Chapter 24

Phillip woke to torchlight in his face. He pushed away the hand that was holding the damned thing a foot from him and thought after the fact that he was very fortunate no stray spark had fallen on his face. He had enough trouble convincing women to wed him; he didn’t need a scarred visage to add to his difficulties. He blinked for a moment or two, then managed to focus on the lad there. He swore.

“What?” he growled.

Jackson looked particularly unimpressed. “You’ll want to hear these tidings.”

That was the tone of voice that led him to believe those tidings were actually the last things he would want to hear. He threw his forearm over his eyes and tried to feign sleep. That resulted in a booted toe nudging him rather ungently in the side.

“Wake up, idiot,” Jackson whispered.

Phillip sighed and looked up at his cousin. “All right. What is it?”

“Imogen’s gone.”

Phillip sat up so quickly, he almost hit his head against the end of Jackson’s torch. His cousin leaped back, then scowled at him.

“I told you that you would want to know.”

Phillip forced himself to wake fully. “How long ago?”

“I have no idea. None of your men saw her go.”

“Then how do you know she left?”

“Thaddeus told Bartholomew that Imogen was off to do nefarious deeds and my sister was going along to aid her.”

“Thad?” Phillip said incredulously. “Your brother, Thaddeus?” He wished he could do something besides gape at his cousin, but anything else was beyond him at the moment. “And Imogen went with Rose? No one bothered to stop them?”

“Aye, aye, and apparently not,” Jackson said shortly. “The only good thing to note is that Rose took her lads with her. It will save her a thrashing at my father’s hands to be sure. And she took Thad.”

“Perfect.” He knew his uncle never would have laid a hand on Rose, much less any of his other children, but there was a reason he had provided his eldest daughter with that handful of men who made even him uneasy. Rose and Imogen would be perfectly safe.

“Thad is always chafing for some sort of adventure,” Jackson said with a shrug. “They’ll keep him safe enough.”

“One could hope.” He rubbed his eyes. “Where were they going?”

“Haemesburgh, or so your squire says.”

Phillip could only hope that was as far as they would manage to go. That was all the Future needed, to have Rose and her handful of demons rampaging about the countryside, terrorizing poor, hapless peasants.

“Did Bartholomew say why they were going there?” Phillip asked.

Jackson looked at him evenly. “I suspect you can lay your finger on a reason if you work at it long enough. And I understand part of the adventure is simply to return to you what is rightfully yours.”

Phillip yawned, then shut his mouth abruptly as what Jackson was saying penetrated the fog that not enough sleep had cast over his mind.

She was going to try to get back to the Future. If that wasn’t enough, she was going to attempt it by way of a hellhole where she would likely get herself killed.

He rolled out of bed, washed, and dressed, all without comment for there was nothing to be said. Either she intended to attempt one more jump on the spot she’d used to come to the past or she was off to look for his sword. It didn’t matter which one it was, it was an errand that would put her in peril she couldn’t possibly conceive of. It had absolutely nothing to do with her intelligence or canniness; it had to do with the fact that she was operating in a world where annoying men routinely disappeared in forests and the local authorities were too terrified of ghosts and bogles to lead a party to search for their remains.

He couldn’t imagine Rose didn’t know that perfectly well, which was no doubt why his cousin had insisted on being Imogen’s escort. If he’d been a more callous soul, he would have left them to their adventure and gone to put his feet up in front of his uncle’s fire.

But he was who he was, his chivalry demanded that he protect the women in his care no matter the cost to himself, and he thought he just might be having a few fond feelings for that remarkable woman from the Future who had gone to look for a part of his birthright.

He looked at his cousin. “I think secrecy is paramount. I’ll go arrange—”

“No need,” Jackson said. “I’ve thrown your lads off the scene. The party will consist of just you and me.”

Phillip hesitated and had a curse as his reward. He looked heavenward, for aid or something to fall upon him, he couldn’t decide which at the moment. He supposed there was no point in trying to be anything but honest with the man standing in front of him. After all, Jackson had eavesdropped more than he had. He sighed. “Very well. We’ll go by ourselves.”

