Joseph leaned over the desk, his sharp eyes scanning the papers. “What are they?”
Niall glanced at Charlie before turning his attention to the older man. “Letters belonging to Boyd MacAllister.”
Joseph sucked in a breath. “I willnae even ask how ye got them.”
“Good. It’s best if ye dinna know. But they are in code and we need to know what they say.”
Charlie perched on the edge of the desk, watching as the two men bent over the letters, faces etched with concentration. This had to work. If it didn’t, they were all inserioustrouble.
***
NIALL TRIED TO FOCUSon the letters spread before him, his fingers tracing over the strange, interwoven symbols and slanted script. He had deciphered dozens of coded messages in his time, knew the patterns, the tricks, the ways men tried to conceal their secrets in ink. But tonight, his thoughts were tangled in something far more distracting than ciphers.
Charlotte.
All he seemed to be able to think about was the way she had looked beneath him, her hair splayed across the grass, her lips parted, her eyes dark with something that had nearly undone him. The way she had whispered his name as though it belonged to her.
The way she had told him she loved him.
He had never expected to hear those words from her lips, had never let himself hope. But she had said them. And he had felt them, in every touch, every kiss, every sigh that had passed between them. And now she was here, perched on the edge of the desk, watching them work with her lip caught between her teeth, making it impossible to think straight.
Bloody hell.
Joseph, bent over the papers, muttered something about frequency analysis, but Niall barely heard him. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to drag his gaze back to the coded text. He had to concentrate.
MacAllister was coming for them—he was sure of it. The bastard wouldn’t let this go, not after Niall had put him on his arse and stolen away with Charlotte. He would use the law if it suited him, or he would use a blade if it didn’t. Either way, they were in danger.
Which meant these letters mattered more than ever.
Joseph exhaled sharply. “This part here—these numbers, they repeat in a pattern.”
Niall focused. “A substitution cipher, then. But mixed with something else.”
Joseph nodded. “Aye. Could be a variation on a Latin shift.”
Niall reached for the cipher keys his employers had provided him over the years and began cross-referencing. Slowly, words began to emerge from the gibberish—names, places, and a phrase that made his stomach tighten.
Weapons shipment.
He exchanged a look with Joseph, whose face had gone grim.
Niall pressed his hands flat against the desk, forcing himself to breathe, forcing himself to keep his thoughts from spiraling. His momentary distraction—the memory of Charlotte, the feel of her, the taste of her—was gone, burned away by the ice-cold realization of what they were uncovering.
Joseph worked beside him, fingers deftly sorting through cipher keys and substitution charts, his usually impassive face set with grim determination. The scratching of a quill against parchment was the only sound in the study.
Charlotte, still perched nearby, watched them both with rapt attention. He could feel her gaze on him, burning into his skin, but he didn’t dare look at her now. If he did, if he let himself sink into the warmth in her eyes, he would lose the fragile focus he had managed to reclaim.
Another letter, another set of numbers, another layer of the cipher peeled away. Slowly, piece by piece, the coded words gave up their secrets.
Shipment confirmed. Landing site secured.
Awaiting final word from Paris.
The king’s forces will not suspect.
Niall clenched his jaw, barely resisting the urge to curse aloud. His fingers tightened around the edges of the parchment. He had suspected rebellion, but this was worse than anything he’d imagined.
This was war.
