Anne Barbour (29 page)

“In the meantime, I shall speak to Father in an effort to effect a measure of damage control.”

Prom the rigidity of his bow, Hilary realized that her effort to put a light face on me matter had failed miserably. She opened her mouth to speak again, but at that moment, Dunston materialized with James’s cloak, which he draped ceremoniously over the royal robes.

James bowed formally. “Good night, then, Lady Hilary. I—” He was interrupted by a thunderous pounding on the manor’s entrance door. Dunston proceeded majestically to answer it, and in a moment his mellifluous, if somewhat outraged voice drifted to them across the marbled expanse of the hall. “I am sorry, sir, the family is entertaining this evening, and I fear none of them is at home to visitors.”

“Never mind all that.”

James turned in surprise at the sound of the voice that issued from the driving rain outside.

“I understand that James Wincanon is among the guests, and I must speak to him.”

The figure pushed his way past Dunston, rain streaming from the crown of his somewhat disreputable beaver hat. In his hand, he carried a small metal canister, pierced with several small holes.

“Cyrus!” exclaimed James. “What the devil are you doing here?”

Hurrying toward his friend, he peered outside. There, parked before the great doorway, stood Cyrus’s old wagon. It contained a bulging object covered with a tarpaulin.

Cyrus, ignoring Dunstan’s affronted snort, strode into the hall, dripping with every step. He stared at James for a puzzled moment, taking in the velvet robes and the beard, then bowed quickly to Hilary.

“Get your oilskins out, James,” said he said jubilantly, “and come with me to the tower. I trust the soldier is on the premises, as well. I have solved the problem! At least,” he amended, “I have contrived another method which may do the trick, but my procedure must be accomplished now. Move, man!” he ordered peremptorily. “I’ll explain on the way. Go round up your Roman.”

James swung to Hilary. He hesitated a moment. He could not look at her without experiencing a wave of pain, but he forced himself to speak crisply. “I don’t know what he’s babbling about, but I think we’d better do as he says. Will you find Robert? I’ll go roust Rufus. I may need a couple of footmen to haul him out of bed, if he’s still hors de combat.”

Hilary said nothing, but lifted her hands in a pleading gesture. After a moment, she swung about and departed hastily, signaling to Dunston. James raced up the stairs, but upon entering the Tapestry Room he was brought up short by an incredible scene.

Rufus was still stretched out on the bed, but he was partially awake. Just above him hovered the pudgy King Arthur James had noticed earlier and who had been part of the group come to witness the fruition of Hilary’s little plan. Also in the room were two burly men, garbed in dark clothing. The long windows of the chamber stood open, allowing the curtains to billow in the wind and the rain. The king was apparently trying to pull Rufus from the bed. He swung about at James’s entrance, causing his crown to tumble to the coverlet. The golden wig immediately followed suit, which, though half his face was still covered by his beard, left his features clearly discernible.

“Cheeke!” shouted James in disbelief.

“Damn you, Wincanon!” snarled Mordecai, leaping from the bed. Since he was severely encumbered by his many layers of clothing, he landed on the floor with an ignominious thud. Scrambling to his feet, he faced his antagonist. Behind him, Rufus mumbled grumpily and attempted to sit up.

“What the devil are you about, you unconscionable toad?” James advanced on him, but Mordecai’s companions moved forward menacingly.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m removing this unfortunate gentleman from your clutches.” Mordecai gestured to one of his cohorts to stand between him and James.

“My
what?”

“You heard me. You see, I’ve been following your activities, James. I know all about your Roman soldier.”

“What!” James uttered the word explosively.

“Oh, yes. Did you really think you could keep your secret from a man of my intelligence? I’ve been watching every move you made—including your efforts the other day in that ruined tower. You were trying to create lightning, weren’t you?

“I was crouched nearby and I heard every word you all said. At first I thought you must have gone mad. A legionary of the first century—traveling through time? But I came to believe the truth of it, and I must say I was appalled at your knavery.”

“My knavery!”

“The man is a treasure beyond price to the antiquarian community,” trumpeted Mordecai virtuously, “and you’re keeping him bottled up like a specimen on a shelf. It is my duty as a scientist to see that his knowledge of ancient Britain is made available to the world at large. And you can’t stop me!”

