“I don’t have time to explain,” Royce said, speaking to them all, “but I need to know who Minerva came out here to meet.”
Ellen blinked. “One of your cousins asked me to tell her your half brother’s children were here, asking to speak with her. Apparently they had a gift they’d made her. He said they were waiting in the garden.” She nodded down the corridor. “Out there.”
Royce felt a sudden sense of inevitability. “Which of my cousins?”
Ellen shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t say. I don’t know them, and you all look so alike.”
Phoebe stirred. “How old?”
Ellen glanced at Royce. “Of similar age to His Grace.”
Letitia looked at Royce. “How many is that?”
?
??Three.” But he already knew which one it was, which one it had to be.
The door to the ballroom cracked open; Susannah peered around it. She took in the ladies, then focused on him. “What’s going on?”
He didn’t answer, instead said, “I need to know if Gordon, Phillip, and Gregory are in the ballroom. Don’t speak to them, just go and check. Now.”
She stared at him, then closed her mouth and went.
Clarice, Letitia, and Penny headed for the door. “We know them, too,” Penny said as she passed him.
Bare minutes later, all four came back. “Gordon and Gregory are in there,” Susannah reported. “Not Phillip.”
Royce nodded, half turned away, his mind churning.
Alicia said, “That’s not conclusive. Phillip might be anywhere—the castle is huge.”
Mystified, Susannah appealed to the others; Letitia explained they were trying to learn which of the cousins had lured Minerva away.
“It’ll be Phillip.” Susannah was definite. Royce looked at her; she went on, “I don’t know what bee he’s got in his bonnet about you, but for years he’s always wanted to know every last thing about you and your doings—and recently…it was he who suggested I invite Helen Ashton. He who told me Minerva was your lover and…not suggested but led me to think that engineering a situation might be a good thing. Of course, he never dreamed you loved her—” She broke off, paled. “Oh, God—he’s taken her, hasn’t he?”
For a long moment, no one answered, then Royce slowly nodded. “Yes, he has.”
He glanced at Alicia. “The last traitor we’ve been hunting over the last year? We concluded he had some connection with the War Office. Of all my cousins, of all those here, only Phillip qualifies.”
He felt a certain sureness infuse him. It always helped to know who he was hunting.
Minerva struggled through clouds of unconsciousness. Her head felt woolly; thoughts half formed, then slipped away, sank into the murk. She couldn’t think—couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t formulate a coherent wish, much less open her eyes. But inside, where a cold kernel of panicked helplessness clung to reality, she knew.
Someone had seized her and carried her away. She’d gone to the door, looking for Hamish’s children—and someone, some man, had come up behind her. She’d sensed him an instant before he’d grabbed her, tried to turn her head, but he’d slapped a handkerchief over her nose and mouth…
It had smelled sickly sweet, cloying…
Reality inched closer, seeped into her mind. She breathed in, carefully, but that horrible, nauseating smell was gone.
Someone—the man—was talking, the sound distant, fading in and out.
Familiar. He was familiar.
She would have frowned, but her features were still not her own. She was lying on her back…on stone, its rough surface beneath her fingers, under one palm…she’d been here before, lain just like this not long ago…
The millstone. She was lying on the grinding stone in the mill.
The realization evoked an inpouring of awareness; the clouds dissipated; she came fully awake.