Fourteen

Mouse avoided breakfast that morning, the way that she had the previous two days. She slipped out into the garden before dawn managing to evade the ramblings of her family, the house staff, and the many curious visitors who’d descended upon her since the word had gotten out about her abandonment by the poor, mad earl. Suddenly, Lady Winningham was the height of interest to society. Mouse was beginning to hate them all. Especially the ones who dared to show their faces before noon. With her pregnancy, Mouse quickly realized that she was not the early riser she’d once been. Of course, the need to take afternoon naps also overwhelmed her of late and she came to despise the afternoon visitors as well.
Mouse had agreed to stay at her sister Catalina’s house for two reasons. First, and most practical, since her stepmother had sold off her father’s townhouse, she’d simply no place to go. That is except for her sister Merry’s home. With her husband’s rakish attitude and behavior, Mouse could not maintain a peaceful demeanor. Which led to the second reason for Mouse’s extended visit with the younger of her two siblings. Advanced in her own pregnancy, Catalina was a veritable mountain of information about anything related to birth and child rearing. After much investigation, Mouse learned that such things were not generally spoken of in polite circles or to be found in the dusty tomes that comprised Arthur’s vast library.
Fortunately, her brother-in-law had no qualms about sharing his home. A true gentleman of the old school, Arthur, too, had insisted on

her staying. He often gave her kind words and gentle platitudes that in other circumstances Mouse might have found annoying. But, as an abandoned wife and soon to be mother, she more and more valued the older man’s friendship.
Despite her creature comforts of family and friends, however, Mouse could not deny the gaping hole of Michael’s absence. Seeing her sister in the light of a happily married woman only made Mouse’s own plight seem that much more desolate. Though everyone around her walked as if treading on broken glass, she couldn’t help but have moments of breakdown. She tried valiantly to hold back her emotions, to stem the flow of tears. She was grieving her husband’s abandonment. Nothing would change the pain of their separation. Each night before going to bed, Mouse began the habit of talking to her unborn child. Though only a few months advanced in her pregnancy, she felt certain that it was the time to begin telling the child about the father that could not be present. Somehow it helped her to manage the long hours alone between dusk and dawn and quell the rising tide of despair that was building up in her.
On the third morning after Michael’s departure, Mouse wandered into the garden and found the Duke waiting for her among the peonies. She nearly slipped away, but the older man’s senses were not quite as fragile as he led others to believe. He’d heard her movements and beckoned her to come and sit with him. Feeling obligated to the Duke and thinking that a bit of conversation might help her morning sickness, she settled onto the bench beside him.
“I must say, I’ve not been to the gardens this early in a long time. Since before I met your sister, actually.”
“Your gardener should be commended. During the gentler months, the violets are breathtaking. And the roses are beyond compare,” Mouse stated, inhaling the early morning fragrance.
“Yes, Raul is a valuable groundskeeper. He truly loves his creations. That’s how he sees them, you know. All of my flowers and shrubs are really his. I merely come to enjoy that which he allows,” he said with a chuckle. “And, I’ll let you in on a secret, I’m glad of it.”
Mouse smiled. “I am sorry to have disrupted your household, Arthur. You have all been so kind to me these past few days. I

promise that as soon as I’m back on my feet, I’ll be out from under yours.”
Arthur scoffed. “Please, dear child. Nothing would make me happier if you decided to stay on a bit. Kitty is beside herself mothering you. It rather gives me a breather, you know. She’s hovering over you instead of the children and me. I’m afraid it is we who owe you a debt of gratitude.”
“Thank you. You are most kind.” She hesitated slightly. “I owe you an apology.” Her voice was small and the heat of her embarrassment covered her face.
“And what transgression have you committed?” Though surprised, Arthur gave no evidence of agreement.
“I was a bit rash in thinking that my sister was not as happy as she could be here with you. After being pushed into a marriage arranged by my stepmother, she’d been cheated out of falling in love for herself. Seeing her these last few days, it’s plain just how much in love with you she truly is. I am sorry for having misjudged you both.”
“Thank you,” he stated quietly. “You know, when I married the first time, I did as my parents instructed. It was done that way back then. The idea, of marrying because of such foolish reasons as love, were not looked well upon. After all, we were not much more than children. How could we possibly know who the correct mate might be? There was always the bloodline to worry about. One had to keep pure the lineage to which one was born. At the time, it seemed right. I was not happy in my marriage. I worked as much as possible first in Parliament and later in the war effort.
“The first Duchess and I were considered a solid couple. We went about our marriage and fostered it the way you would any business. I was not happy. I hadn’t expected to be. When Diana died, I was sad but not grieving. My children, whom I barely knew, had loved her and missed her. To me they were strangers who lived in my home. I had secured my family’s heritage.”
“And when you met Catalina?”
“The first Duchess had been gone a little over two years. A poor heart, you know. I’d pretty much believed that I would retire a lonely widower. In fact, I’d given up on life itself. My physician believed

