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Sir Charles Bonnet flicked a piece of lint from his clothes and slowly smiled. He eyes turned from his immaculate appearance to watch as workman carried the bundle of his future "bride" out to the carriage. The plan was going ahead of schedule without any delays or mishaps. He looked at his surroundings that bespoke an air of grandeur but he knew deep down there were even bigger demonstration of wealth.

He watched as one of the men re-entered the old manse and Sir Charles turned at the slight wrap of knuckles on the door. "Come" Sir Charles bellowed from his desk. A man of rugged build entered, his red hair greasy, his clothes unkempt. His eyes spoke volumes, they were hard as obsidian, the cut of scar slashing downward over one eyebrow and cheek. "Ah good Frankie here. You know what you have to do. See that the Mother Abbess gets this letter of instructions."

"Beggin' your pardon Sir Charles, but wot state can we ... ?"

"I don't care, Frankie. Just as long as she gets there and she disappears." ... .

**********************************

From the Hinterland

31st March, Oban

My Dear Miss Wright ...

I write with grateful thanks for your hospitality this past summer at Kentchurch. Yet I own I am glad to be back on board and making ready to go to sea.

I am now aboard the Passion and we are making final preparations to sail at first light. Mr Berks and the crew have laid in provisions for a long sail. It seems that Berks thinks the Admiral has other plans for us. And your assessment of his character, is somewhat right. He isn't called the Sea Fox for nothing.

It is rather calm this evening. The sky is overcast so we have no moon in which to see by but the glow from the town is warm and inviting. I have at your request sent a Mr Goodson and his son William south with not one but two barrels of salted pilchards. I hope that this will be enjoyed by all. I have also sent along several items that the ladies and gentlemen will find useful. I send several bolts of silk cloth from my holds, linen, cotton, and other embellishments.

I have instructed Mr. Goodson to stop in Glasgow before heading south to procure for the gentlemen some fine American and Dominican tobacco as well as fine brandy, port and whisky. He is to stop and fill a barrel of salmon for you and for our friends.

To be honest Miss Wright, I do not find the ton much to my liking as I do Kentchurch. It seems that you must put on such airs that I find unnecessary. I cannot be a party to this type of facade. I find our friends at Kentchurch more natural, more hospitable than I do in London.

I will do my best to sketch for you shipboard life. We are a rather eccentric band of characters. Even our mascot Rascal, a mongrel that stowed away on the Passion four years ago when we left Baltimore adds to our merriment and eccentricity! As soon as I reach Plymouth I will post them to you at Kentchurch.

I hope you are well and I pray Bonnet is found soon. I look forward to our continued correspondence.

Your servant

Delanie

Kentchurch

April 1.

My dr Miss Delanie:

I beg you will forgive my trembling hand, but we have had such an alarum here that I scarce know how to begin.

Four days ago a neighbour, Squire Darrington. sent word that a party of renegade ex-soldiers was in the area and that they were believed to be armed. No sooner had I opened and read his letter than a maid rushed in, much affrighted, to say that a band of ragged men, of grim visage, had been sighted in the park. As you can imagine, the house was straightway in an uproar. My poor mamma took to her bed in a faint and between caring for her and giving instructions to Fane, our butler, to send word to the outlying cottages and round up the men of the household to protect us, my time was well spent.

It was but an hour later that the men were seen approaching the house. There were ten of them, all dressed in the poorest way, many of them limping and all of them looking half-starved. I sent to waylay them, offering food and clothing if they would but go away but they declared their intention of spending the night in the copse by the lake.

Fortunately, I had sent your excellent young man Thomas (of whom the coachman speaks most highly and whose good looks have half the maids and all four of the under-gardener's daughters sick with love) to summon the militia, which I knew to be camped not three miles away.

They arrived with commendable dispatch, led by Captain Robinson. I begged him not to harm the poor vagabonds for by that time I had seen the true state of them and it was pitiable indeed. When one thinks that they fought bravely during the Peninsular Wars and at Waterloo one cannot but reflect how ungrateful a country is that condemns them to such misery upon their return.

Captain Robinson was sympathetic to their plight and promised to do what he could for them. In the meantime, moved no doubt by the gratitude by which he was received by my poor mamma, he undertook to remain with us for several days.

The upshot of this is that the gardener's wife is caring for several of the men whose injuries need tending and I have undertaken to find work and housing, at least for the summer, on the estate for the rest of them.

The militia remains in residence; the men are camped in the park and the officers – Captain R and Lieutenant Somerville – are billeted in the house and have proved a merry addition to our party. I cannot help but think there may be some more sinister explanation to the sudden appearance of the brigands, however – related to those distressing matters we discussed during your sojourn here. I am still awaiting news of Bonnet, and begin to be very worried about her.

I am much distressed to learn from your last letter than you will be away longer than expected, but send our most grateful thanks for the provisions (my mamma was in transport over the silks etc).

I trust this finds you well.

Yr friend,

Miss Wright.

Isle of Whithorn, April 3

Miss Wright,

My friend, word reaches us this morn when we put in to port for a brief stay here to visit old and trusted friends with which we do business. To tell you more would lay more trouble at your door. The newspapers that have reached the ship tell us that the area in which you live and others around Kentchurch are overrun with brigands, the misfits of the Peninsular Wars. Take care – not all these men are what they seem to be. However miserable their state, they may have other ends in view. These are troubled times.

We will put to sea again on the morrow and make for the southern coast. I should be in Plymouth by next week and hope to conclude my business with the Admiral by mid week. I will then make a fast pace to you and our friends. If there is any news, please send it to a Mr. Davydd in Holyhead.

Again I pray for you and all of our friends safety.

Yours in prayer

Delanie

Kentchurch

April 10

My dear Miss Delanie,

I thank you most sincerely for your concern, but begin to believe it unmerited. At present, we are peaceful and no more brigands or ex-soldiers – or worse - have made their appearance. Having increased the strength of the estate by some six of the first band to arrive, I am sanguine that we can see off any more threats, particularly since the militia under dear Captain Robinson are still present. The park begins to look like an Army encampment! I feel quite safe and do not fear being besieged. I trust your passage remains calm and with good winds, and that you do not encounter any of the rebel privateers said to be threatening our coasts. It seems that we no sooner have we one a war than we shall be thrust into another. Your prayers for our welfare are much esteemed, and returned thrice fold.

Heartfelt regards,

Miss W.

Wales

April 16

Dear Miss Wright,

My dear friends I hope this missive finds you all in good health and great cheer, I myself am so fully occupied at this time that I fear my communications will be less frequent than is my wont, or what you, my dears, are used to. The weather here has been warm and pleasant, far more so than I had anticipated, indeed it is quite idyllic.

Please send my regards to Delanie and my hope that her journey is all she might wish, though I am unclear if she wishes for privateers or not, however there is one man of such a breed whom she will undoubtedly want to converse with.

I myself will soon conclude my business with the war office and have every hope of returning to mundanity.

I am sure I need not tell you to secure the translation of the note enclosed, The owl will I hope live up to his reputation ...

Time is crucial, indeed the old man is pressing me much as I assume the Admiral will press Delanie for a conclusion in these matters. It is of the utmost importance as you are aware. I begin to fear we are also facing a false dawn, and can only pray I am for once in this matter wrong

My regards,

Vita

The Convent of the Sisters of Mercy, Breganz, Germany

24 March 1815

I write with a most piteous plea for help to all who may be concerned for me I have been holed up in the dungeons of this convent for some many days now and have lost track of time.

I was unceremoniously placed here, in a padded cell by one Sister Clarissa Mary Magdalen. The cell is impenetrable and none can hear me cry out – save my young companion, Eliza, who was abducted with me. She managed to escape being thrown into imprisonment and hides herself somewhere in this accursed building, coming to the door of my cell whenever she can. I will give her this note, written on paper she bravely smuggled into me, and she will endeavour to send it out so that it may reach you.

My friends, they are starving me and plan my death ... The light is dimming ... I cry out for your help!

Yrs in desperation

B. Spice

Kentchurch

April 28

Dear Miss Vita,

I received your missive with gratitude but unwisely read it at length to mamma, whose sensibility hearing your comments about independence and marriage cause her to go into a swoon and take to her bed again.

I have no hope of her quick recovery, alas, so for the time being I am confined to her sick-room, ministering to her wants.

The cares of an invalid weigh on me particularly heavily at present since I received notice at last from Bonnet.

But how dreadful the news is. In a note a month old, I learn that she, has been confined against her will in a German convent and is being starved to death!

I have sent word to a certain Mr AW, whom I know to be a brave and resourceful gentleman, who has promised to lend his great intellect and courage to the matter

Miss Eliza remains Bonnet's only contact with the outside world – and for how long she can escape the vigilance of the nuns I do not know.

Can you can leave the wild beauty of Wales, and also go to the rescue of dear Bonnet? Do not, I pray you, hesitate to send or bring her to Kentchurch where the beauty and calm of the surroundings may restore her to full sanity and health, if such a miracle be possible.

Yrs hopefully,

Arabella Right

PS I fear for Miss Delanie – betwixt the admiral and the privateers I do not know how she will go on! AR.

Holyhead

April 25

Miss Wright,

We have arrived in Holyhead and much to our dismay have not received good word from Bonnet and her whereabouts.

Your concern as to my privateering ways and relations with the Admiral are duly noted. I do admit that at times I wonder at my good fortune. Since I in these past four years have remained a steadfast friend to Britain even in times of distress for my own countrymen during their visits to New Orleans, the Capital and the South, bodes well for my ship and its crew. Though these times were trying I felt the greater enemy to be France than England. Much to the chagrin of friends back home. I take little profit from my spoils unless morality and ethics dictate the need. I would rather see those that have nothing have something. I take into confidence your concerns. Sometime I will tell you all of my story.

As to Kentchurch, I long to return and walk among the bowers, wade the streams, set pen and ink to paper, colors to canvas. I am glad that many can return to enjoy such pleasantries.

As to your question concerning marriage, companionship, though it is the trend to see one rightly married, I favor love over entitlement and property. Marriage is a promise of honor and integrity only gained in due time. At the first, lust may guide our hands and hearts but it is time spent in each others company that allows it to evolve and take shape. Love may be but a sparkle at the onset; understanding incomplete. And with time the depth of it realized. Understanding the difference between want and need paramount. I chose want rather than need. I relish my independence and yet, yearn for that partnership that would allow me to share my days with someone. But someone who would allow me the space to understand myself when needed. Such men I think are hard to find.

There is a spot in the west, a mountain peek where the golden sea eagles dive from their perch and survey the sky. Against the back drop of a orange, purple sunset speech is a forgone conclusion. Emotions expressed in the silence all that is required. These are the days I would like to share. The simple things. Do not fret life is what we make of it. Friends are never far away to help you. What you seek may be closer than you think. Take the opportunity and seize the day, carpe diem.

I will be soon to Land's End and turn the tide to Plymouth. I look forward to concluding and now have decided to end my business dealings with the Admiral, which I am sure will send him huffing and puffing. To loose such a ship as the Passion at his disposal will vex him greatly but perhaps it is time for me to focus on my wants. I think it appropriate that on my return we partake of a grand ball to celebrate the coming of summer. What think you on that?

Till then, your friend

Delanie

London, April 30, 1815

My Dear Miss Wright,

It was with great interest that I read the letter intercepted by my valet from yourself to Ms Delanie. How we laughed!

I must warn you, that your meddlings can only bring harm to my poor, unstable wife. Her incoherent ramblings were proof enough of her dwindling sanity and her promiscuity pointed to her hideous lunacy. It was with this in mind, that I decided incarceration was our only option. It was through the goodness of her heart, that my dear sister, Mother Bernadette of Opus Dei allowed my sick, sick wife, food and shelter in Germany.

A large donation has been proffered to the convent. My sister will see that the final weeks of her madness are comfortable. As I am sure you understand, the other options were just too unspeakable to mention.

Documents will be signed by the end of the week, officially recognising myself as the benefactor to her fortune. The house in London and Parleton Abbey, will of course, be mine.

I must remind you how dangerous we believe my poor Bonnet to be now. If you attempt to remove her from the humble care of my sister, measures are in place to remove her to Bedlam.

You were always such a clever child dear Miss Wright. Pray do not be foolish now. As you know my family had connections though no money. We now have both, and the power that accompanies such gifts.

Yours

Sir Charles Bonnet Esq

Holyhead, April 30

Miss Wright ...

I have sent word to Alan to launch a rescue mission.

Delanie

Holyhead, April 30

My dear Alan Window

I received distressing news that my correspondence to Miss Wright has been intercepted by those of devious character. I for one would like to ascertain the condition of our dear friend Bonnet for myself. Only then can I be assured of her safety and security.

Thus, round up all able body men. I drive the Passion hard to make Plymouth by tomorrow eve. I have sent word with several of my men to my solicitor, Mr Pendleton, in London and Miss Wright again, to put into action proceedings to stop Sir Charles Bonnet.

I have sent word to Sir Jeremy Glover, captain as well as Admiral Cochrane as to our plight; the gentlemen, notably the Admiral owes me several favours.

Yours in the challenge,

Captain Delanie McCann

The Lady's Passion

Plymouth, May 4

Admiral, Lord Cochrane ...

I send this quick note to say that I have arrived in Plymouth but will be heading back to sea with all speed. Your man met us at the dock as we slipped into the quay and I understand all that you ask. Distressing news has reached me about my friends that have fallen under the control of some nefarious characters. I send you my request and ask for your speedy commitment to my wishes. I think you would understand that I can complete both my tasks with this mission. We head for Germany.

Yours respectfully

Delanie McCann

London, May 2,

My Dear Miss Wright

Alas, I am unable to help my poor maddened wife. I hear from my sister that her utterances and gestures make frightening viewing, and it is feared her lunacy will finally carry her to God within but days.

As Bonnet has no other family, my sister, Mother Bernadette and the sisters of Opus Dei will see to a dignified and Christian burial in the mountains of Germany. She is in our prayers always.

With regards to the fortune that I shall sadly take on within a few days; come Dear Miss Wright. I have many doctors in my employ who will testify solemnly to the dissolving sanity of the poor women.

You will also find the Bishop of Ripon afeared for her mind - I trust you do not cast aspersions upon the judgment of such a distinguished man of the cloth?

Do not meddle Miss Wright. You are of a far too delicate a sex to concern yourself with affairs of such an unpleasant nature. Parleton Abbey will be mine and as such, mine to do with what I will. Who knows who I may choose to share it with me?

Be wise, Miss Wright.

Yours respectfully

Sir Charles Bonnet Esq

A small village somewhere in the Alps (undated)

My dear friends,

I stand in the chill wind of the mountains night, on hearing the worst of what had befallen our dearest Bonnet I asked to take a hand in the matter, and was given leave to act.

I have been forced to call in several favours, and promised several more, this has brought me in to the ... infamous company of Captain Jack Knight and the highway man known as the Hawk ... whom as you know is really M. de Villiers and Major Christopher Marlowe of the dragoons.

These gentleman have pledged their help; indeed Major Marlowe may even be able to help with the problem of the Bishop of Ripon as his uncle is the Bishop of St Austell.

We are making our way to the convent and can only pray we are in time, I fear the villainous Sir Charles has deadly intentions. But I, who have faced far more poisonous creatures, have hope that we will prevail.

yours in friendship

Vita

Convent of the Sisters of Mercy

date: not known

My friends,

My condition has worsened. I am weak and faint with hunger. Last night I was troubled by a hideous recurring nightmare which has visited me since my girlhood. Oh - the hateful meanderings of this ... How I have tried to forget the misery of that time, long ago when my dear papa introduced me to my second cousin Sir Charles Bonnet. T'was he who pursued me almost to death requiring that I marry him. My papa was in favour of the match and upon hearing this did I depart my family home forever more. Yet I could not marry that hideous man!. Sir Charles claimed that the marriage took place and by this submission did my dear papa honourably hand over my ex-dowry. Sir Charles was and always will be a liar. At one time he claimed to be a Hanoverian Prince. He is truly a false prophet who will stoop to any evil imaginable. How relieved I was to wake - even tho' upon waking I find myself in these dire circumstances which, believe me,I find preferable to the life I may have had to lead with my vile second cousin.

