoyles, then my boot slipped."

She gasped. "Dear God! That's so dangerous. You could have fallen and broken your neck!"

His chuckle echoed down the spiral stair. "I didn't fall. Not far, anyway. I'd tied a rope around my waist, and Gryff was up here in the tower holding the other end. He looped it over the beam that holds the bell, so it would take my weight if I slipped. It worked a treat."

Lenore shook her head, still feeling a little queasy over the idea of him being injured, or worse.

Gryff stopped on the steps ahead and reached up above his head. "Three years in the army's cured me of such recklessness. I wouldn't try something so idiotic now. At fifteen you think you're invincible. By the time you reach twenty-five, you realize life's far too precious, too easily lost, to tempt fate that way."

He paused and Lenore nodded, even though he couldn't see her in the darkness.

"Here's the trapdoor, I hope you're not afraid of heights."

"I don't think I am," Lenore said truthfully. "But then again, I haven't been up very many places like this."

The hatch fell flat with a bang, and sunlight flooded the stairwell as she followed Rhys up and out into the bell tower. Instead of having windows, the sides were open to the elements, and two black ravens, startled by the noise, took flight through the open arches, cawing loudly.

The floor was wooden planks, and a circular wall, barely waist high, encircled the tower. Lenore's breath caught in her chest. Her knees felt decidedly wobbly, and she had no desire to go any nearer the edge of the parapet.

A cool breeze fanned her hair back from her face as she steadied herself on a huge wooden crossbeam from which hung a large brass bell.

"That bell's been there for hundreds of years to warn of impending Montgomery invasions," Rhys said with a smile. "I wonder how many times it's been rung?"

"Almost as many times as the one in the tower at Newstead Park," Lenore countered pertly. "Designed to let everyone know when the Wild Welsh Davies were on the rampage with their torches and pitchforks."

"Ah, the good old days," Rhys chuckled. He gestured over the countryside which spread out before them in all directions like a verdant green patchwork quilt. "Isn't that an excellent view?"

It was undoubtedly worth the climb. Far below, the small figures of Morgan and Harriet could be seen crossing toward the woods, and further away Lenore caught a flash of Caro's pink skirts near the Davies menagerie.

The glint of sunlight on water in the distance made her squint.

"That's the lake," Rhys pointed, noting the direction of her gaze. "There's a boat house too, by the water's edge. We'll need to head there in a bit for the boat and island clues."

Lenore turned west. "Can you see Newstead Park from here?"

"Not even with a telescope," Rhys grinned. "And believe me, we all tried spying on you Mad Montgomerys." He pointed upward, toward the roof. "There's a flagpole up there, where Gryff once hung Maddie's shawl as a war trophy. That was years ago, but taunting you lot never seems to get old."

Lenore bit back a smile, then a blur of movement below caught her eye, and a shrill avian screech filled the air.

"Oh! Morgan's chasing that peacock!"

Rhys leaned over the parapet for a better look, apparently unafraid of the monstrous drop, and Lenore bit back the urge to grab the back of his jacket to steady him. His younger brother was indeed racing across the lawn after an aggrieved peacock.

"I wonder if it's Geoffrey?"

"Look!" Lenore pointed. "Carys is hiding behind the hedge. Morgan's chasing him toward her without even realizing it!"

Rhys squinted downward. "There's a red flag attached to one of its tail feathers."

"Who knew peacocks could run so fast?" Lenore marveled.

Rhys cupped his hands around his mouth. "Run, Geoffrey! Run!" he bellowed.

Morgan glanced up at the shout, spied them in the tower, and sent his brother a very ungentlemanly hand signal.

"That's not one they officially recommend in the army," Rhys chuckled.

Lenore laughed.

Turning back to the pursuit, Morgan increased his speed. He made a valiant dive for the flag but missed as the clever bird changed direction at the very last second, zig-zagging away from him with a cry that definitely sounded gloating.

Morgan rolled down a grassy embankment and only just managed to stop himself from falling in the moat.

Rhys let out a whoop of delight.

Carys, meanwhile, stepped out from behind the hedge and gave a shrill whistle. Geoffrey slowed his pace and turned toward her, obviously recognizing the sound, and Carys crouched down and moved her hand in a shallow arc.

"Clever bugger," Rhys growled. "She's bribing him with seeds. Geoffrey never misses the chance for a second lunch."

Sure enough, the peacock strutted eagerly towards Carys, then started pecking at the grass at her feet. With a grin, Carys reached down and gently tugged the flag from where it was nestled among his tail feathers.

"If I'd done that, he'd have pecked my eyes out," Rhys grumbled, his voice tinged with reluctant brotherly admiration.

Carys's grin was visible even from up in the tower as she waved the flag over her head in a victory dance. Tristan emerged from behind her and gave her a congratulatory hug from behind.

"It's a miracle anyone other than Carys managed to get close enough to Geoffrey to set the flag in the first place. I wonder if they did it while he was asleep? Or maybe they gave him fermented apples to eat. It gets them drunk, you know." Rhys shrugged at the mystery. "Either way, that's two flags for Carys and Tristan now. We need to improve our game."

Lenore turned away and made a quick circle of the tower. "Where's the clock?"

Rhys lifted his arms toward the wooden planks and beams above them and took hold of an iron ring in the ceiling that Lenore hadn't noticed before.

"Up here."

He pulled, and another, smaller, hinged door swung down to reveal the inner workings of a clock, its pendulum swinging with heart-beat precision back and forth.

"Yes!" Lenore cried.

There, tied to one of the cylindrical lead weights was a cheerful yellow flag. Rhys went up on his tiptoes and untied it, then tucked it safely in the inside pocket of his jacket.

"Two for us, as well. We're still in the running."

"Wine cellar next," Lenore said, the excitement of the game adding a catch to her breath almost as much as the sight of Rhys's handsome face and carelessly windblown hair. "Let's hope Caro wasn't lying about it not being at Newstead."