Chapter Eleven

C HEV FOLLOWED HIS wife and son until they disappeared into the entrance of the Great Hall.

Only then did his shaking cease.

Blank windows stared outward from the manor house, eyes in a soulless shell. In the distance, above the dull, slate roof rose the remaining ramparts of Ithwick Castle. From this aspect, castle and manor appeared as puppet and puppeteer—both grey structures, both foreboding, both meant to instill awe and respect in men of different generations.

Without the privileges nor the responsibilities of being heir, he'd been spectator to Ithwick's true cost, watching as Piers stumbled beneath the weight of the power that had left their father avaricious, acquisitive, and mean.

The soul pays the price.

Indeed.

But—he turned back to the wood—was the prize valuable enough to make a man—or woman—kill?

Slowly, he made his way to the clearing and the pit. Careful to watch his step, he leaned over the pit and lifted out the spring trap by its closed jaws. Beneath the trap, something hissed.

Adders.

He backed quickly away.

The beautifully marked black snakes were poisonous, but not usually aggressive.

Not unless one stepped directly into a nest.

Had this been the spot where Piers had lost his life? When Emmaus returned, he'd have to inquire.

He cleared the spring trap of debris, removing grass from the iron hooks placed there for just that purpose.

Disgusting.

The trap was several times the size of a trap meant to ensnare a rodent. He'd seen its like only once before. It was a man-trap, meant to ensnare poachers.

As if there wasn't enough game to go around.

To his knowledge, man-traps had never been needed or desired at Ithwick before. And even if the duke had ordered them placed, there wasn't any need to make the trap even more deadly by placing it in a shallow pit.

So, who had brought the trap here? And why?

Had this been a trap set for Piers? Or had it been meant for Thaddeus? Or Emmaus? Or him?

Strangers were neither welcomed nor liked in Cornwall, especially not in smugglers' country. But to wish any of them maimed or killed?

That didn't make proper sense, either.

Not that any of this made sense.

He glanced back at the pit. What would have happened to Thaddeus—to Pen—if they'd been wandering through the woods alone?

To that question, at least, he had an answer: The same thing that had happened to Piers. He hooked the trap on his arm and turned to head back toward Emmaus's cottage. Then, something flashed within the tree.

Penelope had forgotten her knife.

Unsurprisingly, the knife did not dislodge with ease, but he managed. He held it up to the light, seeing Pen in the way it had been lovingly polished, carefully sharpened. She'd never been one to take anything for granted.

Would he have taken the same care with his possessions if he'd been born poor? Or would he have been wasteful, embittered?

No matter what her protestation, he'd always believed he'd rescued her, in a way.

He'd intended to whisk her away from the hardship to which she'd been born, to protect the jewel he'd found by creating a lovely setting just for her. When his father had given him the choice—Navy or exposure, he'd told himself she and their child would be better off where he'd placed them while he ventured off to bring home the prize.

Instead, he'd left her alone in this world. A world with far more ease by many measures, and yet, a world of treachery and deceit.

What if—he hefted the knife—he had trusted her strength? What if he had taken them both to a world even his father's power could not reach?

And, if he were to trust her strength now, what would that mean?

He slid the knife into his belt.

Before turning back, he scanned the forest one last time.