I cannot but hope that somehow I might be saved.

Northampton

May ??

As a much younger man I was a member of the League and we saved many a Frenchman from Madame Guillotine. I have sent a letter to Blakeney but fear he will be too late.

I have also sent for my yacht to meet us in Yarmouth. My man will meet us there with everything we need. My German is passable, my Latin will do. We must give Miss Bonnet a service - of rescue. We’ll use the routine we have practised successfully before - father and three monks (false) in, and father and monks (all real) out.

A call to arms. Who shall join me? I ride within the hour.

The London road

May ??

Dear Mr Window,

Even as I write am bumping up and down in a post-chaise, fleeing Kentchurch to the rescue of poor Bonnet. I bring with me my late father's duelling pistols, three large and brawny footmen to guard me and aid in the rescue and an unwonted amount of courage ... Expect me in Yarmouth on the hour ...

Ships Log

The Lady's Passion

Off the Coast of Wales

May ??

My anger is boiling at the thought that my dear friend Bonnet has been committed against her will in a nunnery by her so called bastard of a husband. He cares only for title and money. I have launched the Passion and we should make Land's End by midnight with the prevailing winds. My thoughts are filled with the laughter, the merriment we enjoyed over the winter months. The daily tease of the men, to entice them out of their usual habits to converse and engage us in small talk.

My heart is heavy that I have no way of communicating with them here at sea. No way of receiving words. I am torn as to my duty to the Admiral and my duty to friends. I can only hope my letters find the Sea Fox in good humour and understandable. I break with protocol and head to south to France and Germany. I will join up with Alan Window and we will launch a rescue. I will not see my friend wither away.

I will return to Kentchurch once I secure Bonnet's release and Sir Charles will have to deal with me.

Berks has the watch and I must find my bunk. Elusive sleep. Perhaps a dalliance with the swords on deck with Jock will help to cool my anger.

Miss Wright's journal entry continued ... and I breathe more easily knowing that I may have escaped the fiendish plans of Sir Charles, for his veiled hints and allusions are more frightening than anything ... who would have thought that such a charming exterior could hide such a fiend ... Oh, poor Bonnet how could you not be crushed by the vileness of such a man ...

The Dragon Inn

Thrapston

Northamptonshire

May ??

A quick note whilst I put Thunderer out to pasture and pick up new horse. If I ride through the night I arrive Yarmouth by 9 of the morn. The tide is mid morning and so The Katharyn will sail on the tide. Any-one who arrives and uses the phrase "Sir Percy sent me" is involved. We will sail under a flag with a red flower on the stern. We should make landfall within 3 days. I shall write then.

AJW

Parleton Abbey

Miss Wright

May ??

Journal continues ... Good God, how could I have suspected when I stopped at a respectable hostelry to change horses and take a little nuncheon that I would have fallen into such a dreadful plight!

I had thought myself safe, with my three burly footmen to guard me ... but somehow all four of us were drugged and I was - I shudder to say - abducted!

I awoke to find myself in a carriage, the windows blacked out and, staring at me in a most hideous manner, a dragon of a woman who vouchsafed nothing, however hard I begged for an explanation!

So did we travel for an hour or more, myself growing more and more hysterical by the minute, and, sick and faint with horror I could do nothing but endure until the carriage at last rolled to a stop.

Imagine my terror when the door was wrenched open to reveal none but Sir Charles Bonnet standing there, smiling in a most fiendish manner as he took in my disordered visage!

So here I am immured, a prisoner of this vicious man who has planned for me a fare I dare not dwell upon ...

Although I have writ a hasty note to my friends pleading for help I am at a loss how it should be delivered for I can trust none here ...

My friends are on their way to rescue Bonnet, whose plight is, I conjecture, even worse than mine own ...

Off the south eastern coast of England

Ships log, The Lady's Passion

Captain Delanie McCann

May ??

The skies are overcast but the wind howls in our favour. Spending time practising swordplay with Jock on deck this afternoon has cooled my fervor to rush off without due caution into the unknown danger that awaits us. My desire to do so courses just below the surface and my tight control on my emotions wavers on the breaking point. The men are skittish - highly attuned to my raw emotions. I think sometimes they wish for the calmer days of sailing under my father. I do as well. Laughter was much easier then and I did not bear solely the responsibility of this crew.

I must concentrate on the charts, as my turn at watch coming upon me sooner than I think. Lands End is in reach and we should see its beacon by one a.m., little more than an hour behind schedule.

What are my friends going through? I am frustrated at not being able to help. I hope they know that I am coming as fast as Poseidon will allow.

Lady's Passion

Ships Log

May ??

We reached Plymouth just after nine in the morning, replenished stores and have put back to sea The Admiral's man met us at the quay and I received several letters concerning his wishes as well as news of my friends' fate. I have dispatched several of my men to scout the area in which Miss Wright may be located and to determine what can be done. If they can execute a rescue I have instructed them to do so.

We head to Germany to find Bonnet. I am anxious, the crew understand my feelings. They too were treated well at Kentchurch recently and made fast friends. They work hard to get us to our destination. I continually scan the horizon to see if I can catch sight of Alan's Katharyn. I've put young Nicolas up in the nest, our best eyes. Hopefully we can make our destination before it is too late.

Miss Wright's journal

May ??

Journal continues ... alas, I fear Sir Chas means to starve me into submission. How shall I sustain my spirits on this meagre fare? But there is hope, for today I received a note in uneducated hand, pushed under the door. It reads as follows:

Dear Miss

Yu Ar in grate danger. hope you got the vittles right and are of strong hart and body. luk in the cuverring of the small chair. yu wil find a ball of wax and string. wen the son goes down and yu here an owl, push the wax under the door. wen yu ere a thud on the door pul the string bac and yu will av a key to get owt. lok the door be ind yu. go down the corridor. a footman will tell you sir Percy sent im. folow im.

a frend.

How can I ever thank my kind benefactor! How impatiently I wait for nightfall!

The Diocese of Ripon

The Bishops Palace

May ??

Dear Miss Wright

By now this letter should find you, warm and fed in the care of Alice Jones and her family in the village of Parleton.

As you will know by now, you are in great danger, as is of course Lady Bonnet.

Sir Charles Bonnet approached me with a large sum of money, on the understanding that I would vouch for Bonnet's ill health and declining mental state. I feared it would not be prudent to cross such a dangerous man, and as such agreed. Though I have taken no money, I am now privy to details without which alas, Bonnet and yourself would surely be with your maker.

Bonnet is believed to be incarcerated in a castle on the Austrian/Swiss/German border - by a lake at a place called Breganz. The castle and surrounding grounds are owned by Sir Charles's sister - who inherited from a German husband who died suspiciously. She is a devout catholic, and has evolved a strict yet secret convent within the walls of the castle. An unholy place indeed! It is here that we believe Bonnett is imprisoned.

There is a rescue mission mounted as we speak, to penetrate the grounds of the castle, I believe people you know are at sail?

I must beg you dear Miss Wright not to attempt to follow them. Your help is needed here. Every second, Sir Charles and his mother get closer to signing the fortune over.

Your task is thus; remain hidden at Alice's. From there, attempt to find proof of the evil plot we know to be under way. Alice and her son will remain at work at Parleton.

I am going to London, to speak with my superiors. I must hope that I get there in time.

God's speed brave Lady. With faith we shall triumph.

Yours respectfully

Bishop Bernard-Paul of Ripon.

Miss Wright's journal continues ...

Oh, with what heartfelt relief it is that I am now saved from the evil machinations of Sir Chas! Safely hidden in the neat, yet charming cottage of this good woman and her family, my thoughts are at last free to turn to the fate of my dear friend Bonnet. I can only pray for Captain Delanie - so brave, so powerful - and Miss Vita - alone and unchaperoned - succeed, along with dear Mr AW from whom nothing has been heard for at least a day ... Dear Bonnet, groatless, my thoughts are with you. Bear up, I beg of you! ... I must write and thank the dear Bishop ...

Where?

When?

Vita's journal

Business of the gravest type should occupy my thoughts and deeds.

We have formulated a plan where M. de Villiers will dress as a clergy man ... a papist, while the Major and the captain act as my concerned relatives who wish me to undergo treatment at the castle ...

At sea

??

The Lady’s Passion docked at Bremerhaven on the northern coast of Germany. They noticed the Katharyn moored several spots farther down on the quay. Delanie and 30 of her men acquired horses and headed south to the small town of Breganz where the convent is located. They rode up into the courtyard scattering a dozen nuns and patients. Delanie divided her group and sent them off to look for Bonnet's cell. Delanie and the rest went looking for the Abbess.

Berks and his men swiftly met up with several priest and a woman. Berks whispered the code words about Percy. Alan Window, shrouded in a monks robe, stepped from the shadows and shook Berks hand. ‘We’ve checked the south and north wings. With your help we can find her soon and get her out of this cess pool.’

Berk and Alan divided their party and set off to check the remaining wings. Women and patients were shrieking as they moved from one cell to the next. Fights broke out between the guardians and the rescuers. But, like a hurricane they kept moving forward until Alan found a woman outside a cell, trying to pick the lock. The young girl was dressed in the rags of a patient and was mumbling.

He knelt down by the girl and turned her towards him. Her eyes were wide with fright but his soft words seemed to calm her. “Madam – don't be scared. Is this where Lady Bonnet is imprisoned?’

The girl eyes widened even more, ‘Yes, how do you know? Are you Alan?’

Alan nodded.

The girl burst into tears and hugged him, ‘Oh please I’m Eliza, and please I can’t hear her any more. She was making sounds earlier but now it is too quiet.’

‘Stand back and we will open the door.’

The men as one rushed the door. It took several tries until the wood splintered from the hinges. The group entered the six foot by four foot cell with a small rectangular window. The strong smell of opium hung heavy in the hair. A tendril of smoke filtered up into the air from a tin tray on a small desk in the corner. A candle flickered beside it. In the other corner a small straw mattress was located and they could make out the outline of a body on the mattresses. Eliza rushed over to the mattress and knelt down, and gently shook the woman lying there. It took a few moments but the sick woman regained some consciousness and turned to her rescuers.

She mumbled something as Alan knelt down noticing the lethargic reactions of the drugged lady.

Alan picked up Bonnet’s small figure, ‘We must get to the Katharyn. My doctor can help her there.’

The men with the two women slipped out into the courtyard towards the entrance. A single shot stopped them in their tracts. Berks looked toward the chapel and refectory. ‘Keep going, get to the Katharyn. Jock, you and Max with me, the rest get to the Passion and make her ready. Get moving.’

Delanie and her group, pistols and swords in hands, had made it past the chapel, scattering praying nuns and several monks as they went. They entered the refectory to find several nuns setting the long tables for the nuncheon. They screamed and fled. Delanie’s group rushed up the center aisle through the refectory into the Abbess's office and lodgings. Mother Bernadette was cowering in a corner, a pistol shaking in her hand.

Delanie lowered her own pistol and motioned for her crew to lower their own and back off, ‘Mother I have no plans to hurt you we just came for our friend.’

Bernadette kept her pistol trained on Delanie. ‘Why did you come here? We have done nothing wrong.’

‘You hold a decent woman against her will. She was imprisoned by your villainous brother and we her friends plan to see it set aright.’

‘My brother is a good man.’ Bernadette moved forward the pistol shaking more now.

‘Mother, put the pistol down. And we will retreat.’

Bernadette lowered the pistol to her desk, ‘Why do you disrupt the peace of our convent. You take patients away who need help. We give them help’

‘At what cost?’

‘I do not know what you speak of.’

‘What is the price these days Mother? How much do you take to hide away these women from men who would steal away everything they have?’

The Abbess started to shake and looked back at the pistol and then up at Delanie. ‘You are blind.’

‘No my dear she is not.’

A man stepped out of the shadows, his face hidden by the hood of a monk’s robe, a pistol extended from one hand.

‘If it wasn’t for these good women, the poor inflicted women would have no place to go.’ He slowly moved to the desk and picked up the other pistol and slipped it beneath the robes belt.

‘Now if I’m not mistaken you must be Delanie McCann.’

Delanie narrowed her eyes, something about the man, the voice seemed familiar. She nodded.

‘And you are, sir?’

The man laughed, sending shivers coursing down Delanie’s back, ‘Le loup noir.’

She raised her pistol but the Black Wolf was faster and the crack of a shot reverberated in the small office.

Delanie’s reaction wasn’t fast enough as she dove for cover and she felt the hot sting of bullet graze her arm. The abbess screamed and ducked behind her desk as more men forced themselves into the small room to go to their captain's aid.

The Black Wolf retreated into the recess of the hidden staircase with the men in hot pursuit. Hands reached to steady a staggering Delanie. Berks burst into the room from the outer hall, bellowing. ‘Spread out. Find him. You all right there, Captain?’

Delanie nodded, her teeth clenched, ‘Yes, it just a scratch and hurts like hell. Did you find Bonnet?’

‘Aye, they are taking her back to the Katharyn. I’ve sent some on ahead to ready the Passion. We should get out of here before the guards show up.’

The men returned moments later empty handed. ‘Sorry captain, he slipped away.’

‘It’s alright Charlie. There will be another day I’m sure.’

Delanie turned to the cowering Abbess, and threw a bag on the desk. It landed, opening spilling shiny silver coins on to the pieces of parchment. ‘You might need this in the future. Come on back to the Passion and England. We still have work to do.’

Miss Wright's journal

??

Not ten minutes ago, as I sat by the fire in Alice's cottage, a tired pigeon tumbled in through the cock-loft and made its way, limping slightly and shedding feathers everywhere, to the warmth of the hearth.

I espied attached to one leg a note with Delanie's seal and broke it open with trembling fingers.

Oh joy! Bonnet is saved! Such derring do in the face of extreme danger!

But who can this devilish Black Wolf be?

And what has become of Miss Vita? Could she have fallen victim to his terrible wiles and is even now in such danger as I found myself in but a short while ago?

I am determined to go to meet up with the rescue party and find out for myself if there is any connection between Sir Charles and this mysterious deadly stranger.

Breganz

??

The road was a ribbon of moonlight, the Hawk had chased off with Major M to the castle hearing the fighting within. Captain Knighton had gone to secure his ship, the Athena's Shield, for the return journey

Vita was standing as still as a statue, watching the local brothel keeper, Mrs Smagg, who, half drunk Mrs S lolled against a tree in the icy night

As she waited, impatient and abhorring the sounds of battle so far from her, there was the sound of hooves on the road.

She drew her cloak around her and stepped back against a tree melting into shadows, stomach tightening, for she heard no warning shot that the gentleman had promised would signal his return.

"You're done for now dearie" Mrs Smaggs mumbled and slumped in to a drunken sleep, Vita closed her eyes for a moment, fingered the pistol in her pocket and opened her eyes. She could make out the shape of a rider coming, cloak snapping in the wind, sword hilt glinting in the dark, and she recalled a warning from the old man ... .le loup noir rides for our destruction.

Sir Charles may merely have been instrument of that dark menace's skill. She looked at the rider and stepped out of shadows, pistol raised aimed for his heart ...

"Stop now sir" she cried, her voice clear in the night.

The horse was reined in abruptly, only feet away from her and the hood of the rider fell away revealing a face, illuminated by the moon. she had never forgotten though it was nearly five years since she had seen it.

