Sluggish was normal. The illness in the night was nothing serious, then. If it was an illness. Black had been out, and who knew where and with whom. He had been drinking. No man had ever found out the tower’s secrets without being shown them. If Black was a man. No. Allan’s thoughts were too outlandish to be true.
“Something you drank, I gather. If you are well, then I shall leave you. We mean you no harm, Mr. Black, but we shall have an explanation from you of your little expedition these last two nights.”
“And I mean you and your brothers no harm,” Black insisted. “Indeed, the reverse is true.”
That remains to be seen. No one was around when Allan walked downstairs, and his pocket watch confirmed it was still before noon. He would have to catch a few winks later in the day, but for now, he would make do with coffee.
The smell of the beverage must have drawn his brothers, for one by one they appeared in the living area, yawning and stretching. Each claimed a mug and poured the morning drink of their choice—Allan had also made a large pot of tea and one of chocolate.
Mr. Black came too, strolling down the stairs in his shirtsleeves and breeches with his hair mussed and his eyes sleepy. Allan’s new suspicions were strengthened by a close look in the better light of the living area—luxurious lashes, fine bones, no Adam’s apple, and a morning shadow that had not been present on Black’s cheeks less than an hour ago.
His body already believed those suspicions to be true. It was responding to Black’s disheveled appearance as if it waspersonally responsible. Allan moved to put the table between him and everyone else while he tied an apron around his waist as further concealment. “I shall chop the meat for the stew,” he said, to explain the apron.
“Is there hot water for a shave?” Black asked, his tone deceptively innocent.Her tone. Tell it like it is. Either Black was a woman or the marquess had finally succeeded in driving Allan mad.
“In the kettle on the back of the stove,” he replied. “Jugs in that upper cupboard,” he pointed, “on the left of the dresser.”
“Thank you.”
Black poured her water and wandered off back up the stairs. Even though she strutted like a man and she’d left her shirt untucked at the back so it hid the flare of her hips, Allan could see the difference now he was watching for it—the slight tilt of her pelvis at each step, necessitated by the wider set of the bones.
She must be wearing padding around her waist and binding at her breasts to disguise the rest of her womanly shape. Allan had no doubt that she had one.
“Are we not going to question Black?” Donald asked.
“You didn’t wake me,” Baldwin commented.
“He…” Allan choked on the implied lie. “I checked the temperature and the pulse regularly, and they both improved quite quickly. Black continued sleeping on one side. I saw no danger, so I let you sleep.”
Both Baldwin and Cornelius, the brothers who knew Allan best, studied him with narrowed eyes. Or perhaps it was just Allan’s conscience that assumed suspicion where none existed.
Why did he not simply announce Black’s deception? Then, if Black denied it, they could strip his shirt off and settle the issue once and for all.
But something in him baulked at that solution, and he kept Black’s secret then, and when she—he—came back downstairs now fully dressed.
Oh bother. He decided he would just refer to her as a she, instead of a he, for what was the use—at least in his private musings—of pretending she was a man when he, at least, knew she was not?
Baldwin glared at Allan. “Are you going to question this interloper? Or shall I?”
Allan waved a hand, inviting him to take the lead, and Baldwin began the questioning.
“Explain yourself, Black. Where have you been and how did you get out?”
“I spent Christmas with my sister, my nephew, and my daughter,” said Black. Not a response that Allan expected, and Baldwin, too, appeared nonplussed.
“I swapped the bowls,” Black added. “You drugged me the first night, and the bowls were the only way it could have been done. Just to be certain, I switched the mug set out for me for a clean one, as well. On the second night, I followed you to the Golden Adonis, but on Christmas Eve, I went home, to see my family.”
“Or to collude with our enemy,” Cornelius growled.
Black ignored the hostility in that remark. “Your enemy is my enemy,” she said, calmly. “I have been trying to find evidence to convict the Marquess of Teign of at least some of his crimes. When he advertised for an investigator, I thought it a chance to enter his home with a license to poke around.” She shrugged. “I did not expect to be shut in a tower with his sons.”
She sounded sincere, but then, she was a practiced liar. Allan didn’t know what to believe. “Having discovered you would not have the freedom of the house, you came back,” he pointed out. “Why?
“To make common cause with you, if I can, and to help with your escape,” Black said. “Escape is the plan, is it not?”
The brothers exchanged glances, and Baldwin swore, and lunged toward Black, reaching for him—whether to shake him or strangle him, Allan didn’t know. He put out a hand to stop his brother and addressed Black. “Explain how you came to that conclusion.”
“Some of it, various ones of you have told me, some I have overheard, some I have deduced. You have been trapped in this tower by your love for one another. The marquess never lets you all out at the same time. If any of you disobey his orders, the others are hostages to be beaten or otherwise abused at his command.” Black raised her brows. “Am I correct so far?”
