“I came in Girard’s carriage, obviously, but I think you also know very well what the meaning of this is,” Daphne said snidely. “Come, don’t pretend stupidity now.”
Hero shook off her surprise and crossed her arms over her chest, keeping a wary eye on the gunman. “You think that if you kill me Ian will have you?”
Daphne surprised her by saying, “It’s not my first choice at all, but I will if you don’t do as I say.”
“Which is?”
“You’re going to ride along with Girard and myself and take a very long holiday on the Continent,” Daphne explained. “I want you out of here. I want you gone so you cannot ruin my plans any more than you have. Come now, we must go.”
“You don’t think I’ll just meekly follow where you lead, do you?”
“If you want your father to live, you will. If you want Ian to live, you will.”
“You’re mad. Ian will never be yours.”
“When you’re gone, he will be,” Daphne insisted. “After some small time has passed, he will see that he was mistaken in his infatuation with you, and he and I will wed.”
“He couldn’t do that even if he wanted to, because we…” Hero bit her tongue to cut off the words. Daphne didn’t know that the wedding had already taken place. She didn’t know that even if Hero disappeared Ian couldn’t legally wed another. The last thing she was going to do was provide a madwoman and her henchman a reason to pull the trigger on her.
“He will,” Daphne screeched, calming when Girard shushed her. “Now, will you come along peaceably or not?”
Hero knew she should agree for the sake of others within the castle but couldn’t bring the words of concession to her lips. She couldn’t simply relent to such insanity. Her mulish resistance didn’t seem to surprise Daphne at all. Indeed, reluctant respect seemed to light her green eyes.
“I didn’t really expect capitulation but I’ve come prepared.” With that, she drew a small bottle and a cloth from her pocket. Uncorking the bottle, she doused the cloth.
“Just take a few deep breaths, Madam Ayr,” Girard encouraged as Daphne approached Hero. As if the gun he held to her head wasn’t inspiration enough. “The choice is really out of your hands.”
“What are you getting from all this?”
His dark eyes lit. “Ah, madam, the rewards they are many, you see?”
“I can double whatever she is paying you.”
Hero cried out as he grabbed her arm and turned her against him. Daphne twisted her other arm and pressed the cloth over her mouth and nose. Thrashing her head from side to side, Hero fought to dislodge the cloth but could not fight against the two of them. Her body tingled then numbed. Her vision darkened and her head swam.
Just before darkness claimed her, Hero felt Girard’s lips at her ear. “Non, madam, you cannot.” And then to Daphne, “Careful,ma chère, she must walk from here, not be carried.”
The cloth moved away and Hero inhaled deeply. Clean air brought light to her vision, but her head remained thick, her thoughts scattered, as if she’d just drunk a whole bottle of wine herself. She staggered to the side, but Girard caught her arm and hooked an arm around her waist. Vaguely she heard him instruct Daphne to make sure the way was clear. Within moments, Hero was lifted into Girard’s closed carriage, which had been waiting for him in the north courtyard inside the rampart walls.
To her surprise, one of her own grooms came to the carriage window. “Dickie’s at the gate right now for ye, Miss Kennedy. Yer clear through if ye go now.”
“Thank you, Ranald.” Daphne smiled up at him and ran a finger down his cheek. “Gather him up after I’ve gone and come to me in Ayr for your reward.”
“Aye, miss.” Ranald cast a regretful look at Hero but shrugged and turned away.
“How many?” she slurred.
“How many of your faithful servants have come to my side?” Daphne asked with a little laugh. “Don’t fret for Lord Ayr. The rest of his staff are loyal, and in time I will have their loyalty as well.”
The horse leapt into action and Hero’s nearly limp body slammed back against the seat. Her head hit the carriage wall so hard she saw stars, not only at the pain but also at the shock of what she had just learned. Not only was Daphne behind all this but she had Hero’s staff at her beck and call. Young Ranald had been here for years. His father ruled the stables for more years than Hero had been about.
And Dickie. A lad of about twenty. His mother worked in the kitchens for just as long. These young men. These young, impressionable men had somehow been seduced from their loyalty to the castle they had grown up in and won over by Daphne’s persuasive charms. Had there been more? How could she have not known? “Just them?”
“I told you,” Daphne answered. “Just the lads I needed to get you out of there. They are so easily impressionable. Not real men.” She slid her hand up Girard’s thigh with a siren’s smile.
“And Jennings?”
“Ah, well, Jennings is another matter entirely,” Daphne told her. “Funny, all he really wanted was the power. He’d had a taste of it before Uncle Robert married you and had it again when you left. With the promise of more, he was all mine.”