"Madame Vita" the black wolf said smiling chillingly "you were meant to be dead my dear"

"Five years so " she whispered, and stared into that darkly handsome visage.

He looked so like Oliver, but Oliver, the twin of this man before her, was dead, as dead as she should have been, and this was merely his mirror image and nothing of his heart or soul ... .

"Apparently you miscalculated, Roland" she said softly in the chill and raised her pistol a little higher ...

He laughed, eyes hard

"A woman in ten thousand, Oliver used to say! How wrong he was, for surely there could not be a woman like you in a million, Vita"

With that, he slid off the back of the sleek stallion, careful to keep his hands in view,

She watched, cautiously keeping the pistol steady, while she wondered if her heart would ever thaw from this numbness.

But then really had it been free all these years? Looking on his face, Oliver's face, she thought not. She'd lost them both that night, one to the grave, the other to this darkness, and with them all her dreams.

"The fire" he said holding the bay's reins, his eyes black and shinning in the moonlight.

"I thought you'd died there with him, I thought I had lost you both"

She flinched as he echoed her thoughts, her fingers locked around the pistol beginning to go as numb as her heart.

"I was lucky,” she said baldly. “I was knocked unconscious. James saved me, burned himself in the effort, I would have died if I hadn't have been on the floor ... the smoke ... I heard ... I remember hearing Oliver call your name as they dragged you away.” Her voice broke, despite her best efforts to keep it steady. Why, Roland, why? After all they did, have you become what they were -"

She hated that her voice seemed filled by emotion, as if all she didn't dare let herself feel was transmuted in to words.

His face hardened at those words, and his eyes were veiled by a sweep of dark lashes.

"Because they gave me the means of revenge on those who killed Oliver ... and whom I thought killed you, and the price, my sweet, was that I become as black as they were".

He stepped forward, the bay edging nervously behind him and threatening to break free from his grip on the reins. Controlling the horse without looking away from her, he continued: "So what now, Vita? What will you do now with your pistol? End this finally? I'm already dead to everyone I ever knew, to you ... will you send me to meet my brother, are you that cold blooded these days"

"You think you're bound for heaven "Vita laughed mirthlessly "Le Loup Noir - the beast of hell - cannot dwell in heaven. Ollie - Ollie iis forever lost to you now, Roland".

She smiled and knew it didn't reach her eyes

"And I am not whom I was either. That girl died that night. So do not speak of cold blood, for mine is ice"

Both started, as somewhere in the distance there was a musket shot. Roland's dark eyes flickered towards the shot but, hers never wavered from him.

His knuckles shone white with the effort of holding the bay secure as the stallion tossed its head in the increasing wind.

"At a guess your companions" he murmured.

Vita inclined her head, ignoring the ache in her forearms from the pistol's weight.

He smiled, no longer coldly but with a twist of irony, a smile that Ollie had never had - but she had shared that smile a hundred times with Roland Wolfryd, shared his love of irony ... " “I fear they'll have my head when they arrive, I shot the lovely Captain Delanie" he continued

Vita's finger tightened on the trigger, pain lancing her chest. Was pain and fear all there was to be tonight ? The possibility of Delanie's death caused a new fear to be born, the only fear here on the moon-washed road, She'd never feared for own safety, and now it was no longer simply about that ...

Roland shook his head, directing her thoughts "She lives. My aim was for her arm and she moved in time to receive only a scratch"

It might be a lie, he was probably lying about his aim in any case, and if he wasn't could it matter - should it ... "What was the purpose of this whole plot?" she snapped,"To imprison Madame Bonnet? Why? And what is your part in all of it?"

Le loup noir chuckled sourly.

"Sir Charles is but a pawn of another, as are we all ... even you. If only I had realized that the Crown's agent was you, but I thought you dead"

"Did you, really, for all these years" Bitterness invaded her tone, she swallowed, throat, mouth and lips arid, "When simple inquiries would have revealed me alive and living in the rural idyll of Kentchurch. My real self has never been hidden," she tossed her head "Oh, a few know I am the Crown's Athena, few can know, but I was never hidden ... ."

"I thought you dead" he cut her off, eyes glinting, anger filling his words as he took a step towards her, appearing taller and broader as shadows hid his face.

"I never stopped to consider that you might live. I heard Ollie die, thought you as dead as he - they said you were, described each moment of your death to me and all I could think of throughout the torture, through all the hell - where I have already been my sweet, was of revenge. They stole all I'd ever loved, all I'd ever wanted from me and the only thing left was the desire for their destruction".

The bitterness of him, in him, made her tremble, and she tried to remain numb, because now she must not feel, it was too late for that now, they were both too far down separate roads.

In the distance there were the beats of several horses riding hard towards them. Vita moistened her dry lips and jerked the pistol to the side a little

" Step back!"

After a moment he did so watching her as she aimed at his heart, her thoughts racing, trying to forget the beat of it as she'd leant against his chest in the summer house on the day her grandfather, the man who'd brought her up had died. It was he, not Ollie, who had been off on a mission in Paris, who comforted her. Roland masqueraded as his brother to hoodwink the French spies who did not know that Lord Wolfryd was an identical twin. It had been such an effective use of the brothers, one posing as Lord Wolfryd while the other went off on missions. Both had done as much as the other, Roland was the elder, the real Lord of course, although since his presumed death his cousin held the title and ...

Someone stinking of drink grabbed her roughly from behind, so that she stumbled back, skirts catching.

"Damn!" Vita muttered as they hit the floor and cursed herself for forgetting the old lush.

As they fell the pistol went off and she dropped it as the recoil jarred her arm.

"She shot me!" Mrs Smagg shrieked, setting her ears ringing as they were only inches apart.

While the woman wailed,Vita rolled off her and lay panting on the floor clutching her side. Where was Roland?

She went to her knees and glanced to where he had been but there was only the horse, suddenly calm, as it stood alone.

A sense made her stiffen and she lashed out over her left shoulder but only caught the edge of a finger, he pulled her up, she half turned into him, struggling and stamped down on his instep. She heard his muffled oath as he twisted her to the trunk of a tree, one hand secured her wrists, a leg thrust between her skirts to keep her immobile. They faced each other in the shadows, so close she could see the details of his face, so bloody like Ollie's. Breathing hard she glared at him, and ceased struggling.

"I must go" he said in roughened accents, bent and brushed his lips over her. She gasped at the unexpected caress and his lips returned gently to hers but by now she had recovered enough to bite his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood - a warning that somehow become more than she thought it would. The taste of his blood on her lips shook her.

He drew back a little, smiling,

"A pity for you, my sweet, that I liked that" he whispered.

In the dark she felt a spark of something in her gut, and cursed her reaction to him,

"And now I must go"

He pulled her away and spun her, releasing her in the same movement.

She manged to stop herself in time to see his cloak flap in the rising wind as he mounted his horse rode off at a hasty pace,. She looked for her pistol and swore as she picked it up, knowing he'd be out of range by the time she loaded it.

On the floor Mrs Smaggs groaned, blood soaking into the hard ground and Vita watched Roland Wolfryd disappear around the roads bend, lost yet again but never forgotten. And with him the black wolf rode free.

Behind her she could hear the men nearing but her instincts told her they'd never catch him, even as she prayed that they did catch him , she half wanted that they never did,

She turned and her head won the battle,

"He's gone that way" she screamed to them. “ Quickly" - and signalled that she wanted to go with them. The major stopped, swung her up before him, astride, skirts hiked up,and they started off

"How is Delanie?" she asked above the wind ... ... .

****************************************

Delanie woke with a start; the veiled ghost of her dream receding into her subconscious. There was something lingering about the dream that gnawed at her stomach. She untangled the sheets from around her legs and staggered from her bunk to her wash basin. She splashed water on her face to wash away the light sheen of sweat from her temple and took a cloth to bathe the back of her neck. The coolness eased the heat of the thoughts that lingered from the dream. She had a vision of two people, an outline of two souls locked in combat, a giant and a mouse. The darkness, her inability to rush to give aid, seemed to drown her. She took several deep breaths, dressed quickly and walked out on to the deck of the Passion where she climbed to the helm and glared at Berks who simply growled back. ‘What time is it?’ She asked, her voice a mere croak.

He winced at the lack of voice, taking note of her pale features. ‘Not enough time for you to be getting some good rest.’

‘I’m fine.’ She scanned the northern horizon and made out the sails of the Katharyn off in the distance, half a mile ahead. The skyline of London loomed even farther. ‘As soon as we dock I want Jock, you and the others ready to ride. Pendleton per my instructions should be waiting and we leave for Sir Charles' estate as soon as able. Have the others ready the Passion and make for our usual haunts.’

‘Beggin' your pardon, Cap, but you are in no fit state to be going anywhere.’

‘I told you Berks, I’m fine. Make ready to dock, I have the helm.’

On the Katharyn, Alan Window stood at the deck scanning the sky darkening clouds. Frederick Jessop, his physician ambled up to him quietly, clearing his throat.

‘Storm is coming. May hinder us getting back to Kentchurch with Miss Bonnet and the others.’

Alan looked at his old friend, a slow smile creasing his handsome features. ‘How is she?’

‘The next few weeks will be hard but I think we can manage to wean her off the drug. I don’t relish the task but it must be done. I’ll take her off gradually.’

‘I have coaches and men waiting to escort you to Kentchurch. I think once she is in the bosom of her friends the task will be all the easier.’

‘Aye I hope so. How long till we dock?’

‘Two hours’

‘Then I best get her ready.’

The Thames was a bustle of activity, with ships of all kinds coming and going. Weaving in and out among the larger ships, small boats ferried people up and down the expanse of muddy water. The Katharyn and Passion slipped up to the quay and docked near McCann Shipping and Co. headquarters. A large contingent of men, horses and several coaches added to the congestion already hindering the flow of foot and animal traffic. Alan, Jessop, Eliza, disembarked first, allowing several of the crew to carry a sedated Bonnet to one of the coaches.

Delanie bounded down the ramp on to the quay only to stop short. It wasn’t the site of the men, the horses or Mr. Pendleton. It was the man beside him. Still feeling drained from the last few days, her knees almost buckled. Simon Maclean stood nonchalantly beside Mr. Pendleton glaring at her. His shoulder length ebony hair, usually neatly tied at the back of his neck, swayed about his shoulders with the breeze. This only added to his menacing look. Delanie could feel the hot probe of his silver eyes strip and expose her vulnerability. She swallowed as his six foot two inch frame gracefully walked towards her. She groaned when she spied a grinning Richard Stanhope, Peter Smythe and his brother, Jared bringing up the rear. She cursed.

‘Mr Pendleton, good I see you’ve had all my instruction and Mr Window's fulfilled. As soon as we see Eliza, Bonnet and …’ Delanie’s hoarse voice broke.

She coughed to clear it. Simon’s glare intensified and he looked at Berks. Berks rubbed his left arm, while Jock made the sign of a pistol firing; both nodded disapprovingly at Delanie. Simon’s body tensed; his fury now palatable in the air.

She was in trouble. She turned to make for her horse when two hands reached out and lifted her off her feet and draped unceremoniously over Simon’s broad shoulder.

Her voice all but gone she started to yell but her curse, ‘Dammit, Maclean, put…’ ended in a coughing fit.

Maclean turned to the coach and carried a squirming Delanie to it. He dumped her on her backside at the feet of Eliza, Jessop and a sleeping Bonnet. She started to scramble out but Simon's glare told her otherwise.

‘Do not even attempt to slither out of this coach and come with us!” The deep timbre of her voice sent chills coursing up and down her spine.

“I can tell by the lack of colour in your face that you’ve probably run yourself into the ground again even if you weren’t shot. I swear to God next time…I won’t be this merciful. You are going back to Kentchurch with the others while we handle this. This is no place for a…’ Simon hesitated, taking a deep breath, ‘a lady to be. You’ve had your adventure Delanie enough is enough.’

‘Simon? Simon!” Delanie’s hoarse voice shouted as he walked away.

Richard Stanhope stepped up and prevented Delanie from exiting.

‘Delanie you know it will do you no good to go against him. Why don’t you just obey him for once?’ He pushed her feet back. His eyebrow rose at a small gasp coming from Eliza’s end of the carriage.

‘Now get up and take a seat.’

He smiled at the young lady, taking in her pretty oval face, rich coffee brown hair and sparkling eyes and reached for her hand, softly kissing her knuckles, ‘Richard Stanhope, my lady. I hope you will remain at Kentchurch until we return after this nasty business.’

Eliza smiled, blushing and nodding, ‘I will be there until my friends are well.’

‘Good. I look forward to our first conversation.’

*****************************

They couldn't find the Black Wolf. It was only after The Hawk had pointed out that you might never find a man in the dark woods who knew them well that they'd called a halt, Mrs Smaggs was dead when they returned and then they'd chosen to make for the Athena's Shield in dock.

Vita spent the journey locked against either Hawk or Major Marlowe, riding in an unladylike pose, but no-one said a word about it and, after hearing what had transpired at the castle she sat silently staring ahead of her, the numbness spreading through her once more.

They set sail early and made excellent speed.

Delanie and her comrades had already sailed, she knew, and wondered how Simon would react to news of Delanie's adventure. But that would be between them, meddling on her part would do no good - but then what good had she done lately, discarding her part in the war? For five years she had been as driven as Le Loup Noir, she had poured all her need for vengeance into her spying, into defeating the Corsican's spies, to the great game of chess she'd played with those other spymasters, and now it was over and what had she left? The answer left her hollow.

Once they docked in England she went down to meet the welcoming party.

Maclean stood waiting, silver eyes hard and folded arms

"Hello Vita, I assume your bruises are hidden by that very nice gown and pelisse - perfect for traveling to Kentchurch"

A brow rose and, at her driest, she said "Unlike Delanie, Maclean, I am not yours to order. The Old Man gives me my orders and, besides, I now know who the Black Wolf is ... .Do you?"

He straightened, eyes narrowed, aggression in every line of his form

"How? Who, for God's sake, Vita, who is the bastard who shot Delanie – for, whoever he is, he's mine."

Vita sighed wearily, because she had on the journey accepted what must be done and that she would be the one to do it

"I am afraid, Maclean, in that I must thwart you. He's mine and his death is also mine.

Maclean rubbed his chin, looking down at the slender but determined woman.

‘Some day I hope you and Delanie will explain this to me. Sir Charles is definitely mine to deal with. He is responsible for a very good friend’s betrayal and subsequent death. We ride hard and if you cannot keep up, I have no qualms leaving you behind. And I won’t hesitate to eliminate our mutual problem. Do you understand me? You have ten minutes to change into something more suitable to travel in.’

Vita dashed off to the McCann office to change into a riding habit and returned to find Simon and the others mounted on and bellowed to her, ‘Mount up!’

Vita shivered at the cold edge to his voice as she found her horse and eased into the saddle. How did Delanie find any warmth in this man?

They rode north west through London and just made the turnpike to Parleton Abbey as the heavens opened up in a torrential downpour. Lightning streaked the sky and thunder rumbled as the wind picked up and tore leaves and branches from surrounding trees. The horses were skittish and a tight rein was needed to keep them under control. Their efforts were slowing as the animals laboured under the grueling pace. For the hundredth time, Vita wiped the rain from her eyes. She was soaked to the bone and wanted nothing more than to reach the Abbey. Her anger seethed in her heart as her mind played over and over the images, the emotions; the torment of the last few years. They stopped at a small coach inn to change horses and soon the flickering lights of Parleton came into view.

They stopped at a little knoll of woods overlooking the original manse. The rain continued but the lightning and thunder had abated. Vita found it hard to see anything but her keen sense of intuition picked up movement in the trees around her. She pulled her pistol out of her waist band and kept it hidden beneath her coat. Simon dismounted and walked to five men approaching the group. Their conversation was muffled by the downpour but Vita could just make out that the men had been scouting the area and several riders had arrived not more than an hour ago. Simon walked over with one of the men who wore a thick cloak of grey. Vita gasped. for he was nothing but a boy; his cloak hiding his dress of footmen.

