I go in for the kill.
“You would make a great king. Your Majesty.”
His gaze is glued to my mouth as he leans down. “I would, wouldn’t I?”
Oh god, I faked too hard. He’s going to kiss me.
I slide my lids closed, bracing for impact. As distasteful as it is, I’ll bear his kiss if it means acquiring the clue.
His breath ghosts over my face, but before his lips make contact, another celestial knight clangs into the salon.
“What is it?” Torvil snaps, jerking upright.
“Apologies, Your Grace.” The man bows. “You’re needed in the hold.”
Torvil rolls his eyes, releasing an annoyed groan. “Have Sir Quinn handle it. What good are my knights if they can’t carry out justice in my name?”
The knight’s eyes stray to me, then back to the duke. “It’s Stafford, Your Grace. The prisoner you specifically?—”
“Oh, yes.” Torvil straightens. “I’ll be down presently.” He turns to me. “I’m afraid I must handle this, Charlotte. Perhaps we can finish the portrait tomorrow?”
“Stafford?” I ask, my spirits leaping, even as panic jostles my bones. The duke cannot leave yet; I need that damned clue. “Is he being released today?”
He sweeps a thumb down my cheek and I fight an urge to step back. “I told you I’d handle it, didn’t I?”
“You are too good to me. But before you go, I wonder if you might consider?—”
“The clue.” He smiles. “It’s taken quite some time for you to pique my interest, but I do believe you’ve finally earned it.”
Relief sweeps away my annoyance at his phrasing.
His eyes go glassy, and his voice deepens. “The bell tolls, though none but the reaper will utter its true name.”
I commit it to memory as he comes back to himself and releases me. “Tomorrow, then?”
“I am at your disposal, Your Grace.” I curtsy.
“Please,” he whispers. “Call me Torvil. And see you that retrieve the fragment.”
Says the man who’s waited until the last possible moment to provide his clue. Still, it’s another battle won, even if I have no desire to win him in this war.
I celebrate by peppering Lachlan with kisses the moment we return to our quarters. Where I change into my traveling clothes and we head for the abandoned church.
Chapter
Thirty-Two
Twilight cloaks Campan’s Vale when Lachlan, Tula, and I arrive in the woods outside the Áine estate. The church is dark and quiet while the grounds are abuzz with celestial knights eating and laughing, drinking and sparring in the open areas surrounding the main house.
“What do you think?” I ask Lachlan as he brackets my waist in his large hands and helps me off his kelpie. We both know I could dismount myself, but why miss an opportunity for contact? “Should I let them know I’m here again? Or?—”
Raucous yelling breaks out from the back of the manor. Two knights have stripped to their trousers and are pummeling each other within a large ring formed by their colleagues. An angry, restless energy ripples off the crowd, as if the approaching harvests and the end of the balmy summer months have agitated them.
I don’t want to go anywhere near them. I hope they stay on the estate tonight and do not wander out into the village.
“Never mind,” I say to Lachlan, who’s studying the knights with the same caution. “A covert mission it is.”
He glamours into Vesper’s form, then tucks into the hood of my cloak.