Jackson hesitated. “In the interest of honesty, I don’t think you’ll manage to leave without at least Myles and Wiscard. I’ve already tried to slip past them. They were not impressed.”

Phillip rubbed his hands over his face. The saints preserve him from men sworn to keep him alive. “And what do you suggest I tell them?”

“Make up a tale,” Jackson said, shrugging. “Use your imagination.”

“I don’t have any.”

“Make a last visit to Berengaria, then tell them you’re trotting off into the woods to look for herbs for her. The lads will leave you to that, I’m sure.”

Phillip would have smiled, but he just couldn’t bring himself to. “Nemain is always on the hunt for a spare wizard’s thumb bone.”

“And there you have it,” Jackson said. “The beginnings of a legend.”

Phillip could only hope that was the only legend he might be at the start of.

He nodded, then followed his cousin out of the keep as silently as possible. He parted company with Jackson in the middle of the courtyard, sending his cousin to find their pair of companions and secure horses whilst he pitted himself against the task of getting the portcullis raised without fuss.

That was accomplished in far less secrecy than he would have wished. He realized abruptly he was being observed by his uncle, who was leaning against the stone of the barbican gate. Jake lifted his eyebrows briefly, then nodded to one of his guardsmen. That lad walked off, presumably to see to the task of raising the portcullis.

Jake studied him dispassionately. He started at his boots, seemingly took note of the rest of his gear, then finished with a careful look at his face.

“Off on an adventure, are you?” he asked.

Phillip regarded him coolly. “And you would be in the lofty position of telling me to stay home?”

Jake smiled. “Oh no, nephew, not that. I just came to see you off after I offered you aid.”

“Guilt has obviously led you to such a pass.”

Jake sighed. “I won’t tell you that someday you’ll understand, but someday you’ll understand.”

Phillip realized that the question he hardly dared ask was suddenly clamoring to get out of his mouth. He chewed on it a good long time before he dared spit it out.

“Do you regret it?” he asked quietly.

Jake smiled gravely. “How can you ask?”

“I’m annoying.”

“You’re thorough,” Jake corrected. “You’re annoying as well, but I love you in spite of it. And to answer your question, no, I have not a one.”

Phillip shook his head slowly. “I’m not sure I can begin to imagine what you’ve given up.”

“I have the feeling you might soon find out,” Jake said cheerfully. “If I’m reading you aright.”

“I’m off to find a thumb bone for Mistress Nemain, not traipse into realms not my own.”

“Sure you are, sport.”

“Very well, your son suggested the quest. That would be your son Jackson who is coming with me, not your son Thaddeus who has gone with your daughter and my...” He had to take a deep breath. “With Imogen.”

“Those boys of mine will be the death of me,” Jake said, sighing deeply. “Especially Jackson. He worries me.”

“I think he should, and here he comes with horses.”

“And your two terrifying shadows,” Jake agreed. “I didn’t think you’d manage to get away without them following. I imagine you’ll make up a tale suitable for their constitutions.” He started to walk away, then paused and looked at Phillip. “Is there anything else you would like to ask me?”

Phillip forced himself to breathe normally. He had a score of questions that clamored for answers, but he supposed there was just one that couldn’t be answered later.

“How does it all work?” he asked, feeling a little daft to utter the words.

Jake smiled. “You stand on the right spot and think about where you want to go, then voilà, you’re there.”

“I need my sword, though.”

“You might,” Jake agreed. “Hard to tell, actually. I suppose all you can do is the best you can do.” He clapped Phillip on the shoulder. “Good hunting, Phillip.”

Phillip nodded his thanks, then watched his uncle have a quiet word with his son. He imagined Jake wasn’t going to avoid a more pointed conversation in the future, which the good lord of Ravensthorpe had likely been dreading for some time. It was difficult, generally always, to avoid one’s doom.

Think about where he wanted to go and then he would arrive? Ridiculous.

But perhaps vital to the success of his venture. He turned away—and walked into something that squeaked and stumbled backward. He reached out and pulled the body into a bit of torchlight. He shook his head.