‘Well, little mouse here is where you get your chance. This boy says three men entered the house just an hour ago; one, he knows, has visited Sir Charles on various occasions. Whether he is our Wolf or not is for you to determine. He’ll sneak you in the back and conceal you in a maid’s outfit. If it is him, do not hesitate to kill him. I don’t want to have to explain your death to Delanie. You have twenty minutes to get in position before I make a late night social call on Sir Charles.’

Vita looked askance him as he loomed over her and shook her head

"We can't kill him yet - or even Sir Charles. One or both of them are aware of who is behind this whole operation. You may want them both dead but use your head, man, this is not about Delanie, there is far more at stake. We only kill them if we have to - or would you go against the Old Man?"

Nothing was going to be simple any more. She wished she could end this with a pistol, allow the anger she felt freedom but the price was too high

"Now, Maclean, do you want to know who the wolf really is, or do you prefer to face a nameless nemesis? Or are you going to interrogate a man who withstood torture at the hands of men better skilled in the art than you. He was once one of our best men, one of two best men. You may capture Sir Charles, but le loup noir is another matter, besides we may need one or both to lead us to their master. Well?

She refused to be quelled by the silver eyes. She had grown up among men who were as Maclean and had learned that they often allowed their hearts to rule their heads. his involvement with Delanie complicated this, and he seemed unable to admit his true feeling for her despite how apparent it was. Perhaps she should meddle in their affair - but not here, not now.

She stood astride, hands on her generous hips, breeches clinging to them in the rain and allowed her challenge to stand ...

Maclean chuckled, "All right little mouse, I'll not kill the man, yet. You're mistaken, Vita, my time as one of Lord Wellesley's men gives me some expertise in interrogation techniques.

She nodded "We may also have to convince Sir Charles that it would be in his best interest to join us ... bribe him"

Her lips twisted “His sort will always come for gold, and Le Loup Noir ... "she stared off into the distance ...

*****************************

“The papers, madam! Give them to me.”

Arabella Right looked wildly around the tiny parlour and then back at the scowling face of Sir Charles Bonnet, whose broad shoulders filled the doorway. His head was slightly bent, to allow him to enter the low room but, even so, he exuded menace.

Contempt sparked in his gaze as she made no reply, and he looked around.

He smiled at the sight of the journal which lay on the rug by the hearth where she had dropped it on his sudden entrance. Two steps took him so close to her that she stepped back involuntarily. The smell of burning warned her that her dress was too near the flames of the fire.

He nodded at her book. “Pick it up!”

”It's not that ... ”

”Pick it up, I said!”

Dumbly, she twisted away from him and from the heat of the fire, and bent to obey him.

As she rose his hand shot out and caught her by the wrist. He fingers gripped her so hard that she thought he would break her hand, and she gritted her teeth lest any exclamation of pain escape her. With his other hand, he snatched her journal and, still keeping a firm grip of her, glanced down at it before casting it aside.

”Diaries and dreams! Foolish woman! Where are the papers the bishop sent you?”

Anger came to her aid, and she wrenched her arm from his grip.

”How dare you burst in here!”

He slapped her so hard that for a moment she saw stars.

”I don't have time to waste on you. Fetch or give me the papers or, by God, I'll burn this cottage down with you in it!”

”I don't have them -”

He slapped her again. “Liar. My men intercepted that whining rector and took the copy you gave him. Where is the original?”

”You know what they contain?” she asked, stunned.

”Of course. Stupid, stupid girl ... ”

”You ... ”

He grasped her arm again and, swiftly turning her round, bent it up behind her back. ”Give ... me ... the ... papers!”

”I haven't got them!” she said, her voice high with pain. “The copy I sent them to the rector was the only one ... ” Too late, she realised her danger and cursed her slip.

He let go of her arm and pushed her down into the chair she had occupied earlier.

”Then I have the only copy?”

She folded her lips and said nothing. He stepped back a little and regarded her.

”I have the only copy, and you are the only person, besides the Bishop - and he is easily bought off - who knows what they contain ... ”;

”No!”

He raised one eyebrow. ”I think, yes.”

Her horrified gaze followed his hand as he slowly withdrew a thin poniard from his belt. As he glanced down at the shiny blade, she tried to bolt, pushing herself up and out of her chair as if shot from a gun. Her skirts hampered her, and she tripped. As she did so she felt the knife slide in to her side, as cold as the man who wielded it. As she fell she heard him laugh and half saw him bend to pick something up from the hearth. He swore, and dropped it. To her horror she saw fire lick out from the burning log he had dropped, setting flames into the rag rug a few inches from her face.

”Goodbye, Miss Wright, “ Sir Charles said softly as he stepped over her. ”This time, we shall definitely not meet again ... “

Roland Wulfryd ran a hand through his tumbled black curls as he leant against a tree in the churchyard, shadowed and unseen and watched the cottage Sir Charles had entered. The man was not merely a villain but also filled with greed, and such men often dug their own graves, buried under their gold. The scent of a violets hung in the spring air, a small patch besides his booted feet - a scent remembered of silky long air and soft pale skin, misty eyes ... .she lived, she breathed, he'd touched her after five years, his lip was still marked where she had bitten him. She would have shot him. The girl he had known wouldn't have, but the woman with her medieval saint's beauty would have ... Ollie what has become of us, he thought desolately staring at the cottage waiting for the man to leave. Ollie should have lived , but Ollie hadn't been on that last mission,and he hadn't known what they wanted, whereas Roland had. From the start he'd expected death in this game, the stakes were too high, the play too deep, but then he hadn't known she'd lived, they'd kept him ignorant of that, for good reason ...

Sir Charles, a smirk on his face, came out of the house, walked in the opposite direction, whip beating against his thigh. Roland watched him move out of view. Then he smelled smoke, his head snapped round to the cottage to see the thatch catch fire. He swore and ran. The house was filled by smoke so he ripped his cravat off and put it to his mouth. He could recall in chilling detail seeing another fire as they dragged him away. From somewhere a female voice called out weakly and for a moment he thought it her voice ... And through the smoke he saw a figure lying coughing weakly on the floor, the fire creeping up on her, He ran and scooped her up. She was so slender that she weighed little more than a child Her cap was askew, curls slipping free, she grasped his lapels feebly, he spun and ran from the burning building, out in to the clean air ... ... ...

**************************

The young man in Hussars uniform stared with total dismay at the weeping woman.

”Nothing? Nothing remains? And what of the lady?”

”I don't know, sir,” she sobbed. “I was out in the fields when someone called out to me about the fire. I ran back but ... I couldn't get in. The men were already dousing it with water but it was too late to save. Everything's gone! I've lost everything! Me and my son we're homeless.”

Cavendish felt in the pocket of his waistcoat, pulled out a small notebook and began scribbling hard. ”What is your name, mistress?”

”Alice - Alice Jones, sir.” She bobbed a curtsy, still weeping, her face blackened with the smoke that had consumed her home.

”And your son?”

”Rob. He's only eight.”

”Good.” He wrote a few words more, tore out the piece of paper, folded it in three and gave it to her.

”I am sending you with one of my men to a safe house. Don't worry. The man who did this will be caught and will pay and you will have your home again.”

He looked over to where the two men who had accompanied him stood holding their horses and gazing with dismay almost equal to his at the burnt wreckage of the cottage, and called to them.

”Hitchins!”

”Sir?”

One of the men handed the reins of his horse to his companion, and came forward and saluted.

”I want you to take this woman and her son” - he looked around - ”I guess you'll have to find him first - to the inn. See they have a good room and a meal, and stand guard. I suspect they were innocent parties to all this, but you never know.”

He looked down at the women, who was staring bemusedly at him. “Mistress Jones, find your son and go with Sergeant Hitchins here. He will provide you with lodging for tonight and tomorrow we will see what we can do to repair your fortunes.”

He cut short her tearful thanks, and walked forward, into the ashes of the cottage, searching for clues. After a few moments he bent, and picked up a small, blackened book. Turning the pages carefully, for some of them were loose and all were charred, he leafed through until he reached the last page on which anything was written ...

As I sit here by the fire in Alice ... I have good reason to count ... Jones has looked after me most kind ... repayment, but I ... w roof ...

But ... of Ripon, who has ... alive that dear B ... , Eliza, Mr Window and who ... evidence ... spying ... danger ... testify against England's enemies, ... I bring him the means of escaping the gallows ...

***********************

”No, no ... ”

Arabella tried to sit up, but it hurt too much and she slipped back down again on to the coat he had lain down for her in the copse.

The small group of trees provided cover, Roland hoped, from anyone searching for them. As far as he knew, no-one had seen him flee the burning cottage with the girl in his arms, and until he found out a little more about his unexpected burden, he wished for no interruptions. The fields nearby were quiet and from the edge of the trees he could have a view of the road which, in the gathering dusk, had been traversed only by a boy leading a cow and two ploughmen trudging home from their day's labours.

”Lie still,” he said, almost crossly, as he examined the knife-wound through her torn gown. It was deep, but had almost stopped bleeding. ”You'll make it worse if you struggle ... ”. He pulled out his own knife and shrugged off his waistcoat and then his shirt. Slitting it carefully around the cuff, he fashioned a pad of linen which he applied carefully to the young woman's wound.

”I have papers,” she said, her voice muffled as she lay on her front, allowing him to tend her wound.

”Papers?” He was hardly listening as he slit more strips to bind the pad in place.

”Sir Charles ... ”

”You're safe,” he soothed her, regarding his handiwork with a frown. It would hold for now.

”Help me up,” she said and grimaced as she turned, carefully. With one hand she felt, just as carefully, round to her hip, where the icy pain was easing a little.

Slightly against his better judgment he eased her to a sitting position.

”Thank you,” she said earnestly, looking at him. ”May I know your name, sir? I think I think you have just saved my life!”

He nodded, grimly. “Roland Wulfryd at your service, madam. And, yes, without boasting, I may say I did. I would like to know, if you feel well enough, who you are, what you were doing in a cottage where you clearly don't belong, and why Sir Charles tried to kill you.”

”I have papers,” she said again, and then, suddenly burst into tears. Between sobs, she gave him her name and tried to explain more but, seeing his brows crease in puzzlement, still sobbing, leant forward a little, winced and said, to his astonishment, ”Please, sir unlace my dress at the back!”

He hesitated a moment.

”Papers!” she sobbed. “Please, sir, do as I ask. I am not mad, nor wanton!”

Shrugging, and then with a gleam of comprehension, he moved around her, knelt, and began gently to do as she asked.

And as her gown began to gape open at the back, he smiled. For there, flattened against her underthings and held in place by her lacing, was a slender pad of papers, with a handwriting he recognised.

”They incriminate Sir Charles in the Black Wolf spying scandal,” she said as she felt him withdraw the pad she had hidden so carefully and cunningly. “I was going to take them to him.”

”Do they indeed,” said Roland thoughtfully as he turned the papers over in his hand. “What , exactly, do you know of the Black Wolf and, for God's sake, why give them to Sir Charles?”

”To persuade him - to force him, I hoped, finally to grant his wife a separation, and to save ... “

She broke off and looked up in fright as the sound of horses' hooves was heard, and a woman's voice called out.

The smoke filled the still damp air, though the rain had ceased a half hour before Vita stopped in her trek to Sir Charles's house and looked in the direction of the flames. She could see them over the tops of the trees and she grimaced and plunged in to the woodland, instincts drawing her to the fire It took her too long to get there although she ran as quickly as she could. The path was treacherous and she almost fell twice but she broke from the tree line to see the house engulfed in flames. A cough to her left had her turning, meeting dark eyes she hadn't expected, her pistol already in her hand. Then she caught sight of the woman besides him, Arabella Right, sooty and frail in her sprigged muslin gown, blood darkening the delicate fabric at her side.

Vita's gaze went back to Roland, in his tight form-fitting black garb, naked to the waist, muscles rippling under bronzed skin but his face smudged with soot, and she coughed uncontrollably for a moment.

"I thought I smelt violets". His voice cracked on the words. "Where's Maclean?"

"Do you really want to die? " she slashed and put her pistol away, going to her knees besides Bella. "What happened?"

"Sir Charles ... " He rubbed his lip where there was a mark. She flushed as he caught her gaze and smiled "He must badly want her dead. She fainted but I dressed the wound as best I could"

"He would. Who's at the bottom of this, Wulfryd?"

Vita checked Bella's wound. By some miracle it was clean and hadn't bled much "Well?"

She looked up as she replaced the linen pad over the bloody cut.

His dark eyes glinted, "Vita, the game's gone deep. The Corsican might have been removed but the game's still being played. Have you heard of Baron Brocken?"

She hesitated and he grinned dryly. "Coy these days, Vita?"

"Careful," She corrected, cutting off her rising emotions. "Yes, I know of him, a recluse who has certain beliefs ... He started a club in Vienna called the Club of the Beast."

"He worships dark forces". said Roland, nodding.

Hoof beats that she hadn't heard earlier became apparent and she looked at him. He produced from behind him a wad of paper,

"The lady's," he said rising, "I believe that they may be soldiers" he added looking through the wood.

Vita closed her eyes, gathering her strength "Then stay " she said opening them and looking straight at him,. No one knows who you are but me here, you can disappear later, but stay for now."

"For five years I've been a double agent for Britain - would you have me destroy all that now ... " He looked at her, suddenly white as she realized the truth.

Maclean divided his men and sent several to the house to check things out. He, Jock, Berks and the rest pulled out their pistols, and rode hard in the direction of the flames, following the path where Vita had disappeared. They burst through the forest to find her kneeling over a prone woman and partially clad man standing nearby. Both were singed with soot.

Maclean narrowed his eyes at the man, his pistol not wavering as he dismounted. Jock and Berks followed, fanning out to cover him and keep the stranger in their sights.

Vita rose, pale and steady and gestured to Roland. "It's all right. He's one of the Old Man's operatives and saved Miss Wright here from death." As she spoke the woman on the ground groaned "Sir Charles wanted her papers ,these ... " she tucked them away. Maclean, why did you follow me? We arranged to meet in the house."

She raised a brow and prayed he trusted her enough not to question her too closely

Berks growled, 'Thats the man that shot the Captain."

Maclean's eyes narrowed, his lips pursed into a snarl. He got closer to Roland, his pistol still level with the bare chest. Vita, torn, froze, a look of sheer terror on her face. She could see Maclean's chest rise in measured breathes, his nostrils flaring and feel the tension between the two. She contemplated stepping between them but wavered.

Maclean got closer and tipped Roland's chin up, allowing the light from the fire to illumine his dark face.

'You son of a bitch!'

Before anyone could react, he cracked the other on the jaw with the butt end of his pistol sending him sprawling to the muddy ground.

Vita gasped, her gut reaction sending her kneeling by his side.

'Why did you do that!' She positioned herself between Simon and Roland, knowing full well the fury that raged in his gut. Richard dismounted and tried to restrain Simon as Delanie's sailors tried to get a clear shot of the man on the ground.

A pistol shot wrenched the air apart as more men burst into the vale of fire, led by Alan, who shouted, 'Stop all of you. What is going on here?'

He dismounted and stepped between Vita and Simon.

'Explain yourself Maclean."

A deep moan drew all of their attention as Miss Wright regained consciousness. Alan stepped past them and knelt at the lady's side. He took off his coat and draped it over her body to keep her warm. He turned back to the melee and demanded answers.

Roland had come around and was staggering to his feet. 'Its a bit complicated."

"Enough" Vita snapped, getting her own pistol out as she glanced at Miss Wright.

