Both of the carry bags had been made by a younger sister, Naomi Tremayne, who loved to sew. The bags were sturdily constructed and had small pockets inside to hold special items. Each also had the beautifully embroidered initial of the owner. Tamsyn’s initialTwas done in a soft rose color.
Cade’s bag had an elegantCand was sewn in a very dark blue, the same shade as his eyes. When they’d first met, Tamsyn thought his eyes were brown, almost black, but the color turned out to be an intense blue. Compelling eyes that could light with laughter or warmth or icy determination.
Tamsyn knew that her own bag carried several items of clothing, including a boy’s outfit for when she needed a disguise or more freedom of movement or both. Money and a few pieces of jewelry were tucked into pockets that were secured with buttons.
There was also a folded list of gifted people in France who might be able to help if Tamsyn or Cade needed assistance. The names and addresses were coded so a searcher wouldn’t be able to decipher them and perhaps threaten their allies.
She opened Cade’s bag and froze. The contents carried his scent, subtle and masculine and as distinctive as if he was sitting next to her. The effect was shattering. She closed her eyes and mentally reached out, needing to feel him even though he was not his full self now. In return, she sent her own caring energy and thought it strengthened him a little.
When she felt steady again, she examined the contents of his bag, assuming that they would be similar to her own. There were fewer items of clothing because he was so much larger than she, so his garments took more space. Their additional belongings had been packed into a small trunk and carried to Calais on an ambassadorial wagon and loaded onto the ship. Those things would reach London long before they did, but no matter if they didn’t. Clothing was easy to replace.
Cade had been carrying even more money than she had, which could prove useful. He also had a copy of the list of gifted people they might call on. In the same pocket she found the sleek folding knife she’d given him several years earlier. It was a very nice specimen, compact and potentially lethal.
She held it a moment, wondering if Cade had ever used this blade to kill someone. He’d probably had to kill on occasion and if so, she was sure the killing was justified, but she was grateful that she’d never had to kill anyone herself. If the necessity ever arose, she hoped that she’d be strong enough to do the right thing.
There was one more pocket to search. Something hard and rectangular was inside. She unbuttoned the pocket and found a golden case about two inches square. It looked like a watch, though she couldn’t remember ever seeing Cade use it.
She clicked the case open, then gasped. Inside was a miniature of her, a small version of the laughing portrait her parents had commissioned. Each child of the Tribe of Tremayne had a similar portrait, and the paintings covered a whole wall of her parents’ private sitting room. Opposite the miniature was a small lock of blond hair under glass. Her hair.
She closed the golden case, unnerved. It pulsed with Cade’s distinct energy as if he held it often. She was probably closer to him than any of the younger sisters, but even so, this seemed . . . extreme.
For an instant she wondered if his feelings for her went beyond brotherly affection. She buried the thought immediately. They were brother and sister and that was more than enough.
She prepared for bed, weary to the bone. When she put out the lantern, moonlight poured through the window, keeping the small room from complete darkness.
She laid down, forcing herself to relax, muscle by muscle. Then she reached out mentally to her parents. When she felt their presence, she sent a wordless message that she and Cade had been delayed in France, but not to worry. They’d be home soon.
She sensed that they understood and were sending her warmth and reassurance. She wanted to crawl into Gwyn’s arms and be told everything would be all right, but held back her longing. If she communicated how serious the situation was, her parents would be upset and want to do something, but war had been declared and no Englishman was safe in France.
Telling Bran would be even worse because he’d want to come to France immediately. That would be too dangerous for him. Her intuition told her if Cade was to be rescued, it must be done by her.
Though God only knew how she would be able to free the brother she loved.
CHAPTER10
Cade was pulled from his dark fog when the door of the room opened and a man entered with a tray of food. The newcomer was tall and dark, and he radiated malevolence. “You must be hungry by now, Englishman.”
A primitive instinct of self-protection stirred Cade to sit up and lean against the headboard—lying on the bed felt very vulnerable. Plus he was hungry. Though he was stiff from bruising and lack of movement, his mind was a little clearer than earlier.
The newcomer handed him the tray. Bread and cheese and a tumbler of white wine. The man asked, “Do you know who I am?”
Cade and Tamsyn had talked about this dangerous fellow. “Scorpion.”
He took a bite of cheese and bread and washed it down with the wine. It was a low-grade table variety, but the combination was good because he was famished.
The other man laughed. “Scorpion? I rather like that, but I’m known as Claude Bastien. I am sometimes called Frossard.”
A fragment of knowledge floated into Cade’s mind. “Frossard. To break. Shatter.”
The other man’s brows arched. “Your French is very good for an Englishman. You are correct. I am called that because I am very good at breaking people, and I intend to break you.”
Cade’s gaze met Bastien’s. “No.” He took another bite of bread and cheese.
“So confident,” Bastien said with a sneer. “Do you know who you are?”
Cade hesitated, feeling uncertain. What had his friend called him? “Cade.”
“What else do you know about yourself?”