How could he prevail when he could not answer the enemy within and he could not see the enemy without?

~~~

Penelope passed three days at Thaddeus's side following the incident in the forest. Three excruciating days. Thaddeus had collapsed almost as soon as he reached his room and had only just begun to recover.

She hadn't even noticed the snake bite until Thaddeus had vomited so much that she and Mrs. Renton had to remove his breeches.

She dipped her cloth into the basin at Thaddeus's bedside, wrung out the excess water, and carefully wiped her son's brow. Even if the captain had not encouraged her to keep watch, she couldn't have left her son's side.

At least Anthony, Thomas, and their guests had left for a few days at Portsmouth, for the expressed purpose of viewing the infamous hulks where the French prisoners were kept, but Pen suspected they were more likely to indulge in gaming and whores.

What kind of men traveled that far to simply to gawk at those less fortunate?

She returned the cloth to the basin.

Before the fever broke, Thaddeus had been flushed, and cranky, and insisting he must get out of bed.

"Why?" she'd asked.

"To find my father," he'd replied.

"Your father is dead, love."

"He's not," he'd repeatedly insisted. "He's out there. He's in trouble."

She closed her eyes and exhaled, grateful that trial, at least, had passed.

She stood and stretched her back, eyeing the stitching she'd thrice abandoned.

She hadn't been thinking clearly when she'd started cutting and sewing. She'd just needed something—anything—to occupy her hands. But now, the coat she'd made for the captain was finished, the shirt nearly so, and she wondered if she should give the captain so intimate a gift.

Why shouldn't she thank him?

After all, he'd saved Thaddeus's life. And, the high stakes of the moment forgave his discourtesy in the aftermath, even if he hadn't apologized.

She drew the shirt into her lap and plied her needle.

After a few failed starts, she'd settled on a design that had seams that, instead of circling the shoulder, ran from under the arm directly to the collar, allowing, as she'd hoped, for a wider range of movement.

She placed the last stitch, tied off the thread, and then shook out the shirt.

Mrs. Renton came into the room. "I'll take over for a while. You rest."

"Thank you." Penelope folded the shirt and picked up the coat. "I believe I'll take some air."

Halfway down the stairs, she heard the rattling of carriage wheels and raised, raucous voices.

Her heart sank.

Her reprieve had ended. Anthony and his coterie had returned.

The butler Anthony hired rushed to open Ithwick's door.

Anthony was first inside. "What? No sign of the intrepid Mrs. Renton?"

"Mrs. Renton's seeing to the young master," the butler replied.

"What has the miscreant done now?"

"He's been ill, sir. Following a nasty encounter with an adder in the forest."

Anthony cocked his head in a way that made Penelope's blood run cold.

She read in his expression the truth she'd only just suspected—the man-trap had been intentionally set and purposely concealed, and the target had been her son.

As for the adders—they could have been an accident, or they could have been insurance.

She set down the shirt and coat on the stairs and then strode down the rest of the steps and across the hall.

"Do you think you are clever?" she demanded of Anthony.

All chatter ceased.

"You aren't clever." Tears threatened in her eyes. "You"—she shoved him with all her might—"are a brute."

Anthony restrained her with ease, twisting both of her hands behind her back. She didn't care. He could hurt her all he wished. In the end, he would get his due.

"What"—he seethed—"are you talking about?"

"How dare you threaten my son's life?"

He paled. "Penelope, sweet," his voice was soft, "you know I would never do anything to harm the boy. Thaddeus is like a son to me. I'd protect him with my life. Wouldn't I, fellows?"

His friends joined together in a chorus of agreement.

"Are you telling me you had nothing to do with the poacher's trap intentionally set on Ithwick land? Either you're an even poorer steward than I thought, or you're lying."

"If someone did set the trap," Lord Thomas spoke from the rear of the group, "my money is on the lame beggar."

"Not a bad thought," Anthony replied, his gaze never leaving Penelope.

"What lame beggar?" she asked.

"Why your newest stray, of course." Anthony squinted. "We just saw him in town, dressed in rags."

"You're mad. What would the captain gain by harming my son?"

"Gain?" He shrugged. "Why need he gain?"

"Only a madman would harm a child without reason," Penelope replied.

"Oh, I heartily agree." Anthony smiled. "And, now that I consider, your beggar more than fits that bill. "

"Just because he taunted you—"

"That?" Anthony interrupted. "I'd forgotten all about that. After what all of us witnessed in the village, if the magistrate sets the beggar free I would be very surprised."

Her heart leapt in her throat. "What's happened?"

"I keep telling you, sweet. Those sailors cannot be trusted. Your beggar nearly killed a man today."

She yanked out of his softened grip. "I don't believe you."

"Believe what you will." Anthony shrugged. "I know what I saw. Irus challenged him to a fight."

"Irus, the drunken fisherman?" The captain wouldn't harm an old man. Would he?

"Yes." Anthony snorted. "I suppose there simply isn't enough room for two beggars in the village."

Pen narrowed her eyes. "You encouraged the fight, didn't you?"

Snickers sounded among the gentlemen.

"What if I did?" Anthony replied. "A man has got to have some entertainment. Settle." He held her back by the shoulders. "Settle! My God, Penelope, I almost believe you care for the beggar."

Blood crept into her cheeks she dropped her hands and looked away. "I find your behavior repugnant, is all."

" My behavior? It wasn't me who nearly killed a man. Irus may well be dead."

"He's right." Lord Thomas moved to the front of the group. "You should have seen the bloodlust in the captain's eyes. I shiver just to recall. He beat Irus until Irus could not stand and then dragged him half-conscious from the town."

No. It couldn't be true.

Not the captain. Not her captain.

I am still a stranger. You do not know my intent .

The captain had even warned Thaddeus not to give him his trust. Had she been a complete fool?

She turned away. Anxious to reach him. Anxious to discover the truth.

"Where are you going?"

"Back up to Thaddeus." She would take the servants' stair out. She picked up her the clothes from the stairs. "Do you object?"

Anthony held her gaze for a long moment.

"Carry on," he finally said.