that I was close to my deathbed. At his insistence I attended a small soiree on the edge of town. It was there that I first saw your sister. We talked briefly. Afterwards, I met with your stepmother for the first time to discuss a possible engagement. An objectionable woman, no doubt, but I managed to advance our courtship in a short time. It was my belief that I hovered about death and my last wishes would be an easy ending with your beautiful sister by my side.”
“I didn’t know,” Mouse whispered.
“Neither did I.” Arthur chuckled. “Kitty is an incredible woman. She took none of that morose behavior that I thrust upon her. She didn’t see me as a fading old man, but a handsome strong husband. Believe me, I would never have touched her! I would never have shared gentle caresses, not to mention the other husbandly duties. But your sister was insistent. She wanted a loving husband. In the beginning, I thought she would kill me with her affections. Imagine thinking that love could ever kill you! But I did. And then, bit by bit, day by day, she won me over. That was nearly three years ago. I’ve not regretted it. I didn’t think it possible that I could have such happiness. So you see, it is your own sister to whom you may owe apologies. Certainly, not I.”
“What a lovely story! I am so envious of you both. You were ill, Arthur, though not in body as you’d thought, but ill in your spirit. Michael is that way, you know. His mother died when he was so young and his father was cruel and unforgiving. Then came the war and Ambray to torture him.”
“You truly believe this cousin is a threat to the earl?”
“Oh, Arthur, I know he is!”
“What proof do you have? Has he beaten the earl or starved him? Tell me and I shall have the authorities out there in less than a fortnight!”
“That’s the problem. With that awful Dr. Winthorp they’re not mistreating him exactly. It’s likely that compared to the standards that most insane people are treated, his care is impeccable. I just believe they are giving him the wrong treatment.”

“And, what do you think is the right treatment for his malady?” Arthur asked, his voice low and conspiratorial, as though he might have already guessed at her answer.
“I think what Michael needs most is what I can give him. I love him. Isn’t it possible that love can heal an injured soul as well as an injured body? Aren’t you proof of that? What’s to say that if I stayed with Michael, becoming his wife and treating him as my husband, that the treatment would be as beneficial to him as any laudanum or bleeding might?”
“You’ll get no disagreement from me, Miranda. Unfortunately, the Crown has made Ambray Kelton his guardian. And you, though being his wife and helpmate, have not yet reached the age of competency in the eyes of the law. Add that to being a woman and it’s clear that very few courts would grant you control over Michael and his estates. Now, with suspicion cast on him over the death of Elsbeth, it’s not likely that the courts will release him anytime soon, even if he does manage a recovery. For my own counsel, I believe it is more likely Michael’s money that’s being concerned here and not so much his person.”
“Then you suspect Ambray as well?”
“I have been a man of means all of my life, dear one. Like as not, most of the world’s problems are caused by money. Those that aren’t are caused by hatred and jealousy, but that is generally the minority.”
“So, if we are in agreement that it might be possible for Ambray to have contributed to Michael’s condition, we should do something about it? As soon as possible?” Mouse couldn’t help but keep her hopes from the tone of her voice. Suddenly she envisioned the Duke readying his coaches and calling his men to arms.
“There is something else we must consider,” Arthur stated quietly. “I believe it will have more bearing on the circumstances your husband may be enduring.”
“What is it?”
“That young man that traveled with you, Tom, was it?
“Yes. Ambray had him arrested. He’d been convinced the boy meant harm towards Michael and me. But that wasn’t the truth of it at all. It was Tom who helped us escape.”