Maclean glared at Roland, murder in his eyes.

She reined in her emotions. When he'd gone for Roland it was like seeing Ollie taken again ...

"Oliver!" Maclean said suddenly, shock leaving him stumbling back "by God you're dead ... "

"You knew Ollie?" Vita said, staring at him. "It's not Ollie - it's Roland, his brother"

Maclean shook his head "They both died - Sir Charles ... " He frowned at Vita and parroted her question "You knew Ollie?"

Miss Wright coughed and Alan went to her, knelt, and murmured "My dear what happened?"

Vita closed her eyes "My God Simon ... you were Ollie's comrade on his missions," she opened her eyes, all these years and she hadn't known "I was ... we were ... that is we had an understanding"

"Verity" he whispered, realization lighting his eyes.

She nodded, but his gaze had already flicked to Roland and he took a menacing step towards him

"So what are you doing alive and shooting MY..shooting Delanie?” He remembered something and stopped. 'You died. I saw both of you buried. I was there."

Roland shoulders sagged, 'No I faked my own death." He tried to take a step towards his old friend, but a piercing stare from Maclean held him fast. 'There is a lot I need to tell you Simon. What is Delanie to you anyway?'

'That is none of your affair. Out with it, man, before I have her men shoot you were you stand."

Roland worked his chin trying to ease the pain of Simon's hit out, 'She has been getting in my way. She only knows me for what I appear to be, the Le Loup Noir; the black wolf. A traitor to the British. I had to shoot her to keep up appearances so I could get to the source of who betrayed my brother, your best friend."

Vita's eyes went from one man to the other

"Ollie was killed because of your masquerade," she said slowly "They wanted information from you so they kept you alive ... or -" She closed her eyes and swore an oath as good as any of the men could have, and shook her head "It wasn't just about that was it? Ollie said he didn't want me involved any more, we argued.."

She broke off, pain lashing her. She'd never been able to forgive herself for that argument, it had been their last conversation. Her eyes snapped open. "So he knew someone was betraying the Crown, a spy master who?" ... She looked first at Roland, then Maclean. "I don't need protecting, gentlemen ... I've more kills than you for one Maclean"

"Who's Delanie? " Roland asked softly

Vita shrugged. "Maclean's beloved, if he ever manages to say the words," she snapped losing her temper with them both.

Swimming in and out of consciousness, torn by the pain in her side, Arabella tried to make sense of what was going on. The gathering dark made it difficult to see, and she had lost the comforting presence of her rescuer. Her main emotion was one of fear that among those in the glade might be Sir Charles ...

The emotions fizzing back and forth between the men and the woman dazed her. At one point someone bent and draped a coat over her. She accepted the warmth gratefully and slid back into unconsciousness for a few moments until words cut into her as sharply as the knife had done.

" ... She knows me ... Le Loup Noir "

It was the man who rescued her who had spoken - the man to whom she had given the papers detailing the murders and betrayals by the ring of spies bearing that name. If he ... she lay very still, trying to understand. What had she done?

Summoning up what strength was returning to her, hidden by the capes of the coat draped over her, she worked one hand very slowly down her side and into the folds of her skirts, underneath which lay, close against one thigh, the knife she had armed herself with much, much earlier that day. It would be a hard throw from this position, but she had practised, long years ago with her now dead brother, playing games of highwaymen and soldiers in the woods around Kentchurch.

She found the knife and freed it. Its hilt nestled comfortingly in her hand. Small, and sharp, it had been Jack's once. He had taught her to take a rabbit with it at twenty-five paces, and to score unerring bulls eyes with it nine times out of ten. If only the light was better!

Another man was speaking now, a hard authoritative voice questioning the woman, and then she shuddered as someone was knocked down. Someone shouted, and she took advantage of the confusion to move on to her front, supporting herself with her left arm, freeing her right hand with the knife in it ... She ignored the fresh pain in her side, feeling the warm blood run down her hip as the wound opened again.

The woman was speaking now.

" ... a spy master ... I don't need protecting ... "

Arabella closed both her eyes for a moment, picturing the group as she had last seen them - two men to her right, facing each other, and the woman half in between them.

"Help me, Jack" she whispered, and threw the knife, as fast and true as she could.

Roland smiled at his friend. He drew a hand through his dark hair, wondering how in the world they had all gotten to this point in their lives. 'Simon, believe me I did not want to do it."

Maclean started to prowl, walking back and forth, trying to cool his anger. A glint of steel against the fire caught his eyes, he turned abruptly, shouting, 'Roland!'

Roland reacted instinctively, diving at Vita moving them out of the way as the knife flew harmlessly over his left shoulder. His smouldering eyes bore into Vita; his message all to clear. She glared back and shrugged out of his embrace.

Roland stepped cautiously over to the woman on the ground who had just tried to kill him. She had slumped back, barely conscious. 'Lass, lie easy, now." He turned to the other men. 'We should get her some place warm ... "

Sir Charles lit his cigar, threw the spill into the fire and walked over to one of the long windows that looked out on to the terrace at Kentchurch. Outside, light summer rain fell on the smooth green lawns. In the distance, two gardeners worked steadily along a border, protected from the wet by sacks shrouding their shoulders, tidying and clipping and, hidden from him to the right, he could hear a peacock's raucous cry. For a moment he relaxed, and let the peace of the late afternoon flood into him. The house was quiet. Upstairs somewhere lay Mrs Right, heavily sedated with laudanum in the shrouded gloom of her room, the sunshine shut out by bed curtains and blinds. She had been hysterical, of course, when he broke the news of the death of her daughter to her. How she had clung to him, alternately sobbing and thanking him for his support! He inhaled deeply, as if to cleanse the sickly smell of the lavender water she wore from his nostrils. Stupid woman!

He honestly regretted Arabella's death and his own angry decision to burn the cottage. A pretty girl, her dislike of him had made her only more attractive ... he would have enjoyed forcing her to obey him as his wife ... He had groomed her for the position carefully, even as he courted Maria. It had been so simple to arrange the hunting accident that killed her brother and left her sole heiress to Kentchurch. The boy was a bruising rider and, at eighteen, careless of his own safety. A rope, pulled taut at the last moment over a hedge, and horse and rider had gone tumbling, one to break its back and the other to break his neck. The horse had thrashed around, but the boy had died instantly there had been no need to finish him off and Charles had slipped away to return to his own horse, which had been lamed by a stone rammed up into its hoof, and ridden off quietly through the copse, to be astonished and saddened later at home when the dreadful news of the death of the heir to Kentchurch on the hunting field had been brought to him ...

But that thought drove away the peace and returned him to his present concerns. Somewhere in the neighbourhood another sick woman lay, hidden from him. His so-called wife where was she and that wretched slip of a girl she kept with her? He had men out spying, making themselves useful in kitchens and stables of the houses around, looking and listening for anything that might be said or whispered to give him a clue as to Lady Maria's whereabouts.

The sun, not that there had been much of it today, had sunk now and the gardens were darkening, the lawn blackening in the rain, which was growing heavier. The gardeners had moved away and a late blackbird sang from the protection of the creepers covering the front of the house. Tonight! Tonight he would move, whether he had firm information or no.

He turned as the door opened and his lawyer, William Simpson, entered and bowed.

Sir Charles nodded at him and, not bothering with a greeting, asked: “You have the papers drawn up?”

Mr Simpson, a spare, pale-faced man in his late thirties, dressed neatly and with no flourish in dusty black, let his mouth stretch into a thin smile and set his bag down on one of the console tables, pushing aside a bowl of pot-pourri as he did so. He opened the bag and drew out a leather-bound folder.

“The instrument is here, yes, sir.”

“Good.”

Sir Charles rang the bell and, when a footman entered, said: “Instruct whoever is caring for Lady Wight that I wish her to be awoken and made ready to see me as soon as possible.”

The footman bowed, and left the room, and Charles walked over to where Simpson had opened the folder and was tidying the papers with his thin fingers.

“Just two signatures are all you require, sir,” he said. “Here ... ” and, turning to a second page, here ... ”

“And those will give me full control of Kentchurch and the lady's fortune? There can be no objections that will stand?”

Simpson smiled again and looked down his thin nose to the papers.

“None, sir. You will have power of attorney over all Lady Wright's assets, and complete and immediate access to her money.”

“Excellent.”

Charles rang the bell again and instructed the same footman, who reappeared promptly, to take Mr Simpson into one of the smaller salons and fetch him anything he required.

“Thank you, Simpson. I will summon you again when required.”

He threw the butt of his cigar into the fire, and stretched. He had made mistakes and that damnable, interfering rogue Maclean had come rather too near him for his liking once or twice, and was still pursuing him but all was back on track. He had the papers poor Arabella had concealed. As he suspected, these did contain damning evidence which would have taken him to the gallows. Clearly, he was now persona non grata with his former master, the Baron, who was prepared to betray him. But Charles had his own, carefully compiled, stock of evidence that would be made available to the authorities soon as soon as he found and killed Lady Maria, and took control of Kentchurch. He stretched. Things were still going his way. His most valuable asset, the Black Wolf, was exactly where he should be in the heart of the enemy camp. He smiled as he heard a commotion from upstairs the sound of a woman's screaming and sobbing floating down to him through the open windows. Good. Lady Wright was awake again. He would send for Simpson to accompany him upstairs, carrying papers, ink and pens ... Kentchurch was almost his ...

*************************************

“You tried to kill him!” Vita accused her friend, glaring at her, pacing up and down beside the four-poster bed.

“Yes!” Arabella glared as ferociously back, her face as white as the pillow on which her head rested. She struggled into a sitting position, her expression creasing with pain from the unhealed wound in her side. “He's the Black Wolf!”

“No! - yes. Yes, but it doesn't matter,” cried Vita.

“Doesn't matter! He's a spy – he's killed ... so many ... Bonnet ... Sir Charles”. Arabella's incoherence stopped as she burst into tears and lay down again.

Vita wanted to hit her and comfort her, all at once. “You don't understand,” she said, finally, and turned away to stop the tears welling up into her own eyes. “He's not – not a bad man ... It's – complicated -”

“I don't care,” sobbed Arabella.

“Oh!” Vita was furious again. “He saved your life!”

Arabella sniffed. “Yes. Yes, he did. Then I'm ... sorry.” But she clung tenaciously to her cause. “But he's still the Black Wolf – still our enemy.”

Vita came back to the bed and sat down, taking the other girl's hand in hers, and sighed. “Listen. You remember Roland and Oliver Wulfryd?” She saw Arabella nod, and went on. “Well, that was Roland you tried to kill.” She saw Arabella about to say something, and went on. “Wait. I'll explain. Roland and Oliver were both spies. It was very useful to the Old Man to have identical twins as no-one was ever sure which was where. Lord Wulfryd could appear at a reception in London and at the same time travel to Paris under letters of accreditation to act for the British Government. No-one would suspect him of being a Government agent. But either Roland or Ollie could play the part.” She stopped, her heart sore and angry again at her friend for raising memories she had long buried.

Arabella frowned. “And when Oliver was killed?

“Roland survived,” said Vita, the effort to suppress emotion making her voice hard and cold. “And went under cover. Deep under cover. He was tortured and turned – or so they thought. But all the time he was working for us. All the time. Even I ... I didn't know.” She stopped, swallowing hard.

Arabella was silent for a few minutes, for which Vita was grateful as it allowed her to master herself. “Do you see, now?”

“Mr Maclean knew?”

“By the time you threw the knife, yes,” said Vita dryly. There was another silence between the two, and Vita could hear little but the fire crackling in the grate and, beyond the drawn blinds at the open windows, a blackbird singing.

“I've been thinking,” said Arabella, softly. “Between Delanie's leaving Kentchurch and the start of this affair, when I began to worry about Bonnet I had written to my aunt, Lady Cowper, asking her to put me in touch with her man of affairs. He used to act for my father and then for Jack, but my mother said she wanted someone nearer to Kentchurch and – oh, that doesn't matter. Anyway, I thought he would be in a position to enquire about Sir Charles. It was he who first told me that he believed Bonnet had been abducted and that it was Sir Charles who had done it, in order to get hold of her money. But ... ” she frowned again and picked at the linen sheet that covered her ... ”Nothing – nothing I've heard or discovered explains how the Bishop of Ripon has become involved in the matter!” She looked up at Vita. “The original letter I received mentioned that Sir Charles had approached him for help in restraining Bonnet – but that doesn't make sense. Bonnet was already imprisoned by then. And why should he write to me to reassure me after I was freed from Parleton Abbey – unless it was to make sure that I would stay where I was – somewhere safe, I thought – but somewhere Sir Charles knew he could find me. And the papers he sent me – papers, I thought, would implicate Sir Charles in the spying ring and so enable me to blackmail him into letting Bonnet go – were false, weren't they?”

“Utterly false,” said Vita, her heart beating very fast.

“I've been such a fool all along,” said Arabella in despair. “Doing what I was told, doing what I thought was best – placing myself and everyone in danger – all unnecessarily!”

“I don't think so,” said Vita, standing up again and thinking hard. “Undoubtedly you were a threat to Sir Charles, for you were obviously not to be deterred from acting over Bonnet. And ... ” she regarded her friend doubtfully ... ”And it is true that he declared himself to you, isn't it?”

Arabella shuddered. “Yes. He came to me six months ago, practically in tears, telling me that poor Bonnet had not long to live and that he depended on me to help him overcome his grief and take her place as Lady Bonnet. And when I refused, he simply laughed, and said he had a reputation for getting what he wanted and would have me whether I agreed or not ... ”

“I think he saw a way of killing several birds with one stone – ensure Bonnet's death, marry you and add Kentchurch to his estate and be safe from any accusations you might care to make about Bonnet's death – for as his wife you could not have testified against him ... ”

“And when he thought I was too determined to find out the truth – he tried to kill me,” finished Arabella.

“But he must have known the papers you had were false,” mused Vita.

“Ye-es. Or ... have you read them all?”

“No. Why?”

“I wonder ... maybe they weren't all false. Maybe his master, whoever that is, sees Sir Charles as expendable ... ”

Vita looked at her. “I think I probably forgive you for trying to kill Roland, now! You're right. There has to be something in that packed of papers which will lead us to the Baron!”

Arabella smiled, and lay back against the pillows. “At last I've done something right.”

Vita was halfway out of the room when she looked back, and grinned. “I'm sure there must be lots of other people you ought to apologise to, Miss Wright ... would you like me to ask Mr Window to visit you?”

She had closed the door before she saw the guilty colour suffuse the other girl's face.

As she walked into the garden beyond the house, chewing her lip introspectively, she winced as her ankle twinged again. Twisted some time back, it had yet to fully heal. If only that was her sole worry, she thought.

“Well, little mouse, what are you thinking" a gruff voice asked as she entered the shade of the arboretum. She rolled her eyes and turned to meet Maclean's grey eyes.

"Do I really remind you of a mouse?" she asked wryly," or it is simply that you enjoy annoying me?"

A slash of colour scored his high cheeks, his usually steady eyes shifted and she grinned, smothered a laugh, knew she'd hit the mark and gave up pretending she didn't care

"Oh lord, the great deadly Simon Maclean stooping to annoyance, oh my!"

"Does she always avoid questions this well?" Maclean asked over her shoulder, a winged brow raised in a parody of one of her dry looks.

Her stomach tightened, and she didn't need to turn to know who was behind her.

"When it comes to the tricks she was always good" Roland said behind her "Well, Vita, what are you thinking?"

She looked down at the mossy path, felt the shelter of the large trees around her, and suddenly felt so tired, as if she could sleep for a year and wake unrefreshed.

The game's too long in play to pull out now, she thought and sighed

"I'm thinking that you, Lord Wulfryd have not told us everything yet, such as who Sir Charles's master is - and now we need to know."

