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The very thought of Simon filled her chest with warmth, and she allowed herself to drift through the memories they’d made together that day. The ominous aura surrounding the House of Lords and the heartbreaking encounter with the child suffering from the plague had made for a difficult start to their outing, but the ending had brought unexpected joy. Even their canter home through the drizzle could not be faulted. Isla had managed to remain in her saddle, and afterward, Martha had insisted that she sit beside Simon in front of the fire until their clothing was dry. A small smile touched Isla’s lips. She could still hardly believe that Simon had confessed his love for her, but he had kissed her so convincingly, she did not doubt his earnestness for one moment.

He had promised to return to the Maidstones’ house in the morning. He’d told Martha it was necessary because Isla had yet to explain a football game to him, but Isla suspected that it was really that he knew how hard it was going to be for all of them to wait for news from Sir Cecil’s office. It might take days before they learned anything new, and time would pass more quickly and far more pleasantly if they were together.

She closed her eyes, picturing Simon standing at the doorway immediately before he’d left for the night. Her stomach fluttered, and she pressed her hand to it in an attempt to subdue the butterflies. As hard as it was to contemplate giving up the life she’d once known, she could not imagine being truly happy in a life without him. Perhaps it was time for him to tell her more about his home in the Peak District.

Chapter 18

The wind was cold. Guy pressed his stovepipe hat more firmly onto his head and eyed the tree line up ahead. Once they were within the Royal Forest of Epping Chase, they would be better protected from the elements. And from curious onlookers.

Tresham had accepted Catsby’s invitation to meet at Barnet. He’d surely thought it was a friendly meeting of cousins, with Catsby footing the bill for whatever victuals they consumed. Indeed, there was a good possibility that Tresham had actually looked forward to it. Unfortunately for the gentleman, that positive outlook had likely not lasted long after his arrival at the local inn.

Guy’s presence would have been Tresham’s first warning that this was not merely a social gathering. His suspicions had undoubtedly redoubled when, after perfunctory pleasantries had been exchanged, Catsby had suggested a walk to the forest. Given that Catsby had been resting his hand on the hilt of his sword at the time, it could not have escaped Tresham’s attention that both Catsby and Guy had weapons hanging from their belts. Tresham did also, but Guy thought it possible that his was more a statement of fashion than a threat.

Guy studied the man walking directly ahead of him. Anxiety radiated off his stiffened shoulders, but to his credit, he had yet to balk at their steady pace or the peculiar nature of the outing. Catsby had taken the lead and was guiding them toward the forest entrance. Tresham followed, with Guy close behind. It was an odd sight, to be sure, but Tresham had to be questioned—and if this silent march was any indication, Catsby desired a setting that offered both privacy and an opportunity for intimidation.

The breeze tugged at Guy’s cloak. It flapped noisily. Guy snatched the fabric and pulled it closer. He wished to know who had sent the traitorous letter to Monteagle as much as Catsby and Wintour, but with the damage already done, his concern centered on whether Cecil would unravel the cryptic clues rather than on listening to the confession of a cowardly betrayer. Guy had carefully monitored activity at the House of Lords for the past three days. No one had shown undue interest in the building or the undercroft, and he was beginning to think Cecil was not quite so clever as the gentleman would have his associates believe.

Up ahead, the snap of a twig underfoot marked Catsby’s arrival at the forest’s edge. Moments later, Tresham and Guy were also under the cover of tall, almost-leafless branches. Catsby did not pause. He continued into the forest, past dense bushes and evergreen trees that served as barriers to the wind and the outside world, until, at last, they reached a smallish clearing. There he took a position with his back to the trunk of a tall ash tree and turned his eyes on Tresham.

“Why are we here, Catsby?” Tresham asked.

Guy owned to being surprised. For someone who was facing an accusation of disloyalty, Tresham had more courage than Guy had supposed.

“I believe you know,” Catsby replied.

“Then, you credit me with more intelligence than you should.” Tresham’s gaze flashed to Guy. “I would suppose that since Fawkes has joined this woodland party, it has something to do with your plot to change the face of English politics.” He shrugged. “That is all the intelligence I can muster.”

“A letter was delivered to Monteagle some four nights ago,” Catsby said. “Did you pen it?”

“Why would I write to Monteagle?”

“He is your brother-in-law, is he not?”

“Of course. Which makes your question all the odder. If I wished to speak to the fellow, I have only to stop by his house. To the best of my knowledge, I am welcome there at any time.”

“I am not speaking of a trivial letter containing material suitable for a social call, Tresham.” Catsby’s voice had become menacing. “This particular missive was written by someone who broke a solemn oath made before God and men.”

Guy caught Catsby’s subtle nod and withdrew his sword. The blade left its sheath with a zing of grazing metal.

Instantly, Tresham swung around, his face pale. “If you are accusing me of betrayal, you must know that you are sorely mistaken.”

“I know no such thing.” In one practiced move, Catsby removed his sword from its sheath. “But because of our familial ties, I shall offer you three minutes to prove it to me.”

“We are cousins!”

“Indeed. And your sister is married to one of the very nobles who should be in attendance at the House of Lords when Fawkes plans to light the fuse. Which of those loyalties is the strongest, Tresham?”

“How can you ask such a thing when you know full well that we have enjoyed a unique bond since childhood?”

“So I thought.” Catsby took a step toward him, his eyes narrowing. “But you have yet to persuade me that it remains intact.”

“This is monstrous! Do you not recall my service during the Essex rebellion? I was jailed for my dedication to the Catholic cause. Why would I forsake that now, when we are on the cusp of making real and lasting change in this country?”

“Why indeed?” Catsby circled him, the tip of his sword pointed at Tresham’s chest.

Tresham pivoted, setting his desperate gaze on Guy. “I am innocent, I tell you. Whatever was shared with Monteagle did not originate with me.” He waved his arms. “You must believe me!”

“Who else would have written it?” Guy asked. “You are the newest member of our group and have yet to fully prove yourself.”