“Nay,” he said firmly. “Absolutely not.”

Hamish smoothed down the front of his tunic. “A squire’s duty is to protect his lord at all times. You’ll rob me of that opportunity if you leave me behind here.”

Phillip studied him for a moment or two. “Did my lord uncle find you at the ale kegs?”

“He might have.”

“In company with Theo and Sam?”

“I thought it best to make certain they didn’t run afoul of trouble.”

“And he threatened to have the three of you cleaning the cesspit on the morrow?”

“’Tis possible that was mentioned.”

Phillip considered the possibilities he was now facing. If he left Hamish behind, the lad would have Ravensthorpe in an uproar within a se’nnight. If he took the lad with him, the saints only knew what mischief he would combine.

Then again, Hamish had answers.

Phillip looked at him sternly. “I’m on a quest.”

Hamish patted his sword. “I am at your disposal, my lord, for all questing activities.”

“I’m off to look for the thumb bone of a wizard.”

Hamish blinked a time or two, then for the first time since Phillip had known him, he looked to be a lad of approximately ten summers. “By the saints,” he squeaked. “The hell you say.”

Phillip smiled. “Still want to come along?”

Hamish put his shoulders back. “Of course, my lord!”

“Go pack your gear then.”

“Already done, my lord.”

“Have you told Jackson you’re coming along?”

Hamish swallowed, hard. “Didn’t have the courage, my lord. He frightens me.”

“He frightens everyone, my lad,” Phillip said with a sigh. The whole affair was madness, but he supposed it could have been nothing else. He nodded toward the gates. “Let’s be off, then.”

Hamish fell in behind him and was absolutely silent, which Phillip supposed boded well for the future.

He felt suddenly as if he were walking over his own grave, a sensation he didn’t care for in the least. It was enough to leave him standing just under the portcullis for a bit longer than he might have been comfortable with normally. He took a deep breath and carried on, because that was what he did.

Thumb bone, indeed.

···

Three days, three miserable, soggy, cursed days later, he stood behind the lord’s table in Haemesburgh and looked at his cousin, who stood next to him. The price of getting them inside the keep had been steep, though perhaps not quite as steep as it might have been if Neill had actually managed to hold on to any of his garrison lads. There was something afoot that he couldn’t see, someone moving men and events about like chess pieces, but in ways he couldn’t predict. It was profoundly unnerving.

What was more unnerving still was that he couldn’t find Imogen. He had assumed she would come to Haemesburgh, indeed he had been told as much by his squire, and he had further assumed she would be on the hunt for his sword. He hadn’t seen her inside the keep and it wasn’t possible that he’d missed her along the way. Sir Neill had looked puzzled when queried about her possibly having been there before they arrived.

Had she gone to Edinburgh instead?

Think about where you want to go...

He suspected that after Imogen wasn’t exactly the direction Jake had been suggesting, but he wasn’t sure what else to wish for.

And there was no more time to spend dithering over particulars he likely couldn’t control. He had already sent Hamish off to see to the priest, which he hoped would leave him time to get where he was going without more of an audience than he was going to have.

He looked at Jackson. “You can’t come with me.”

Jackson looked grimmer than Phillip had ever seen him. “I will come, someday.”

“If it is to be so.”

“Stop quoting Berengaria.”

“I believe that was your father.”

Jackson nodded to Phillip’s sword. “Use that and begone. I’ll find an excuse for your absence.”

Phillip refused to consider how difficult it was to breathe all of the sudden. “Think you it will work?”

“How would I know?” Jackson asked hoarsely. “Use the damned sword and hope you don’t find yourself carried off to Hell. I definitely won’t attempt to follow you there.”

Phillip supposed there was nothing else to say. He drew his sword, not his knighting sword but the sword he’d had made for himself, to suit himself, for no other reason than to keep himself alive.

He jammed it into the floor with all his strength, exchanged a last look with his cousin, then put his hands over the hilt and thought of Imogen.

Something hit him over the head and he knew no more.