She looked up at Maclean "It's the last hand, gentlemen, so let us manage this with some semblance of grace and flair."

Maclean walked slowly out of the garden, leaving Roland and Vita to figure out their own lives. He needed to talk to Arabella, but what good would that do? Did she know where Sir Charles had gone? He took the stairs two at time as he raced up to her room. He softly rapped his knuckles on her door and waited for permission to enter. It came in a soft, trembling voice. He opened the door a bit,

”Miss Wright,I need to talk to you, may I come in."

There was a slight hesitation, “Ah ... yes."

The room bespoke the grandeur Sir Charles liked to live in. It was gaudy to Simon. His stomach turned. Everywhere were priceless pieces of art and antiquities. He knew the man was heavy in debt, gambling and purchasing way beyond his means. He knew he needed Bonnets money but that had been withheld for a long time now. How was he affording his household.

“What did you want, Mr. Maclean?'

Maclean turned at the small voice. “I.."

He looked at Arabella and something clicked in his brain. Events of four years ago came rushing back to him; a clandestine meeting with Oliver or was it Roland. The voices echoed in his mind.

“Simon ... listen to me ... all the words you don't want to hear, you have to before it's too late ... " Roland/Oliver's hard voice shouted. He grabbed for his friends arm. Tendrils of fog drifted about their feet in Hyde Park. Their horses sensing the possible danger, shifted beneath them, a hard hand on the rein needed to control their want to bolt.

“Don't be a bloody idiot. Think, man, he's not what you think ... before its too late ... ”

Arabella, sitting very still in bed, looked over at him in concern. “Mr Maclean, are you all right?'”

Maclean shook his head, clearing the scene before him. Oliver died shortly after that. (need to work on time line for this) Anger boiled up in him. He had been such an idiot. He took a deep breath to calm his anger, to ease Arabella's panic. He smiled, hoping it reached his eyes, “Yes, just remembering something. Miss Wright, Arabella, do you know where Sir Charles was going?!”

“Ah..yes ... he, he was going to Kentchurch."

All the blood drained from Simon's face. He nodded and rushed from the room, calling out to the men below. He saw that Vita and Roland had re-entered the main house and were waiting with the others. “He's gone to Kentchurch. We've got to go now. He won't be alone."

Roland and Vita both looked up at Maclean. Both of them started to say something, when Maclean held up his hand, “Eastwick is the betrayer, the turncoat. Two days ago, before I received word from Mr. Pendleton, I had met with him to report my latest information. He said something odd then that I just shrugged off. He's at Kentchurch and I - I - if we don't get there now."

Vita turned to Roland, “It could be a trap."

Roland nodded. “We shouldn't go in there blind."

"Eastwick is cleaning up his loose ends and ... and I fear, God, Delanie is one of those loose ends. He's," Maclean laughed, a sick laugh that sent shivers up Vita's spine, "using Sir Charles to do his dirty work and Delanie and the others might already ... " He broke off but he could not hide the pain that took hold of his heart. The two then witnessed something they hoped never to see again, his eyes turned a steely white, "I don't care if it is a trap or if I die, all I know is Eastwick is dead." He turned to Roland, "I hope you can forgive me after all that I thought, all I did."

Roland nodded, "Well, we had better ride. Vita, there is no other way. We've got to face whatever Eastwick has planned for us there. And we must face it head on."

Vita turned, "It would be better if we had a plan." She noticed the determined look of the men. She threw her hands up in despair, "Fine, let,s go get ourselves killed." She looked up in his face and then noticed something odd. She backed up. "NO, Roland, he is mine to deal with. I'm coming with you."

'No Vita, no. I promise I'll take care of it, Eastwick is mine, he killed Ollie and he's pulled all our strings for too long!” He studied her, eyes darkly gleaming. "But you must stay here, someone must stay with Miss Wright and I would prefer it ... "

He made a step towards her, reaching out but she ducked out from his grasp right into the arms of Alan. She was caught up and tried to fight his hold.

"Dammit Roland, I'll hate, I'll hate you forever for this. Do not even think of leaving me out of this." She tried to step down on Alan's instep but he shifted.

"Vita, I will tie you up! Now listen to me, please love. Alan will let you go if you give me a moment."

One of Alan's men stepped forward with rope, waiting. Vita had to think and think quickly - compromise while she could form a plan. She nodded. "Speak your piece Roland."

"I almost lost you once I won't lose you again. I want you to stay here and as soon as it is safe you can come to Kentchurch."

"Roland, I made promises a long time ago as well. Would you have me break them?"

He stepped towards her, reaching out to caress her arms,

"Yes. Oliver would want you safe. I want you safe, if my wants matter to you at all."

'Roland. I made promises a long time ago as well. Would you have me break them?” She played for the same rights, even as she knew it was futile.

“If this is about Ollie, then it's useless, Roland,” she ploughed on. ”He's dead and I won't live my life by what he would have wanted, second guessing his opinions."

'Yes. Oliver would want you safe. I want you safe if my wants matter to you at all.'

Vita bit her lower lip, damn the man. She considered for all of a second that he was an idiot, then another thought occurred to her, that this was another game, that actually hurt. She nodded and made her decision,

'Fine.' Her shoulders sagged, 'I'll stay.'

"Thank you." The next move totally took her by surprise. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply. Their eyes spoke volumes when he released her.

He laughed softly "You are assuming I'll live through this, Verity."

Vita turned her head to him, and raised both brows. She'd never been that easily daunted, and the fear she had for this conversation made her go on. She refused to be cowed, to huddle frightened in the dark, because she would have to sooner or later face this

"Well, if you do? I can only imagine the sensation your re-emergence in the Ton would create. Even if you attempt to live in seclusion you will still be the talking point of every ball and dining table, " Her lips quirked as another thought came to her "And then there will be all those matchmaking mammas with their sweet and biddable daughters, waiting to catch you." She let her lips slide in to a grin. "I almost wish I'll be there to witness it"

Almost, but she feared the amusement would fast turn to pain and another type of hell, and so she had made her own mental plans.

He eased away from the tree and walked towards her, all easy elegance and beauty, face wiped of all apparent emotion and thought, hiding behind a mask, the spy's favorite disguise

"And where will you be if not in London's drawing rooms ... Kentchurch? or with Jamie - is he married yet?"

She shook her head. He was far too near for comfort. There was a mere foot between them, with his tall frame casting shadows over her.

"No." She shrugged. "He's been campaigning for years, and has only recently sold out."

She tugged her gown down over her slippers. “And, as much as I love my brother, it would be unfair to both of us for me to reside with him. We are both creatures of freedom." She chuckled and self deprecatingly continued: "Besides, Roland, I have played a demure part in public for enough years, so I have decided that If I live through this ... I shall travel, and travel far."

She looked up, met his gaze squarely, knowing that what she had decided would receive society's censor, but she was done with appearances, she would live her life as she wanted now ... her duty would be done after this. "I wish to see the world, and paint it, Egypt, Africa, the Orient, America, I've only ever really travelled for missions, never immersed myself in a culture. I want to travel for pleasure and experience now.”

His dark lashes lowered , the sweep of them concealing his black eyes.

"And I suppose some of this traveling shall be to uncharted territory, dangerous Verity ... “

She raised a brow dryly; she hadn't expected that argument from him, at least

"And my life isn't dangerous? At least I won't have to pretend any more, or have dull conversations with duller individuals." She shrugged. “I was brought up for the sort of life the ton would force me to live ... and at twenty-seven I am already considered a spinster, which does give me a little advantage in making my own way."

She looked back at him, the breeze caressing her cheek. "And what will you do?"

She smiled in conciliation at her probing. "Really" ... .

He looked down at her, eyes unveiled, brilliant sparkling black diamonds, and her mouth went dry. His hand came up, his fingers brushing aside a stray wisp of her hair that the breeze had freed.

“Much as you proposed, I would think. However, your talk of matchmaking mamas and dull debutantes does make me reconsider several things." His hand cupped her cheek. "Traveling abroad is not your only option for freedom ,Vita." He bent this head, lips so near her own she could feel his breath light against her mouth, he caught her gaze, and the glimmering black seemed to drown out the rest of the world. Her stomach tightened, her own breath uneven as her heartbeat suddenly was. It was merely attraction, the pull of baser instincts, logically she knew this, but her body was unable to comprehend the unimportance of the sensations that he was caused within it, this was not about heart and head any longer, it was about nature's last great joke on mankind, because at the last, instinct and reaction would always rule both head and heart.

"What options?" she managed, damning the husky lilt of her voice, damning her own body.

He lent forward the necessary inches and his lips touched hers. She inhaled sharply, her stomach contracting at the touch and forced her body back against the bough, despite the urge to press herself against him, the tightening of her body. He followed, lips grazing her cheek, the caress becoming other than the brotherly motion it should have been.

"Ah well, my sweet, you could become a recluse," he whispered, his mouth moving on the curve of her cheek, burning her skin with each sliver of movement. There was still space between their bodies, inches, but it was taking much of her control not to arch up to him, press herself flush to him, and she could feel the heat of him, the mere brush of his coat against her knee highly tantalizing.."Or," he murmured as his mouth returned to within less than an inch of hers and his tongue swept leisurely across his bottom lip. She dragged in a ragged breath, control slipping away from her and he continued: “You could find freedom through marriage, marriage to me"

" What?" Her lips trembled over the word, as what he had said flickered through her mind, wits dulled by his presence struggling to comprehend what he was saying, the seriousness of his words.

"I would give you the freedom you crave. We are attracted, are we not?"

His lips brushed hers in the lightest of kisses, which should not have made her so weak.

“And it would save me from various females, you from society's cuts and I know you, like you, we like each other ... ”

Like! Vita's hands came up, the sensation in her stomach turning from desire to sickness, and she shoved him away and shoved hard,.

He wasn't expecting that reaction, and stumbled back, and had to use a tree to keep his balance, his elegance for once lost.

Free at last, she slid off the the low bough and glared at him, her chin tilting in defiance.

”You may go and throw yourself in the bloody Thames, Lor ... "

She gritted her teeth and reined in her fury, and raised icy eyes to him

“Conscious as I am of the honour you bestow on me, Lord Wulfryd, I must decline, for I fear we are ill suited in all ways and would, in forming an alliance be quite stupid. I suggest you look to the quiet and dull debutantes for a wife, and not to spinsters of radical notions and far-reaching ambitions, for I will travel and paint and live however I wish. And if that includes lovers or dangerous travel that is none of your concern"

She spun and strode off, skirts angrily hissing around her, as if a hundred snakes were at her feet. For this she would never forgive the arrogant bastard - that he could offer her marriage, marriage to save her from what he considered folly. For Ollie's sake, probably. Why had she been stupid enough to fall in love with them both? The self inflicted pain from loving them had overshadowed her life for years. Well, no more. She had been shocked into emotion by Roland's appearance but now, recovered, she would contain this festering love, lock it away in some deep recess that would keep it hidden and separate from herself and she would live, she would enjoy each second, do ...

He grasped her arm.

" Vita!"

She swung round with his momentum and slapped him, braced her arm for the assault, had the satisfaction of seeing his head snap back when her hand connected and the sound of her palm meeting jaw.

Unfortunately he did not release her, simply stared down at her with night-filled eyes, the quantity of emotion revealed there in surprising her, anger there and something more with passion of a different kind

"Lovers," he said, and the lowness of his voice made her skin prickle in wariness. She licked her lips, suddenly sobered from her rage by his, she tried to pull her wrist free, but he held it secure, not hurting her but so solidly that she couldn't break free ...

" I am of age to make my own choices Roland, and while I have subliminated that part of my nature....while it has been subliminated over the last five years...I do not think that will forever be so" she licked her lips " and as I do not plan to marry that would mean...lovers"

He stood there dark and sinfully handsome, simply looking at him made her want, want things she could never have, his thumb brushed the inside of her wrist, once, twice, the sensation growing with each brush, his eyes were completely black, " lovers" he repeated softly " and what if you got with child?"

Trembling she wrenched her arm away,looking down at the grass" please tell me you don't think me such an idiot that I wouldn't know of..prevenative methods!" she shook her head " Roland please, this is......we, we should return to the house, Maclean may have learnt something" she turned and marched away and this time he didn't detain her but followed her to the house, his mind turning over several problems, not all to do with the mission......

She stepped aside and let the men pass. As she watched them ride off, she turned to Alan and smiled. "Why don't you all go into the library and settle in. I'll go see after Arabella."

Alan, nodded and went, but not before he instructed his men to set up a perimeter guard. Vita inwardly groaned but as she took the stairs to Arabella's room, she smiled. Once upstairs, she changed swiftly, donned men's garb, braided her hair and armed herself, and then went to check on Bella before she left.

“How are ... ?"

She broke off, as she entered the other woman's room and found it empty,, but with evidence of hasty dressing.

Vita stilled, an idea she disliked forming in her head. “Bloody hell!” she swore and tore down the stairs. As Bromford, one of Maclean's men below, noticed her clothes, and before he could tell her that she was going nowhere, she snapped: “Miss Wright is gone, search the whole house now."

He blinked and she snarled: "For God's sake, Bromford, she could be working for Sir Charles ... we must find her!"

After a second he ran off calling for the others. Perfect, really! It gave her time to escape and kept them busy, and if Bella was wondering around, they would find her ... She slipped upstairs and continued past Arabella's empty room. Finding the back stairs she hurried down into the manse's old kitchen and out of the servants' door. Keeping to the shadows, she quietly made her way across the courtyard to the stables. Saddling her horse, she led her out to the tree line and into the darkness of the forest. It gave her pause that she had not been detected but swallowing any self doubt, mounted and made for Kentchurch.

A few miles away, as Roland and Maclean dismounted in the woods surrounding Kentchurch, Maclean looked at Roland. "You don't believe she'll stay do you?"

"No, and that's what I'm counting on!"

(end of chapter)

******************************

Arabella sat straight up in bed after Simon Maclean had left the room, and carefully drew out the letter she had been sitting on all the time, terrified to move in case he heard a crackle from the thick cream paper. She scanned the few short lines again and looked over at the hatchet-faced maidservant who had stood near the fireplace, hands folded in front of her, eyes gazing into the middle distance, throughout the uncomfortable interview with Mr Maclean.

"Don't admit anyone else, whoever they are. Ring for someone to bring round a riding horse for me. And then help me dress," she said, throwing off the bedclothes.

The middle-aged woman nodded. "Two horses, miss. He said I was to accompany you."

**********************************

Eliza carefully put the the lighted candle down on the desk. The house was quiet but restless, she couldn't sleep. Her unease stemmed from the prickly feeling that something dreadful was about to happen. To clear her mind, and still the bad thoughts running through her mind she decided to slip down to the library for a lengthy tome to put her to sleep.

They had arrived back at Kentchurch a few hours ago without incident. The last few days of her valiant attempts to save her friend, their narrow escape and unchallenged return, had frayed her nerves. She need some stability and that she knew she could find in a book and a good night's rest.

The rain continued unabated outside; several times her heart had virtually stopped beating until she recognized the familiar tap, tap of small branches hitting the upper storey windows. She took a long breath and scanned the many shelves. She eliminated one book after another - adventure wouldn't do, she had had enough for the moment. A romantic interlude with characters of unfulfilled passions would definitely not do. She needed dreamless sleep, not dreams of lust and love. And then she spied one that might just be right: Adam Smith's The Wealth of Nations.

She plucked the book down and scanned the first few pages. Yes, she would have to agree, this could very well put her to sleep. She turned to retrieve her candle and out of the corner of her eye she caught movement. she caught up the candle, which shed little light into the far recess of the library and,.clutching her book, ventured forth. As she moved closer to the back of the room, the shadows lengthened to reveal a pair of muddy boots. She gasped as a man shot towards her. Her instincts made her drop the candle, and the book and run but the man grabbed her about the waist and dragged her back against his body. His grimy, pudgy hand covered her mouth to prevent her screaming.

