“Precisely. After you were gone I used the passage in the south wing to go to the caves. By now I knew all its secrets. I had explored the passages and chambers many times since I first used it. I knew exactly where to stand to hear the conversation being conducted in the outer chamber. Unfortunately, the stone wall distorts the voices so I still did not know the identities of the people in the cave. At this moment I know no more than I did then. I sent Powell directly to London to tell of what I had overheard and I was determined to establish the identity of the traitor once you were safely at Cherry Hill with Yvonne. But my plans came to nothing. My father and Richard died, you were abducted, the guest list was forgotten, and Napoleon escaped. It now rests with Powell. He is employed at Dunnelly and I can only hope he has more success than I.”
Kenna was not certain she wished Powell the same. She would not let herself dwell on the possibility that someone she knew, even loved, was a traitor. “Have you any suspicions?” she asked, dreading Rhys’s response.
“It would be folly for me to speak of them. I have no evidence. I did not even share my thoughts with Powell, preferring that he begin his work uninfluenced by my judgment.”
“That is no sort of answer at all. If you suspect some member of my family you should tell me.”
“It is the only answer I will give you, Kenna,” Rhys said. “Please do not ask me again.”
“Now I shall think the worst.”
“I cannot be responsible for that. Think whatever you wish.” His expression softened as did his hold on her. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to be so brusque. This is a matter on which I do not care to dwell either. But, Kenna, while I have only suspicions, I would swear on my life that you know the truth.”
“I know nothing of traitors!” she denied hotly.
“Don’t you? What of your dreams? Isn’t the truth there somewhere?”
“You mean—” She was too astonished to finish her thought.
Rhys nodded, reading the expression on her face with perfect clarity. “I believe the person responsible for your father’s death is the same person I overheard receiving information of Napoleon’s escape. There has always been much more at stake than you merely discovering who murdered your father. That you could identify a traitor who is still working for Napoleon ten years later threatened everything he is doing. It mandated the attempts on your life.”
It made an awful kind of sense to her but Kenna did not want to believe it. “No, Rhys. You’re wrong.”
Rhys would not argue over this matter. “Mayhap I am,” he agreed quietly.
It occurred to Kenna that Rhys was patronizing her but it was not in her at the moment to take offense. “I need time to think on it,” she said, admitting to herself there might be more than a grain of truth in his suspicions.
“Of course.”
“You must admit it is difficult for me.”
“I admit it.”
She went on as if he had not spoken. “I mean, it is a fantastic idea.”
“Fantastic.”
“That the traitor of ten years ago could be the same traitor you overheard. It is hard to credit.”
Rhys simply drew her closer. “I know.”
Kenna’s lashes fanned her cheeks, blending into the shadows beneath her eyes. “Just hold me, Rhys. Hold me forever.”
“I will.” And he did. Long after Kenna had fallen asleep Rhys held her in his loving embrace and stared at the play of shadows on the ceiling.
Something soft touched the bridge of Kenna’s nose. She wrinkled it. There was another touch, light and airy. She passed her hand in front of her face, brushing aside the teasing caress. When it came again she buried her face in her pillow.
Rhys chuckled, ruffling the red-gold curls at the nape of her neck. “Slug-a-bed,” he said affectionately.
Kenna nodded happily in agreement.
The knuckle of his index finger traced the length of her spine, eliciting a sleepy, but satisfied sound of pleasure. “It’s a beautiful day, Kenna,” he said, looking past her to the window. The sun was shining in a cloudless azure sky, coaxing pink and white blossoms on the cherry tree beyond the window to lay open their petals.
“That’s nice,” she said, yawning hugely.
Rhys was uncertain if she was commenting on the day or the pressure of his hand in the small of her back. He bent his head, blowing softly in her ear. “I was thinking of a picnic. We could ride to the brook that Alcott says skirts the edge of our property, lay out a rug, and breakfast on muffins, honey, and tea.”
She turned her head a little and snuggled closer to Rhys. “That sounds lovely.”