“I have made some inquiries as to the ************************************************************ **** of your young friend, Miranda. There is not a trace of him anywhere. It seems he was more than a drifter who happened upon your husband’s estate. He was an operative in Spain during the conflict. How highly placed in the command, or even which side he assisted is another matter. For now, no one knows where he’s gotten to or who took him. Your husband’s cousin alluded that Tom was taken in custody by the authorities, but I fear otherwise.”
“The war? But, he is so young. Do you really think he meant Michael any harm?”
Arthur shrugged. “It’s hard to say until we gain more information. He might have been planning something. Michael, even as ill as he was could still be a powerful ally. But not without pulling him from Kelton’s control, at least. They might very well have been at cross purposes with Michael in the middle.”
Mouse hadn’t considered yet another threat to her husband. “I nearly added to the danger by my being so foolish.” Taking a deep breath, she looked upwards at her brother-in-law. “We must get to Rosecliff as soon as possible. We’ve got to rescue Michael before anything terrible happens.”
“I do agree that something must be done. But, I also advise caution. While I am not without means, you must understand, to do something rash would be detrimental to my standing in this town, not to mention the danger it might pose for Michael.”
Her hopes quickly sinking, she asked, “Then what course is left to us? Arthur, I am so certain that if we don’t act quickly, we will lose Michael forever. So many times during my stay he was so ill, so close to death. It was almost as if he had given, up, willing himself to die.”
“I don’t mean to abandon him, Miranda. But we must move cautiously if we are to be successful. First, we have to provide evidence of his ill treatment. Then we must also prove that he can become well enough to manage himself and his own affairs. Or at least be sponsored by someone such as myself.”
“Would you do that, Arthur? Would you help Michael in that way?”

Arthur smiled. “I would do whatever is necessary to help you, Miranda and not merely because you are Kitty’s baby sister. I would help because if the earl is being treated badly, his rescue would be the right thing to do, for the both of you and your child.”
“What should we do first? How can we possibly hope to prove anything when Rosecliff is so very far away?”
“I have someone in mind that could possibly infiltrate the estate. A former Bow Street Runner, Timothy O’Malley is the sort of fellow who manages to blend in. He was invaluable to me during the war, able to get in and out of several sticky situations, you know. Hard to tell how many lives were spared by his efforts alone. “
“You were involved in clandestine activities, Arthur?”
“In a very indirect way, I assure you. While I did my time with the War Office, mostly in the form of financing campaigns overseas, I did hear rumblings about some of the coastal estates. For a while there had been a rumor floating about the halls of Parliament that the former Earl of Winningham, Michael’s father, might possibly have been involved in some activities of espionage and smuggling of arms and other supplies to France. None of it was ever proven. A good friend of mine even voiced the opinion that Winningham might have had support from a high-ranking member of the military. Before charges could be investigated he died and the war ended.”
“Was there ever any suspicion on Ambray?”
The Duke shook his head. “None that I was aware of. The boy was somewhat of a cur, you know. A sad story, really, since he is an illegitimate member of the family. In and out of trouble, though nothing really serious—mostly related to the gambling houses as I recall. There are those among the young gentry who consider such goings on as merely a right of passage into manhood. But then, Kelton went to war and such things are soon forgotten when a man risks his life for king and country.”
“I still think that Ambray Kelton is at least jealous of Michael’s position and wealth, though he never said so. He always talked as if he were completely devoted to Michael. I can’t explain just why it is I don’t trust him. I just don’t.”

“Put you mind at ease, Miranda. I shall send out Timothy tonight. He’ll arrange a way to get inside the manse. If anything questionable is occurring, O’Malley will root it out.”
Mouse gave her brother-in-law a strong embrace. “Oh, Arthur, thank you so much for helping us. At least Michael has a chance, now.”
“Of course, my dear. But, you must also understand there is the possibility that your husband truly is ill. If this proves to be the case, then you must also agree to put the matter to rest. While it is right to grieve for what you’ve lost, you’ve a child to think of now. Have you considered the true reason Michael left? Perhaps it could be out of concern for you and the babe?”
Mouse bit hard on her lip. “I know that’s possible, Arthur, and probable as well. But, perhaps he believes that way because Ambray has convinced him of it. I would never let Michael do anything to our child. As much as it would hurt me to stay away from him, I’ll do it if I must. I just need to be really certain that is the case.”
~ * ~
Hours passed as Michael was jogged around in the back of the carriage. He’d managed to sleep off an on, but with each new arousal a different set of discomforts plagued him. Despite being summarily beaten and in weakened condition, Ambray had ordered that he be wrapped securely in his straight waistcoat with hands and ankles restrained. Worse yet was the rub of the material against the cuts and bruises that covered his back from the flogging. Despite the excruciating pain of his ordeal, Michael was nursing another injury, but not one of the body.
The memory of his last moments with Mouse came unbidden. In his mind, he saw her still. Large, dove gray which shimmered molten silver, dimmed to dull gray when she realized that he was abandoning her. How she had stared at him, unbelieving. Damn the woman for the way her lips trembled and her petite hand reached out to him, while he cast her away like so much flotsam. The pain of his leaving her was a hundred times that of Michael’s wounds in Spain. Only the loss of his mother when he was a child compared to abandoning his wife. Even that memory had dimmed with time.