Eliza could hear movements in the house; the noise from her candle dropping and the book hitting the wood floors was as loud as a pistol shot. Footsteps on the stairs gave her hope that someone would help.

Jessop's voice rang out, 'Who's there?' Eliza squirmed. Her captor was shorter than her and his fetid breath stank of garlic, rum and god knows what else. His clothes were wet and soaking through her thin nightdress. She gagged at the smell of sweat and urine. He lashed out and sent her sprawling on to the oriental rugs. She staggered to her feet only to be caught again, his beefy arm encircling her waist, crushing the breath from her body. She could feel the coldness of the pistol against her rib cage. The man hissed, 'Shut up or I'll kill you now."

Jessop, seeing the door ajar to the library opened it just as Sir Charles gained control of Eliza. The last vision of Jessop that would remain in Eliza's memory was the look of painful astonishment as the pistol rang out and he took the full force of the shot in the chest, propelling him backwards through the door. Blood blossomed through his night shirt and spread beneath the body; his green eyes fixed and unseeing.

Sir Charles tightened his hold on Eliza. “Where is she?"

Eliza, shook her head, her courage slowly ebbing with every moment in Sir Charles' lethal presence.

"Dammit, bitch tell me where she is or I swear I'll kill you just as easily as I dropped that man over there."

He spun her around to face him, his hand snaking through her hair, yanking her head back painfully.

Eliza's instinct to survive won out and she pointed towards the stairs.

“Turn right at the top of the stairs, third bedroom on the right." She hoped against hope that he would leave her so that she might find help in time to save Bonnet from his evil intentions.

Sir Charles had other plans – he lashed out with his open hand smacking her hard across the chin. Like a limp rag, she crumpled to the floor unconscious. His fury raged and he lashed out, his foot connecting with her rib cage, not enough to break bone but leave a deep bruise. He stalked out, stopping to pick up the undischarged pistol Jessop had had and now lay by his inert body. He removed it from its safety and lifted his sabre from its scabbard as he climbed the stairs two at a time. He counted the doors, and lashed out with his booted foot. The door splintered away from the jam and he entered. He had entered the bedroom of two room suite; the doors drawn against the sitting room. The room was cast in large shadows but he could see a figure in the bed, on her side facing the window; blonde hair spilled across the pillow. He took aim at the center of her back and shot. Feathers filled the air but no blood, Sir Charles cursed as he ran towards the bed, pulling back the counterpane and blankets to reveal several pillows shaped as a body; the air, pale yellow yarn the hair. His rage boiled over and he bellowed,

"I'll find you, you whore. I'll not be thwarted in this. I will have what should be rightfully mine."

He turned and stormed for the door but a slight noise alerted him to someone in the room. He went to the door and slammed it against the door frame but not leaving. He quietly tip toed towards the shut doors. He slid them back and smiled. A woman was sprawled in the corner, her pale features and lackluster eyes trying to focus on him. Sir Charles started to laugh. His "bride" was no more than a helpless child. This would be so easy. He stepped forward rising his sabre to deal the final, lethal blow. He put every ounce into his downward blow but at the last minute something stopped his forward momentum and he sprawled sideways, toppling over a chair. Another body landed on top of him, sending his sabre and another rapier clanking across the floor out of his reach. He lashed out with his hands and empty pistol, he felt and heard a whoosh of air as he made contact with something soft. The weight of the body slid from his and he could gain his footing.

Delanie had put every bit of her strength into the tackle. She had had barely enough time between Eliza's scream and the pistol shot to do much. She had fallen asleep in her clothes only to be startled awake by the commotion below. She had practically dragged Bonnet from her bed to this room, made up the bed and hidden when the door exploded inward. She rolled, seeing her rapier a few feet away. The man had risen and was retrieving his own sabre. Her thin steel would be no match for the bigger and stronger blade but she had to do something. She spied Bonnet trying to struggle to a standing position, her own adrenaline sparking some recognition and strength to survive and screamed, “Bonnet get out of here!” as she attacked the man.

She lashed out wildly but with uncommon accuracy, her own fear driving her to defend her friend. She had to give Bonnet a chance even if it was a slim one. Sir Charles parried Delanie's reckless attack. Their swords rang in the silence as one gained purchase over the weaker. He drove her back towards another corner of the room.

"She's not going anywhere; she can't even walk; shes nor more than a babe. My sister did her work well I see."

Delanie's hoarse scream rent the air and renewed her own advance but her strength soon wavered.

Sir Charles landed one and then another strike, cutting deep ribbons into the flesh of her thigh and her shoulder. The third blow severed her rapier in half. She staggered back throwing the broken hilt at Sir Charles. He easily brushed it aside with flick of his wrist and readied for the coupe de gras, the final blow. He stabbed forward, Delanie raised her one good hand to ward off the blow, the blade dug deep into the flesh of her forearm. Delanie faintly smiled up at the man, this time she would face the man with courage. She laughed.

Sir Charles stopped, awestruck. The damn bitch had the gall to a laugh at him!

He bellowed and pulled the steel free and raised his arm again, only to be struck across the back of the neck by something hard.

Bonnet had gained her feet and had used a large ledger from the desk to strike a blow across his back. Sir Charles turned and grabbed out for Bonnet, his pudgy fingers closing around her small neck.

"Charles, I think that is enough."

A man Charles had not expected to show himself, stepped into the room, his silver hair reflecting what little light there was. He was slight of build, tall and lanky. At only forty summers, he was prematurely grey and his piercing blue eyes struck fear in many man, let alone Sir Charles.

"How did you get here? How did you know ... " Sir Charles felt the color drain from his face as he looked at the man before him. Stephen Eastwick, Baron Rippon's stare was cold, calculating as if the man was easily dissecting him from head to toe. The sweat on his brow turned clammy. He cleared his throat.

"I know a lot about you Charles."

The silver haired man walked silently towards to Delanie and knelt down till he was level with her eyes. Her eyes were slowly losing their focus, the loss of blood draining her strength. He took out his handkerchief and mopped her sweaty brow, then stroked a slender finger along the contour of her chine. Delanie turned, ignoring his attentions. His soft voice could not hide his admiration and sadness.

"Oh when I first saw you four years ago, how I wanted you. How I wanted you in my bed. When you walked into that ballroom on your father's arm, did you know every man turned? It was as if Mother Nature graced us with a sea breeze of the rare kind. A caress of such softness, such understated beauty that it takes every breath away. It is too bad you are who you are. That is your mistake and mine. I should never have told the Admiral to recruit your father, you. You were useful, but all good things sour in the end if you overindulge. I'm glad your death will be slow and painful for all the sadness and grief you gave me these last four years."

Delanie, smiled through her pain, and laughed,

"I should have known. Simon had his suspicions but no clear evidence. I should have believed him, in him. I should.."

She moaned as a shot of pain lanced through her body. She took several deep breaths, "He will kill you. Someone will kill you, you bastard. I'm just sorry I won't be there to see it done, Eastwick."

Sir Charles stepped forward, his face draining of color, looking down at Delanie.

"I should kill you now."

He raised his sword but Eastwick's hand shot up, holding his action.

“No, Charles, she'll be dead soon enough. You and I have things to talk about."

He stood, taking one last look down at the woman at his feet.

“Bring the other woman if you must. Follow me to the library, I need to give you instructions."

His cold calculating eyes looked at Delanie one last time.

“Good bye, Delanie. Too bad Maclean won't reach you in time. Too bad his death will soon follow yours as will all of your friends. And I know that will give you the greatest pain and me the greatest pleasure."

Delanie drew upon what strength she could and spat up at him. Eastwick smiled, taking his handkerchief and wiping away the dribble as he turned and walked out of the room. Sir Charles kept his eyes on Delanie as he stepped back to where Bonnet had crumpled on to the floor. He reached down and dragged her to her feet, then stopped and looked back at Delanie on the floor.

She smiled at his futile attempts at bravado. Her voice was nothing but a weak whisper, but her words were clear enough for Charles to hear.

"Charles, you are, were nothing but a simpering idiot. He will kill you you know. He has nothing to gain by keeping you alive. Think man, save Bonnet, save yourself. Leave here go for Simon. Get help. For Gods sake man ... "

She groaned, and slipped to the floor, her energy spent.

Sir Charles snorted, "You know nothing. Eastwick and I will be rich men when this is all over. And as he says, you'll be dead, as will your friends." He stalked away dragging a whimpering Bonnet with him.

*********************************

'I don't see anyone about, and it's too quiet.' Maclean said from their lookout above the manor house. There are lights on both down and upstairs. A pistol shot cracked in the air and both men looked at each other. They spurred their horses towards the house.

Roland was having problems with Maclean, the other man was desperate to charge in and find Delanie, his usually cool demeanor stripped away, but that Roland could understand, the thought of Vita in danger made him feel edgy and constrained, nerves taut, yet he was relying on her coming, on her going in to danger, even if he'd take any shot meant for her ... ...

" We go slowly and quietly,” Maclean nodded.

Eastwick stepped over the body of Jessop and entered the library. Eliza had crawled into a corner, her eyes wide with shock. The Baron walked up to her and dragged her to her feet and threw her into a chair beside the fire place. He next bent down and placed a log on the grate, stirring the embers beneath. Soon the log caught and a warm blaze emanated throughout the room. Sir Charles half carried, half dragged Bonnet into the room and pushed her onto a sofa.

'What now Eastwick? I want what's supposed to be mine; end this charade so that I can get on with my life.'

'Patience Charles, was not one of your virtues.'

Eastwick stood, facing the fireplace, intent on warming his hands. He took a deep breath. He looked up and noticed in the mirror over the fireplace and Charles' grey pallor. He was a mess, his usual immaculate visage showed the strain of the last few weeks. There were dark circles under his eyes and more streaks of gray in his hair. His refined clothes hung of him like rags. Eastwick tried to ignore the stench but couldn't. Sir Charles had outlived his usefulness and this was the time to end their relationship.

He pulled the small gun from his inside breast pocket and turned, took aim for the centre of the man's forehead and fired from no more than three feet away. From further away, the shot would have maimed instead of killed. Charles went rigid and simply dropped to the floor, a red dot blossoming at the center of his forehead.

Bonnet began to wail and rock back and forth on the settee. Eliza started to hyperventilate, tears streaming unchecked down her face. Eastwick stepped over to her and slapped her. This did little to calm her but she quieted. The Baron squatted down on his heels and took the girl's chin in his hand.

'Now, my child, I want you to get up and go and get the other lady and move her to the other end of the room. I expect we will be having visitors soon.'

Eliza, her eyes wide and glassy looked up into the Baron's, cold eyes, 'Why, why did you have to kill him?'

'Why? My dear, betrayal is a nasty business and the more people that know your secret the more likely you will get caught. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of trusting a complete imbecile. Now, move.'

Eliza got up and staggered over to the settee. Bonnet's wails were nothing more than a squeak and she reached out to hug the woman. She placed a comforting arm around her shoulders and helped her to stand. They moved to another sofa further back into the library. Eastwick meanwhile was reloading his small pistol and hiding it in his coat pocket. 'Now not a word from you two. If you so much as make one sound as to what is really going on, I will kill you and anyone you ever cared about. I have the means at my disposal to deal such devastation in your lives. Do you understand?'

Eliza nodded. She doubted Bonnet could. 'Yes, we understand.'

'This is how it is going to be played out' For the next five minutes, until the front door burst open, Eastwick explained his plan.

Maclean with Roland by his side, entered the foyer, pistols drawn. Smythe and his brother, with Richard bringing up the rear followed, covering them. Maclean rushed to Jessop's side with Roland covering him but he knew by the wide pool of blood and gray sheen of his looks, the man was already dead. Jock, Berks and several other men entered from the rear of the house. They balked when they saw Jessop, their eyes lifting to Maclean, worried.

'Fan out, search the house,” he said.

'No need, I'm in here.' Eastwick called from the library.

Maclean moved forward, but Roland held him back, motioning for Jock and Berks to search the house and that he should take the lead. He put his pistol back in his waistband and stepped into the library, followed by Maclean, Stanhope and the Smythes. Their gazes flew about the room, scanning every corner for a threat. Richard, seeing Eliza and Bonnet, looked at Eastwick, and carefully moved to their side. Jared followed to give cover.

Roland saw Sir Charles' body lying on the floor, a red pool slowly spreading underneath his head, and looked up at his boss.

'So Eastwick, you've managed to tie up one loose end. Do I favor the same fate or are you willing to give yourself up and face the consequences?'

'What consequences? I have done nothing wrong, it would be your word against mine. And with what evidence I have on you Roland, you would be in the hot seat, not me.'

Maclean stepped forward, his pistol raised. 'You bastard, do you really think that Roland is the only one who knows what you've done. You've turned on King and country for what?'

Eastwick laughed, 'Simon, you are a fool. You have noting but circumstantial evidence. And your neck would stretch just as well as Roland's. I care to remind you of your ineptitude in Portugal, two summers ago.' Maclean seethed with anger, his hand began to shake. 'It was because of your double crossing that that agent died, not me.'

'Oh, I'm sure the Crown will see otherwise.'

'You bastard!' Maclean shouted, lunging at the man, triggering his pistol. Roland shot his arm out and upward, deflecting the pistol's aim and the shot from hitting its mark. But that didn't stop Maclean from overtaking Eastwick, his fingers curling around the man's neck. It took Roland and Peter's combined strength to pull Maclean off him, and there was a moment's silence.

The soft sobs of Bonnet filled the room,. Sir Charles lay sprawled. eyes glassy in death across the intricate Moorish carpet, his form pitifully small and crumpled, Eliza palely silent as she held the shuddering Bonnet, eyes huge dark smudges of horror

Maclean stepped back, his pistol level with Eastwick's chest. Roland saw the danger and raised his own pistol but aimed it at Maclean. The viper could be dealt with later, but he had to live, as much as Roland wanted him dead.

“Keep your pistols on Eastwick ," he ordered Maclean's men.

Maclean never glanced at him.

“Where is she?" Maclean demanded, arm immovably straight, his face hardened to stone.

Eastwick smiled. Where is who, Mr Maclean?" he asked in his charming voice. “And Lord Wulfryd ... ah, no, Roland Wulfryd, for a ghost cannot hold a title, appears to have his pistol trained on you"

"I'll let Maclean have you if you don't answer" Roland said coolly, " and I promise it won't be the mercy of a pistol Eastwick, but a knife."

Eastwick raised a brow. "They say bad blood runs true, and your mother was a savage heathen, was she not Wulfryd? What is this gentlemen, turning on your master?"

"His mother," Maclean said through gritted teeth "was the daughter of a Sheik." His finger trembled on the trigger. "Delanie you traitorous bastard. Where is she?"

Eastwick laughed. "So it was you she's bedding all these years like a dockside harl ... "

"Maclean, I will shoot you if you pull that trigger," Roland said evenly as Maclean growled. "Eastwick, just tell him, now"

Languorously shrugging, Eastwick smiled amusedly at Maclean, still very much in control.

“Go to her then, Maclean, upstairs, i have to say she was very spirited, even at the end ... "

"Maclean, she might be alive, he's baiting you!"

Roland spoke rapidly as he saw Maclean stiffen.

“Go now, quickly, she may need your help!"

His eyes steely, Maclean icily informed Eastwick, “If she is dead, you will die. I won't care about the price, but I'll see you dead!"

Roland spat at Eastwick in turn: 'I should let him kill you. I'm sure between the five of us and all those around we could fabricate that it was in self defense. But I for one, want to hear from your own traitor's mouth why.' He turned to Maclean, 'I'm going to let you go. Go and find Delanie.'

