CHAPTER 10

C HAPTER 10

C ade was pulled from his dark fog when the door of the room opened and a man entered with a tray of food. The newcomer was tall and dark, and he radiated malevolence. “You must be hungry by now, Englishman.”

A primitive instinct of self-protection stirred Cade to sit up and lean against the headboard—lying on the bed felt very vulnerable. Plus he was hungry. Though he was stiff from bruising and lack of movement, his mind was a little clearer than earlier.

The newcomer handed him the tray. Bread and cheese and a tumbler of white wine. The man asked, “Do you know who I am?”

Cade and Tamsyn had talked about this dangerous fellow. “Scorpion.”

He took a bite of cheese and bread and washed it down with the wine. It was a low-grade table variety, but the combination was good because he was famished.

The other man laughed. “Scorpion? I rather like that, but I’m known as Claude Bastien. I am sometimes called Frossard.”

A fragment of knowledge floated into Cade’s mind. “Frossard. To break. Shatter.”

The other man’s brows arched. “Your French is very good for an Englishman. You are correct. I am called that because I am very good at breaking people, and I intend to break you.”

Cade’s gaze met Bastien’s. “No.” He took another bite of bread and cheese.

“So confident,” Bastien said with a sneer. “Do you know who you are?”

Cade hesitated, feeling uncertain. What had his friend called him? “Cade.”

“What else do you know about yourself?”

He would not mention his friend Tamsyn to this man. “Not much.”

Voice hard-edged, Bastien said, “You go by the name Caden Tremayne, but you’re the bastard son of a Cornish smuggler named Jago Evans.”

Cade hesitated again as the image of a small dark-haired girl with large speaking eyes appeared in his mind. Ellen? No, Eselde. His daughter? No, not that, but the child was important to him. With a brief flash of knowledge, he remembered that she was the young daughter of Jago Evans, his half sister. He couldn’t remember anything more about her except that now she was safe from Jago.

He shrugged and resumed eating. Bastien’s information might be accurate, but it didn’t seem relevant at the moment.

“I’m going to have to wake you up a bit to learn anything worthwhile,” the other man muttered. He approached Cade and laid a hand on his forehead.

Cade jerked back from a jolt that felt like electricity. His mind was immediately clearer, though he knew he was still far less acute than he should be. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Bastien. “Why am I here?”

He must have looked dangerous because Bastien stepped back out of Cade’s reach. “You are said to be strongly gifted, one of the Home Office’s most effective agents.” He frowned. “A pity you weren’t accompanied by Bran Tremayne, who is said to be equally effective but more intelligent.”

Bran! Cade’s brother of the heart if not of the blood. Several images appeared in his mind. Bran as a small but preternaturally wise child. The two of them standing together against the world. Laughter and kindness and soul-deep trust.

From Bastien’s expression, he expected Cade to be insulted at being told his brother was more intelligent. Amused, Cade said, “Bran is indeed more intelligent than I am. Too intelligent to be here in France.”

Bastien scowled. “He might have been here if you hadn’t insisted on bringing your bit of fluff instead!”

It was Cade’s turn to frown. “Bit of fluff?”

“The little blonde. Very pretty, but I doubt she’s useful outside of a bed. Your wife, I assume.”

So Tamsyn was more than a friend. She was his wife ! No wonder they were so close. No wonder he’d been haunted by dreams of holding her. “Did she escape the riot at the port?”

“I believe so. She reached your ship when it was boarding.” Bastien shrugged. “I didn’t pay much attention because you were the one I was after.”

Cade finished his wine. “Again, I wonder why.”

“You know things about Britain’s intelligence activities that I wish to learn,” Bastien said. “You can answer my questions when I ask politely, or I can torture you to get the answers. Answering my questions would be quicker, but torture would be more interesting. The choice is yours.”

“I doubt I know much of interest.” Cade bared his teeth. “And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you, so bring on the red-hot knives.”

“I have a gift for persuading people to do what I want.” Bastien moved forward, raising his hand again.

Cade grabbed the length of chain in both hands and whipped it into his captor’s ribs with vicious force, wishing the chain was long enough to do more damage. Bastien howled and staggered backward, clutching his left side. “You bastard!”

Bastien recovered enough to make a wild swing at Cade and managed to land an open-palmed slap on Cade’s face, striking his left eye and part of his forehead. Excruciating pain ripped through Cade’s face and head. Red-hot knives would have hurt less, he thought dizzily as he fell back onto the bed and slid into darkness.