On the third day of their journey, the carriage bounced to an uneven stop in front of a ramshackle inn. Michael breathed deeply. They weren’t yet near Rosecliff because he could not yet smell the sea. The air that hung about the place was heavy with decay and a scent that was akin to a London sewer.
As the door to the carriage was yanked open, Michael could see the last rays of the setting sun. A two-story building, badly in need of paint and repair, the inn was not the best to expect along the road from town. But, it was lodging, and Michael was glad of at least being out of the carriage for a bit, even if it meant staying in such an infested hovel as this.
“I see that you are doing well.” Ambray stepped down from the carriage, walking stick in hand. His dress and manner appeared as if he’d just finished an early morning jaunt through Hyde Park.
Michael lifted his chin stubbornly. “Well enough, Ambray.”
The other man smiled. “Good. I’ve brought you here to meet someone. An old friend who is quite looking forward to seeing you again.”
“I wasn’t aware that I had any friends, save you.” Michael would like to have equaled his cousin’s expression of sarcasm, but the truth was his jaw and left side of his face still ached terribly from the arduous trip with little rest and nothing but stale water and bread to sustain him.
“Oh, there are quite a few who are interested in your well-being, Michael, especially those who were close to your father. Now, get inside. We’ve got to make you presentable for our distinguished guest.”
Michael said nothing further. He was taken around the back of the building to what must have been the proprietor’s own home. The small cottage was as run down as was the inn, but relatively clean on the inside. Consisting of a common room and a loft sleeping area, the people who lived there were conspicuously absent. In the air lingered the scent of spiced meat and weak ale. Glancing around, Michael decided there was no way of escape, the only door being the one in which they’d entered. There was a rickety table and two chairs, both carrying scars of ill-use and great age in the center of the main living

room. In the loft above, a narrow cot with several worn, drab quilts lying in disarray upon it occupied one corner. Next to it was an armoire in which various stained garments hung and one door set at an odd angle from a broken hinge. A torn, ruddy colored rug lay on the roughly hewn wooden floor. It didn’t matter. To Michael it was a palace and he thanked heaven above for what little respite he was given.
The orderlies wasted no time in their duties. After quickly, and not too gently, removing his clothes, Mauler and Horn gave him a washing down and wrapped dingy bandages around his chest. They’d applied a thick, greasy salve to the cuts on his back and arms and dressed them as well. The entire affair left him even more weak and exhausted.
Just as they were finishing, a woman entered the cottage, carrying a plate of beef stew and two bottles of ale. Michael nearly fainted at the sight of it. One thing Mouse had accomplished in her ministrations was feeding him properly, thus arousing his appetite. He thanked her for that, because he could at least enjoy this simple fare. Out of her pocket the woman produced two hard rolls. Without saying a word, she nodded to him once and after setting up his meal, quickly went to the door. Ambray entered the room and quickly deposited a coin in her hand.
“Feeling better?” His cousin asked as Horn pulled Michael’s hands behind him and fastened them with a course rope.
“Can’t I at least feed myself, Ambray? What harm could that do? There aren’t any knives about, just a dull spoon.”
Ambray turned to Mauler, “Take off the ties for now. You can restrain him after he’s eaten.” He straightened his already impeccable clothes and seated himself across from Michael.
Michael wasted no time consuming his meal while the other man waited in silence as he did so.
“You might as well know,” he said after Michael finished the second bottle of ale, “this wasn’t my idea. I would have killed you outright years ago.”

