And so Gabriel told him; he rattled off the long, implausible story of Lady Ryan Daventry. He explained his boyhood letters to her; Maurice’s designs on Winscombe and her younger sister; the dog attack; the ambush by Channing Meade and the screaming that led Gabriel to her—everything. (Everything except what had happened in the bedroom last night. Or the goodbye kiss.)
When Gabriel finished, Killian stretched back from the fence, holding himself at a slant. He shook his head. “I can’t believe that a twenty-year-old betrothal would transfer from a presumed dead prince to the new prince. But God only knows. You’d not believe the convoluted arranged marriages I saw in my work at St. James’s Palace. The ruling families of Europe are determined to protect the purity of royal blood above all things. It’s an absolute miracle I managed to marry your princess of a sister.”
“The tragedies in my life,” said Gabriel, “have led me to view royal blood and purity as a soul-destroyingplague to be avoided at all costs. That’s dramatic, I know; but the story of my life and my sister’s life reads like a gothic tragedy. I’ll never exist in the realm of kings and queens, of palaces and courts, ever again. My father was executed because of it. Our family, torn apart. I’ve been hunted since boyhood because of my ‘royal blood.’ Now Lady Ryan is enduring more of the same. I stripped my life of all trace ofdivine rightfor a reason. I’ll not be controlled by my heredity.”
“Indeed,” said Killian, studying him. He pulled himself upright and stared at the horses. “Well said, actually.”
Gabriel grunted and kicked mud from his boot on the fence post.
“Considering this,” ventured Killian, “what’s to be done about Lady Ryan and your betrothal? It begs closer study, surely. I’m doubtful your cousin has a leg to stand on when it comes to modern laws, but it will take legal counsel to untangle. I’ve seen lesser aristocrats go ten rounds over who inherits a gamekeeper’s cottage. A newly minted French prince? He will put up a fight over marriage to an earl’s daughter and an estate in the Channel Islands. What do you intend?”
And here was the question of the decade. Saying the words, hearing his own name—his actual name and title—and explaining the threat forced Gabriel to acknowledge a new reality. This washisproblem to solve. It would not be so easy as sending her to his brother-in-law and sister to sort out. Gabriel might be a recluse, but he was not without honor. He did not abandon women. He could seek out help, but ultimately,heshould set this to rights. And perhaps he’d known this all along; perhaps that was why he’d followed Ryan every step from the outskirts of Pewsey to Mayapple. He hoped so. The evolution from ignoring her screams to standing in the stables of Mayapple had been lightning fast—but, he could now admit, it was not misplaced. This was his responsibility.
“She’ll stay here as our guest, of course,” said Killian, “and I urge you to remain at Mayapple until you’ve determined your next move. Our home is utter chaos—we cannot hide it, obviously—but take a room in these stables, if you prefer. The stablemaster and several grooms live in, but I’ll instruct them to defer to you in all things—or I’ll send them to the village for the length of your stay. The lodgings are modest, a room with a bed and stove for heat, a shared kitchen. But the stable will give you some relief from the mutiny of our daughters. And you can keep an eye on the mare. It would be unsporting not to mention this obvious benefit to me.”
“I—thank you,” said Gabriel. “It would never occur to me to remain, but it does seem ill-conceived to think I can be useful to Lady Ryan if I do not. However, I would be remiss if I did not mention that harboring me may be a threat to your young family. I’ve told Elise as much in my letters. I’ve had a price on my head since I left France. For as long as I can remember, mercenaries have hunted me. I cannot say it’s safe for anyone with me on the property.”
“I disagree, actually,” said Killian. “The climate in France is not volatile toward remaining royalty—not at the moment; likely never again. The Revolution is long over and France is more concerned with fighting all of Europe than reseating a monarch. Make no mistake, I’d not invite you here if I thought it was unsafe.”
Gabriel considered this. He didn’t know Killian, but he was clearly a formidable man—not one with whom to trifle. He was no taker of careless risks. If Killian felt the threat had diminished, perhaps Gabriel was in less danger than he feared. Perhaps he could leave solitude long enough to see Ryan safe.