Eastwick laughed, 'Yes, Maclean, go find her body. She's upstairs. Know that she was well tended to before she died.'

The remark was not lost on Maclean. His friends reached to stop him, urging him to go to find her, urging him to not believe the old man. In the end, Maclean, relented, his steel gaze, hard, on Eastwick.

'If she is dead, I will come back and finished what I started and I don't care what happens to me.'

He rushed from the room, and up the stairs.

He turned and strode from the room, breaking into a run at the door.

Roland eased his pistol to aim at Eastwick who retained a smug confident expression as he inquired mildly, “And where is the lovely Vita?”.

"Safe. Interesting I wasn't told she lived," Roland smiled unpleasantly. “I wonder why?"

"Dear boy, not my decision truly, though it did have its advantages. I am intrigued though -” Eastwick leant forward slightly, eyes crinkling with merriment. “Five years ago the rumours had it that the lady was warming both your dear beloved brother's bed and your own. Was it so?"

Roland's Jaw hardened. The fact he knew that Vita had warmed neither his or Ollie's bed making the crude insinuation worse. God, they'd only kissed once five years before, and she'd thought him Ollie then.

A jangle and crash proceeded as the double doors of the adjoining saloon swung open and the last person anyone in the room expected to see fell in to the library, sweat beading her upper lip, feverish as she laughed at them.

“Well, they'd hardly be the first or last in her bed,would they!"

Arabella Wright, light-headed from loss of blood, and feeling sick choked off the words. She had always envied Vita and Delanie their freedom. This had festered in her, and that and their inability to see she needed their help had made her come to hold both women in dislike. It was almost worth all the pain in her side to see Roland Wulfryd's eyes flicker with doubt at his beloved Vita's virtue ... She grabbed one of the ornate columns that lent the room its palladian air, and regained her balance before glaring straight at Eastwick, ignoring the other two men and, apparently, not even having noticed Sir Charles's dead body or Eliza, crumpled with fright, hugging Bonnet on one of the sofas.

“I've come, as you told me. Now, give me my mortgages!”

Stephen Eastwick, addressed in such a forthright fashion, merely looked slightly bored, and said nothing.

“Give them to me,” half-screamed Arabella, letting go of the column and staggering forwards.

Roland alert, was in a position to see the blood staining even darker the girl's riding habit at her hip, but didn't move.

“A chair for Miss Wright,” he said. “If you please, Jared.”

“I don't want a chair! I want what I came for!

Roland hesitated, and moved slowly away until he reached one of the spindly-legged gilt chairs that lined the walls of the room. He picked it up and brought it over to Arabella, who almost snarled at him, seemed about to refuse, and then sank into it. She shut her eyes for a moment, realising that she had placed herself at a disadvantage, and said: “Lord Wulfryd -”

Before she could go on, he spoke again. “Tell me, Miss Wright, if you please, exactly why you are here.”

“She imagines I have something for her,” said Eastwick, now sounding slightly amused.

“My mortgages,” said Arabella, now sounding anguished. “You promised you would let me have them if I helped you. And I did, and I came, and now I want them!”

“You helped him!” said Roland, swiftly thinking back over events. ”Why, precisely?”

“That man has bled Kentchurch dry – and forced me to help him, blackmailed me by threatening to evict us and tell mamma that I – dreadful things! He would have had us begging by the roadside for our bread, while he ... ”

“Go on,” prompted Roland as she tailed off.

Arabella coughed. Her voice was growing hoarser. “Kentchurch ... was entailed ... when my brother Jack died my father couldn't bear the thought of it going to a side of the family he despised. He borrowed heavily to buy out the entail, so that he could leave the estate to me ... but he died too soon. We never had a chance to pay the money back. The taxes kept rising – and mamma became ill. I received a letter one day from that man,” and she pointed at Eastwick, “telling me that he owned the mortgages and intended to foreclose at the end of the quarter. I was desperate! I went to see him, to beg him to give us more time and – she glanced very briefly at Roland – he said he would – if – if I would do him some small favours.”

She flushed, bright red spots on her cheekbones. “But it wasn't what I thought – what I'd steeled myself to do. He wanted me to watch Sir Charles and to report anything I thought odd to him.” She shrugged, and winced. “That didn't seem too hard. I didn't like Sir Charles anyway. So ... I wrote every so often. I thought it all very dull but it meant that we could stay at Kentchurch. So when Bonnet disappeared, as well as writing to Miss Marwood and Miss McCann and Mr Payne, I wrote to Mr Eastwick too, and asked him if he knew anything - “

“And that is when he wrote back to you and sent you those oh-so-revealing papers,” said Roland, nodding.

Arabella nodded back.

“Asking you to pass them on to your friends,” he prompted.

“Huh?” Interrupted Peter Smythe, who had been listening keenly.

“Mr Eastwick had begun to think of Sir Charles as too much of a liability,” said Roland smoothly. “He wanted him dead, and for us to do it. Then he could pursue and kill us – or so he hoped – and be rid of several birds with one helpful little stone.” He cast a contemptuous look at Arabella. “I wasn't sure where you fitted in, Miss Wright, but I had my suspicions all along that it wasn't on the side of the angels. It seemed unbelievable that such a well-brought-up conventional miss could display a knowledge of knife-throwing – even if you did miss me.”

She flushed again. “I did give you the papers, sir. And – the knife - I thought you were working for Mr Eastwick”

“Possibly,” he said. “You tried to delay us whenever you could. It's no thanks to you that Lady Bonnet is still alive – and you call her your friend! You disgust me, Miss Wright!”

Arabella sat up rather straighter. “Perhaps I do, sir, and that is a shame I must bear as best I can. But I ask you to remember that all along I have had little choice in what I did, and I did it to save Kentchurch. No-one else would have helped us! We were – are – almost penniless. Now, would you be so kind as to ask Mr Eastwick on my behalf if he has the mortgages he promised to hand over to me if I helped him in this matter?”

“Don't be such a little fool,” said Eastwick crossly. “Of course I haven't brought them! Did you really think I would hand them over? I'll have you out of Kentchurch and selling your body on the worst streets of London before the end of the year!”

Arabella cast him another anguished look and keeled over, falling off the chair in a dead faint.

“What that young woman needs,” said Roland caustically, after a moment, “is a husband who will beat her once a day and twice on Sundays. Pick her up, please, Jared and put her somewhere comfortable. Now, “and his glare returned to Eastwick, “I suppose we'd better find out before I kill you whether you have got these wretched mortgages.”

“Of course not,” snarled Eastwick. “You don't think I carry them about with me do you? I didn't know what I'd find here when I arrived. In all probability Sir Charles was already a grieving widower and Miss Arabella was only hours away from becoming the second Lady Bonnet.” He managed a small smile. “I would have liked to see Sir Charles' face when he discovered his new bride was as debt-ridden as he was and that I hold the keys to Kentchurch ... ” He laughed.

“And?”

“And then I would have arranged to provide the new Lady Bonnet with the means to become a widow, dangling the promise of the mortgages in front of her once again.” Eastwick suddenly grinned at Roland, " We all use what we must. We are what they make us"

Roland glanced at Arabella, "Oh we are, but there is always the choice, we have free will ... " except, he would admit silently to himself, that the limit of one's own character would influence that choice.

*******************************

Delanie McCann moaned. A shiver of cold wracked her body; a body that was slowly dying. Blood continued to soak her ripped clothes. Numbness was slowly creeping inward from her outer extremities as her remaining blood rushed to preserve the function of vital organs. Her vision blurred from concrete images to fog shrouded whiteness. She tried to move but the deep slashes Sir Charles had inflicted held her fast. She closed her eyes and thought pain is good. I'm still alive if I feel pain. She took a deep breath; pain erupted from her chest, her broken ribs protesting. She opened her eyes and her vision had refocused. And then she remembered.Soft voices rushed in on her mind. Echoes of perfect times. Images on board the Lady's Passion, laughter of men she cherished, as fathers, as brothers. One man emerged out of a moment of shadowed darkness. The angular planes of his face suggested a coarsness, but eyes that could be soft and gentle. She fought to remember his touch, his smell, wanting before she died, those memories in her mind, those memories to carry her onward. She wanted to remember the rare gem of his smile that he saved only for her. Delanie pictured the moments spent in quiet solitude, laying next to his naked body. Watching him sleep, caressing the intricate contours, imprinting his figure in her mind. A tear caught in her throat as her weakened mind fought to conjure up one last picture. She prayed, she wanted one last time to softly kiss each scar that marred his strong body that bespoke of his life and his character. She wanted one last time.

Maclean rushed up the stairs with Berks and Jock on his heels. 'Fan out. Find her.' Maclean started in the first room on his right, knocking in the door. He found a maid huddling in fright in the closet. He reassured her and pushed on to the next room, when a shout from Jock brought him racing to the room where Delanie lay semi conscious. He looked at Jock, his eyes pleading, 'Shes alive, barely.'

Maclean's sharp intake of breath held his emotions in check, now was not the time to panic. Delanie eyes were trying to stay open, her shirt a massive red blotch of blood. Her black breeches, sticky with blood. 'Berks, find hot water, bandages, salt, whiskey, needle, thread. Anything to help. Jock clear that bed quickly now.'

He crouched down, softly he whispered to Delanie, his heart in his throat. He drew his finger along the line of her chin, to her lips, 'Hold on, hold on.' He carefully, slipped his hands beneath her body and gently lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed, all the while, whispering words of encouragement. 'Fight Del, fight.'

Her voice was but a whisper, 'I prayed, I wanted...'

'Whist now, save your strength.'

'Sir, we need to get her out of those clothes.' Jock said, a blush rising on his cheeks. Maclean didn't hesitate, he pulled a knive from his boot and started cutting away her clothes. Delanie weakly moaned at the movement. They covered her discretely with a sheet, leaving her wounds in view. Berks returned a maid in tow, carrying arms full of water, bandages and other items. Berks, looked at Maclean, 'Jock and I'll stitch her up. Talk to her Sir, tell her, give her a reason to stay here.'

Maclean looked up at the men, tears brimming his eyes. He knelt down beside the bed, his lips a whisper away from her ear, her face. 'Del, hun, love, fight. Please. Don't let go, don't let the bugger...'

Berks, cleared his throat, his intention clear, 'Sir, talk to her, tell her.'

Maclean cleared the lump in his throat. 'Love, Berks wants me to tell you...Delanie I want you to live. I want you here to argue with...Del, I want to wake up every morning with you, and go to bed every night. I want to here the soft flutters of your snoring, and watch you wrestle the demons that plague your dreams. I want to be the one that fights those demons, and erases them from your mind. I want to erase them with soft kisses, as I caresses your body to the peaks of pleasureable passion. I want to look in those amber green eyes as love blossom for me from now until we both find peace and solitude in death. Delanie, I want to watch you with our children. I want to watch you play, to discipline. I want to watch you make them laugh and wipe away their tears.' Maclean's voice broke, he paused, 'Del I want the opportunity to tell you how much I love you. And I want to hear it from your own lips. Now fight da**it. Fight for us, love.'

...In the drawing room, for a moment Eastwick held Roland's glance in something like complicity, and then both men looked up as the door through which Arabella had come opened a crack and a face peeped through it. Roland narrowed his eyes and glanced back at Eastwick.

“One of yours?�

“Possibly,� said Eastwick, sounding unruffled. He beckoned to the face, and it disappeared briefly before the door opened wide enough to admit the solid body of the maidservant who had been attending on Arabella. She hovered, just inside the door and said something neither man could hear.

“Speak up,� said Roland.

“The miss ...�

“Miss Wright's maid, I fancy,� said Eastwick.

“Go away, woman,� said Roland and then interrupted himself. “No, wait. She's over there,� and he nodded over to the sofa where Arabella lay. “See to her.�

The maid curtsied and went in the direction Roland had indicated. He watched her, his mind half on Eastwick and half on Mclean and Delanie. God, how he hoped she lived! So far this affair was proceeding none too well – apart from the death of Sir Charles, which was no sadness as far as he was concerned – and he was still uncertain of the outcome. The maidservant got up from her kneeling position beside the sofa and approached Eliza and Bonnet, bending for a moment as if to speak to them. Then, to Roland's fury, she pulled a pistol out of her sleeve, grabbed Eliza's shoulder, and pressed the muzzle of the gun to the girl's head.

“I think,� said Eastwick, “The pendulum has swung.� He put out his hand and, after a momentary hesitation, Roland gave him the gun. “Excellent,� said Eastwick. “Parsons! Woodward!�

Two men, dressed in fustian and looking like coachmen or farmhands, came through the open door and touched their forelocks to their master.

“Tie this gentleman up,� said Eastwick.

Roland, white with fury, was submitting when the tall french windows to his right crashed open, glass flying everywhere, immediately followed by a shot which sang past him and took the pistol out of Eastwick's hands. The man cursed and clutched his hand, blood dripping from his fingers. The men holding Roland paused in shock, and he began to fight free – but not for long as they doubled their efforts to subdue him, forcing him down on to the floor.

“Hold him,� screamed Eastwick. “Don't let him go!� His commands drowned out the sound of Eliza, who cried out as the maidservant pulled her to her feet and began to force her away from the sofas.

Roland, almost buried beneath the two men, managed despite his arms being almost pulled out of his sockets, to struggle to his knees, looking over to the french windows. He hadn't wanted to see her, had dreaded seeing her here, and had longed for her ...

Vita swung in, smiling broadly, followed by half a dozen men, all armed. Eliza yelled loudly, and the maidservant, guessing that the jig was almost up, took the pistol away from the girl's head, only to bring it back in a vicious side-swipe, knocking Eliza to the floor. The woman ran, heading for the door, to skid and stumble as more of Vita's band appeared.

Eastwick, cursing vividly, was already surrounded.

Roland, freed from his attackers, looked up and scowled.

“Well?� demanded Vita, hands on hips, pistol stuck into her waistband. “You didnd't think I'd stay meekly behind and miss all the fun, did you?�

“She calls this fun,� said Roland bitterly, getting to his feet.

“Where's Maclean – and Delanie,� interrupted Vita. “And that sweet little schemer, Arabella Wright?�

“Oh, you know, do you?� enquired Roland, still scowling.

“No!� Vita was sharp, glancing round the room, checking on her prisoners. “No, I don't know anything – but she wasn't where she should be and, somehow, one or two things fell into place ...Is she here.�

“Over there,� said Roland, nodding and wincing as one or two bruises made themselves felt with the movement. “She's unconscious. She thought – god knows what she thought – but Eastwick had some sort of hold over her ...�

“He was blackmailing her?�

“Something like that. It's not important now. We need to find Mclean and see what's happening with Delanie ... and then decide what's going to happen to Eastwick.�

Vita tilted her head to one side,considered Roland then shrugged " Keep a close watch on them all" she told her men, grinned at Roland

" come on then old man...let's find the others....if you can stagger after me"

" one day my sweet I'll show you exactly what I can do " Roland threw back smiling grimly as he strode past her, he looked back over his shoulder " Are you comming my sweet or are you to frightend" his eyes gleamed wickedly, and his smile had curved to the same wickedness.

vita started towards him " for a man who's going to have a black eye tomorrow, you're terribly cheerful" she said dryly as they began up the stairs

" thats because I just realized something...and we do seem to have Eastwick at our mercy"

" I'd prefer him dead myself" she muttered

" he will be by the end of this, swinging from a rope Vita" they'd reached the top of the stairs, he really did look battered , her lips tugged in a wry smile and very handsome.the sound of Maclean's voice reached them, they hurried on and entering the room found Maclean, arms wrapped around a shivering Delanie, blood everywhere, the floor, her clothes, his......and he looked lost and desperate, so intent on her as he told her she had to stay with him that he did not notice their arrival..........