Michael shrugged. The food and drink was acting on him like a drug. Whatever taunting Ambray planned would not be as effective as it was intended.
“What kept you from doing so? Not a sense of familial attachments, I would think.”
“Hardly. No, the gentleman we’re meeting with today is the main reason. I convinced him that you’d be a more valuable commodity alive, though not by much. I approached him several months ago, on the night of your party.
“He was a friend of my father’s?”
“More like a business associate. They both shared a common interest in the war effort.”
“Really. I wasn’t aware that my father was that much of a patriot. Judging by his anger when he learned that I’d requested a commission.”
“He was proud of you,” Ambray said quietly.
“If he was, he certainly never made it known. I was under the impression that my father was disappointed in his only son. He certainly spent more time with you.”
“You’ve never forgiven him, have you?”
“For liking you more than I? Hardly, I was glad enough that you kept him company.”
“No. I mean for your mother’s death. She never loved you, you know.”
“Really. And how is it you came by such information? Did my father tell you that as well?”
“No. He never spoke of her. But, I have eyes, you know. I came for visits then. She was the grand lady of the house, while I was her brother-in-law’s bastard. I was old enough to see things that you could not. Later, when you might have been old enough to understand, old enough to see—”
Before Ambray could speak further, a loud rapping sounded and the cabin door burst open. A white haired, older gentleman stepped through it. Wearing expensive clothes, a black topcoat and red, silk cravat it was clear he was a man of station.

“Well, well, here at last!” The loud voice boomed. “Ah, Michael! What have we here? You’ve been mistreated?”
Michael looked from his cousin’s smug face and into the eyes of a traitor.
“General Wexley,” he said, trying to keep his voice from betraying the beginnings of fear and anger, mixing volatile in his gut.
“Hello, Michael. It’s been awhile since we’ve spoken. I must say, you’re looking well, all else considered.”
Michael looked away. He could still see the General on the last day of the battle, before the attack, before he’d run into madness, before he was taken prisoner. The tall and shining officer, with brass buttons and nary a speck of mud upon his uniform. The vision of his silvery sword, ornamental because it had not been used to attack the enemy, cut into Michael’s memory. He’d remembered looking on the blade only one other time, at his trial.
I’m just returning from a holiday with my wife.” Michael spoke calmly. “I was doing a bit of fisticuffs with my cousin’s staff and I’m afraid we became carried away.”
“Indeed.” The General studied Michael a moment longer. He turned to Ambray. “Was it necessary to injure the man?”
“He required punishment. He gave us quite an upset going off as he did.” Ambray’s tone faltered a bit at the end. His self-assurance seemed to have slipped away with Wexley’s entrance.
“I will have no more mistreatment, Kelton. Do you understand? There are other ways to gain Winningham’s assistance. If, after a period of time, he decides not to help us then we can always resort to the more physical nature of persuasion.”
“As you wish, General.” He turned to Michael. “I believe you’ll find my cousin to be most uncooperative. It isn’t in his nature to be helpful, of late.”
Wexley gave him a dismissing glance. “That is because your tactics are useless. You are crass and uncivilized. When Lord Winningham understands the scope of our situation, he will change his mind. Now, leave us.”

Ambray’s face reddened. Michael could see that his cousin instantly bristled at the older man’s authority. But his cousin remained silent and left the room.
Once the door had closed on them, the General relaxed. He turned to Michael, his expression one of easing anger.
“I don’t know how you tolerate him, Michael. Your cousin is constantly a thorn in my side. I never intended him to be so highly placed in our organization. It was your father’s idea to instill him into our workings but I always objected. A man such as him is always a danger.”
Michael breathed in deeply. “Interesting that you feel that way, since it was you who gave him my guardianship. One would think that your trust in him was implicit.”
The General shrugged. “He serves his purpose well enough, I suppose. As long as he obeys our orders that’s all that is of import. He has managed quite well, you know.”
“Yes, as a matter-of-fact, I do know. Ambray has been most efficient when it comes to my affairs. He even has seen to it that I can retain the family title and estates. Quite the thinker, is our Ambray.”
“I wouldn’t go so far. He obtained you a wife at his own behest. I saw no reason to end the family name. I hear that you are soon to be a father! Congratulations, my boy!”
Michael’s fear sprang up unbidden, “I wasn’t aware that it was yet public knowledge.”
“No, well not precisely public. But, the serving class is always quick to pass on information for a price. You’ll be happy to know that your beautiful bride has become the newest darling of the ton. Poor thing, she is, saddled with the mad earl for a husband, abandoned at the cusp of her condition. I’ll warrant that every old crow and young falcon will be there at her side.”
“I’m glad she’ll have some status at least.” Michael closed his eyes briefly. “That and my money will insure her a good life.”
“Oh, come now, Michael. Don’t be so blue-bellied.” The older man reached for the wine bottle and a semi-clean glass. He carried both to the table as he continued. “You’ve yet hope for the future!”