“There was a time when Elise felt threatened,” Killian was saying, “but not since we’ve been married. These days, we go about our lives with no thought to it. You were right to take refuge in the forest for as long as you did. But trust me when I say that you’re no longer a target. Look at this cousin of yours—Maurice. He’s making no effort to conceal himself.”
Gabriel thought of this. He read broadsheets from London and Paris every week. Even so, he’d not allowed himself to believe the threat had diminished. It seemed unbelievable, after all he’d suffered. And yet, Killian Crewes, a man who worked inside St. James’s Palace for the king, believed there was no danger.
“I’ll need to set things to rights at my camp before I commit,” Gabriel finally said. “I’ve grooms in my employ who’ll need instructions for my absence. Allow me to think on it. But I am grateful to you. Truly.”
“Excellent,” said Killian. “I’ll tell my stablemaster. But let us face off with Elise together. She’ll want you in the house. If you decide to stay with us, and if you prefer the stable, my advice to you is to stand your ground.”
Gabriel nodded, thinking again of the potential of leaving Savernake Forest long enough to sort out Ryan’s problem. He’d not envisioned one night out of the forest, let alone a week or a fortnight.
“I like what you’ve said of ruling families and royalcourts,” Killian said. “I worked in St. James’s for years and saw almost no value to their machinations. What a lot of vultures and vipers. And I feel terribly for this poor woman—Lady Ryan. But just to be clear, I would do anything for my wife. Her search for you has chewed a small hole through her heart, and—if possible—I would see it filled. There is no rush on this, but I cannot disguise the fact that her happiness is my top priority. In all things.”
“I am grateful for your devotion to her. I will do what I can.”
“As to Lady Ryan,” continued Killian, “just a thought, but would you consider marrying the girl?”
Gabriel made a choking sound and covered it with a cough. “Ah—no. She’ll not want to leave her sisters or her estate in Guernsey. And my life is in Savernake Forest. I’ve found some measure of peace that feels very precious, but it’s specific to my camp.”
Killian nodded thoughtfully. “Elise has told me what she suffered, fleeing France. She was fifteen at the time, but you were just a boy. I can only imagine what you’ve been through.”
“It’s not simply life in the forest. I’m unsuited to carry on as a gentleman in society. I’ve not been a prince since I was a child. If I’m being honest, it will be a struggle to survive your garden tea—how am I to go about as a prince? Not only am I unfit, making the effort feels destructive to my very soul. Lady Ryan is generous and versatile but she’s also the daughter of an earl. She lives on a grand estate. No, I cannot marry her. Nor do I believe she wishes to marry me—or anyone. She and her sisters are settled and happy in Guernsey. She enjoys agency over herhousehold and appears wholly self-reliant. Their family is respected by locals and their sheep earn a living. Except for this odd legal conundrum, she does not require a husband.”
“Hmmm,” said Killian, rubbing his jaw. “But you’re fond of her?”
“Pardon?” asked Gabriel, the word came out on a choke.
“Lady Ryan—you enjoy her company? You’re not ambivalent to her?”
“She is...” Gabriel began, searching for the correct word. “...I am not ambivalent. To her.”
“Indeed,” Killian mused. “Well, my first bit of advice—assuming you’re open to my advice—is to keep your hands off. Of her. As you sort out all of this betrothal business.”
Gabriel felt his cheeks burn red but he said nothing.
“Forgive my bluntness,” said Killian, “I simply mean you’ve been very much thrown together, haven’t you? An unresolved betrothal, but also new allies working against a common enemy. You’ve rescued her from highwaymen and have examined her various animal attacks and abrasions, et cetera, et cetera. And good for you; the world needs more knights gallant in my view. However, if you’ve no intention ofmarryingthe girl, keep your distance, lest an already complicated situation become a total quagmire.”
Gabriel cleared his throat. “I understand. There is no worry on this score. She is not at risk from me.”