James advanced threateningly on the imitation king. Mordecai squeaked faintly and dodged behind his protector. The second man, surging from his position at the window assisted in effectively preventing James from reaching his target. The man raised a beefy fist, but at that moment, Dunston, accompanied by two stalwart footmen, entered the room, Hilary on their heels.

“James, what’s toward? Cyrus is waiting, and—oh!” Hilary stopped abruptly on observing the scene taking place in the bedchamber.

Mordecai sent a glance of concern toward the footmen, but stood his ground. He watched as Hilary advanced into the room.

“Ah, the little lady.” He smirked. “I understand I am to wish you happy. But did not James come up to snuff soon enough for you? I must congratulate you, my dear. Luring James up here was a masterstroke. What a picture you made—all blushing innocence in the arms of poor, deluded James—with a mob of country gentry to witness the tender scene.”

James, after one look into Hilary’s wide, anguished gaze, growled unintelligibly and launched himself at Mordecai in a blind rage. Instantly, he was grasped by Mordecai’s henchmen, one of whom delivered a blow to the back of his head that brought him to his knees.

At that point, Rufus came fully to his senses. It took him only an instant to comprehend what was afoot. Rising from the bedclothes, he stood atop them, swaying, but undaunted. He drew his sword, and Cheeke, glancing over his shoulder at him, turned pale. Another glance, this time at the footmen and Dunston, advancing into the room, prompted him further. With a shouted command to his companions, he edged past James, still in the grip of the two bullies. With an agility surprising in one of his girth, he ran for the windows, and in an instant had disappeared into the depths of the rainstorm. His hirelings abruptly lost interest in the proceedings, and in James as well. Thrusting him into the arms of the advancing servants, they, too, scurried out through the window.

As soon as James had recovered his equilibrium, he gave pursuit, but by then, nothing could be seen from the windows through the gathering murk. He turned back into the room to face Hilary, standing utterly still, her face the color of parchment. Rufus, Dunston, and the footmen blurred into insignificance as he stared at her. She had thrown a serviceable woolen cloak over her costume, and with it, she wore sturdy boots of jean.

“I—I returned to the hall, and—you were not—I wondered what had become of you,” she whispered, her fingers groping blindly as though the world had gone dark around her. Their gazes met and locked and James felt his heart turn over in his breast.

Suddenly, between one breath and the next, James felt a burden lifted from him. He knew in that instant—he
knew
that Hilary had not schemed to entrap him.

Dear God, he’d been so wrapped up in his cynical theories on the female sex, that he’d let a pearl beyond price slip through his fingers, for he knew that Hilary was aware of his unworthy suspicions and that she was terribly hurt. Cheeke’s final words shouted inside James’s head.

What was he to do now? thought James, frozen in a morass of guilt and regret. Hilary, too, seemed unable to move or speak, but after a few seconds, she whirled and fled from the room.

“Sir. Sir?” It was Dunston, speaking at his elbow. “It appears the miscreants have left the premises. Do you wish to notify the magistrate?”

“What?” asked James blankly. “No—no that will not be necessary. I think we won’t have any more trouble from them. Ah, thank you for assistance, Dunston. I think that will be all for the present.”

With a stately bow, Dunston exited the chamber, waving the footmen on ahead of him. James turned to Rufus. He knew there was something he should be doing, but his thought processes were mired in such a black depression he could not seem to function. He stared at Rufus.

“What is it, lad? Do you want to go after those bastards? They did me no harm, but it was a near thing. If you hadn’t come in just then, with me still in the arms of Bacchus, they’d have whisked me out of here with no trouble. Lad?”

James stared at him blindly. “Hilary?” He was unaware that he’d spoken aloud. “No! Cheeke—”

“What in Hades are you mumbling about?” Rufus snorted, thrusting his sword back into its sheath. “Did the foul Cheeke say something about your lady?”

“She’s not my lady,” mumbled James despairingly. It was the truth, wasn’t it? She had never been really his and in a split second, he had lost whatever chance he might have had to capture her heart.

With a shuddering sigh, he forced his mind to the matter at hand. “Come along,
optima,”
he said dully. “It appears you have another appointment with destiny.”

