The door opened. John stood there, silhouetted by bright afternoon light pouring in the window at his back. He caught her to him suddenly in a tight embrace, and startled, she hugged him back. It should have felt familiar. Comforting. Instead, it felt like a betrayal.
Because it was.
“Come inside, sister,” he invited, playing their roles though it seemed unlikely anyone was within earshot.
Don’t do it, cried her heart.
You must for Cullen’s sake, cried the rest of her.
Bridget did as she was bid, stepping over the threshold. John closed the door behind her. They were alone, facing each other. He had grown a beard in the time since she had last seen him, and his hair was in need of a trim. His frame seemed more gaunt than before, the plum shadows beneath his eyes more pronounced.
“How is Cullen?” she asked into the silence that had descended between them, for it was all she could care about. All that mattered. It was the sole reason she stood here before him. “Have you seen him? Do you know when his trial shall be?”
“He is weakening,” John said grimly. “It is to be expected. The conditions he faces are harsh, and the trial is set for a fortnight from now. We are running out of time where he is concerned, I am afraid.”
Her heart clenched painfully. “That is what I feared.”
“You did not take the young duke as I asked of you,” John observed coolly, his expression impenetrable.
“I attempted to, but I was caught and shot,” she said truthfully. “I did the best I could, John.”
“We were depending upon you, Bridget. Cullen was depending upon you.”
His censure hit her like a lash. She stiffened. “I am aware. As I said, I was wounded and fell ill. I did as much as I could to bring the young duke to you as you had asked of me. In the end, I could not manage it.”
“And yet you had time to wed yourself to the Duke of Carlisle.” John made a low whistle, his tone mocking. He was a short man, not much taller than she was herself, but she wondered for the first time if she should fear him. If he would attempt to do her physical harm. “Tell me, Bridget, how did that come to be?”
It occurred to her she could either be honest with him or she could feed him the version of the truth he would find the most useful. If she exaggerated her loyalties, made it seem as if she had married Leo to aid the cause, perhaps John would be more inclined to help Cullen even without the Duke of Burghly in his grasp.
“I married him for the cause,” she lied. “When the plot fell through and I was wounded, I created a new plan. I decided if I could entrap him, convince him I loved him, he would be ours. Think of it, John, what could be better than having access to the leader of the men charged with arresting those who would aid and abet our cause?”
His lips compressed into a firm, grim line. “Why did you not contact me? Why did you not send me a message? Explain to me why I needed to learn of this from someone else, why I needed to be the one who made contact.”
“I had not the means of contacting you that would not be discovered by Carlisle,” she said. “He may have married me, but he is hardly in the palm of my hand, and he is too intelligent, too wary not to be suspicious of me. He already knew I was a Fenian because of my disastrous attempt at spiriting the young duke away.”
She wondered for a brief, dizzying moment if her words were true. Since their feelings for each other had changed, Leo had been unrelenting in his declarations of love. He had given her pleasure. Had changed her forever. But what if he remained suspicious of her, even after all they had shared? The question made her frown.
She wished she knew the answer.
But part of her was beginning to suspect she did, and furthermore, it was an answer she could not like.
To her relief, John nodded, some of the strain seeming to dissipate before her eyes. “I feared as much. Your marriage to him is rather fortuitous, as I have formulated a new plan, one that will far surpass any others in the past.”
Wariness hit her. “I gathered some information from him, John.” She reached into her hidden pocket and extracted the cipher key, holding it out for him to take. “I believe this to be the diagram used to translate ciphered messages the League sends amongst its ranks.”
He took it from her, unfolded it, his eyes scanning the contents. “Well done, Bridget, but I am afraid this is not exactly what I had in mind.”
“Whatdidyou have in mind?” she asked, the wariness turning into dread, sinking through her like a stone.
He tilted his head, considering her. “Would you kill for your brother, Bridget? Would you kill to save Cullen?”
Her blood went cold, everything inside her withering like the flowers beneath winter’s ice. “I did as you asked, John.”
“You did not bring me the boy.” His voice was hard now, edged with steel. “It would have been the perfect plot, exchanging his life for those of our men in Kilmainham. Not only did you fail me, and fail Cullen, but you got yourself shot and captured in the process. I am afraid your marriage—fortuitous though it may be—and your discovery of this cipher key are simply not enough. We need action and destruction, complete and full war, if we aim to truly accomplish what we want.”
Fear closed around her heart, tighter than a fist. “I did the best I could. Tell me, what would you have done with the young duke had I been able to bring him to you?”
He had told her the young duke would not be harmed. But doubt weighed upon her, along with dread. Had she been foolish to trust this man? She was beginning to wonder if she had ever truly known him.