Chapter Twenty-five

With Rufus babbling excitedly at his side, James returned to the hall. Hilary stood waiting with Cyrus and Robert. At James’s entrance, she moved toward him stiffly.

“I am here to help,” she said, her voice sounding rusty and unused. “But perhaps I am not needed. If—” She turned to go, but Cyrus stayed her.

“Of course, you’re needed,” he snapped. “I’ll need all the help I can get for this.”

Hilary’s eyes turned to James. They still held that lost look, and James knew an urge to go to her, to gather her in his arms and tell her he’d been a fool and could she forgive him.

“Shall I—” she began.

“Of course,” he said, his own voice sounding strange in his ears. There was so much he wished to say to her. He loved Hilary Merton, by God, and it was high time he did something about it. So far he’d done damn little to make her love him, but once they got Rufus off to his own place in the cosmos, he would devote his entire fund of energy toward that goal. Please God, he could convince her that there was something in him to love, though at the moment, he couldn’t think of a thing.

But right now there was no time. Dropping his gaze, he turned to Robert. His secretary had moved toward Rufus, who swayed suddenly. Only the hurried assistance of Hilary, Robert, and James, prevented him from falling to the floor. They half carried him to a settee placed at the edge of the hall’s expanse. By now, he was white and perspiring.

“Gods!” he panted. “Don’t know what came over me. I feel like week-old rat turds.”

He fell against James, who had seated himself next to Rufus. The warrior’s eyes rolled back into his head and he seemed to fall into a semiconscious state.

“I don’t understand,” James whispered to Hilary and Robert. “This is the worst I’ve ever seen him, I think.” He raised his eyes to Cyrus, who had hastened from his place near the door to join them. “I assume this plan of yours involves another attempt to create lightning—I’m not sure he can survive being struck by lightning again.”

“Well,” began Cyrus, “I don’t intend to create it, but—”

“It seems to me,” interposed Robert, “that he may not survive anyway. We’ve got to try something.” His boyish face was hard with concern, and it was apparent that he, too, had grown fond of the old soldier in the past few weeks.

“If we’re going to try my experiment,” Cyrus declared urgently, “we must move now, while the storm is raging. It must be directly overhead when I set off the rocket, and it’s nearly at that point now.”

“The rocket?” echoed his listeners in unison.

“I’ll explain on the way.” Cyrus’s voice was high with impatience. “Here”—he handed the small, metal canister he still carried to James—”keep it dry. And be careful. I had a servant fill it with hot coals while you were retrieving the soldier. Come on—we must get him into the wagon.”

Accepting the oilskins and umbrellas produced with superb aplomb by Dunston and his minions, the little group swathed Rufus carefully. Then, in a combined effort, they bundled him out into the body of the wagon. Once he was settled, they climbed in, and Hilary, additional blankets in hand, stretched over him, covering most of his body with her own. James, carefully cradling the canister, sat next to Cyrus, who held the reins himself. Robert took a place near Hilary.

To no one’s surprise, Jasper galloped up just as they were about to set off. As usual, he seemed oblivious to the rain that pelted him, flooding his eyes and ears. He barked joyously as Cyrus called, “Gee-up!” as though the whole scenario had been created for his express entertainment. When the wagon moved forward, Jasper lumbered along in its wake, splashing like a grampus and offering encouragement with an occasional, gurgling woof.

“Yes, I plan to set off a rocket,” explained Cyrus, shouting against the noise of the storm. “I remembered something I read some years ago about the properties of saltpeter, when mixed with sugar.”

“Sugar!”

“Yes. I know it sounds unlikely, but together, along with sulfur, they create a powerful propellant. I have the rocket all set up back there.” He gestured to the tarpaulin-covered object, against which Rufus lay. “What I propose to do is, when the storm is directly over the tower, I shall fire it off, straight up into the cloud. I have a wire attached to its base, and I’ll place the other end against the same shovel we used before, near Rufus. With any luck, the electricity in the cloud will be attracted to the wire. It will travel to the ground and—boom!”

“My God,” breathed James. “You’d be calling lightning from the skies! Do you think it will work?”