He generously poured them both a drink and settled himself across the table.
“General, in the past I have respected your insight and judgment in most things. However, in this current situation I believe you to be misinformed.”
“That is because you do not have all the facts, my boy.”
“The facts, as you call them, are that thanks to the Government and my cousin, I have been reduced to nothing more than a cock-a-ninny in the eyes of the law. While I am blessed with a position and title, I have no access to it. Furthermore, my cousin, who you agree is an incompetent fool, has total control over my life. I am branded a madman and a traitor. There is no recourse for me.”
The older man sat silent for a moment. “I could change all of that.”
Michael gazed upward, studying his one time superior.
“How?” It was a simple enough question. And yet, as he watched, he could have sworn he’d seen a flicker of amusement in the muddy depths of the old man’s eyes.
“There are ways, my son. It really is only a matter of changing public record. Say, if it were revealed that while in Spain you were set upon by a jealous relative. Your abduction afterwards was merely the machinations of said relation in order for him to gain control of the vast family fortunes. I say, it’s not nearly so difficult to mend the situation as you might think.”
“And what about my illness? I am the mad earl, after all.”
Wexley smiled. “There is that, but you only need a sponsor, a highly regarded, well placed friend should do. Someone such as myself,” he stated plainly, leaning forward and wearing the same expression as a cat about to devour a rodent.
Michael raised the wine goblet to his lips, willing his hand not to tremble. After a deep swallow, he waited until the burning of the coarse liquid had abated. His voice stronger and his hand steadier, Michael faced the General squarely.
“And what would you gain by such an alliance?”
“The satisfaction of knowing I’d helped the son of my late friend.”
“Somehow that seems a bit contrived.”

The other man shrugged, himself taking a sip of wine. “Most likely because it is. I shall be straight with you, my boy. Your father was an efficient businessman. He carried out a successful commerce with certain French associates. He was genius enough to purchase all of the coastal properties within miles of the harbor towns. He established an entire trade route all on his own. Since his death, those routes have dwindled, entire aspects of the business have all but dried up.”
“The war is over, General. Napoleon is in exile. The time for such dealings is past.”
“Not so! There have been rumors abroad that ol’ Boney may yet return! Imagine it! When the conflict is renewed, there could be years of war.”
“You speak as if that were a good thing, General.”
“And it is! My boy, entire nations become wealthy at the drop of a flag.”
“And, all of the death and destruction that ensues are nothing more than fodder for the world’s markets?”
“Regrettable, yes, but unavoidable.”
Michael sighed. “Sir, please forgive my reticence. Ambray has already apprised me of the situation. He has implored me to give him the ************************************************************ **** of the trade routes, the caves where he believes there to be hidden treasures. Whatever either of you believe, the secrets my father held have died with him. I cannot help you.”
The General sat quietly, sipping his wine and not commenting on Michael’s statement. Before he spoke, he gently returned the glass to the table.
“I know that, Michael. I understand completely. However, I am not one to dwell on the past. What I require of you now is to help me in reestablishing those routes. Together we can build an empire of trade that will make us both wealthy beyond belief.”
“I am already wealthy,” he stated tiredly. “If it’s money you require, then you may have all my fortunes.”
The General leaned forward. “My boy, there are other aspects of wealth besides money. There is power. Think on it! Never again


would you have to bow your head to the aristocracy. Never subjugate to the military.”
As he spoke, the older man’s face turned a deep shade of crimson, his cheeks swelling and his breath becoming shorter.
Michael nodded. “You can have all that without me,” he stated quietly.
“Not precisely,” Wexley stated, “your father was particular in his contacts. He protected himself by not betraying his allies. It is my belief that you and you alone may be able to strike up the old friendships.”
“I see. And, if I cannot?”
Wexley’s cheerful expression dwindled. “Let us just hope that it doesn’t come to that.” He took another sip of his wine. “I’ve heard that your wife is well ensconced with her family.”
Michael felt his blood run cold. “Yes. She has two sisters in London with whom she is staying until I can provide her a proper home. Her stepmother sold her father’s manse.”
“Yes. Well, while I wouldn’t want anything unforeseen to happen to her, you must realize that there is always the possibility of problems.”
“I am aware,” Michael stated quietly. “If I don’t cooperate with you, then it’ll be Miranda who suffers.”
“I’d rather not consider something so atrocious. Think of the benefits of our arrangement! Consider instead, you returning home a well man. You could move your wife to the country and live life the way you were meant to live.”
“All for the betrayal of my country. A life of ease and freedom in trade for becoming a traitor. You propose a difficult choice, sir.”
“What I propose is the opportunity of a lifetime, Michael.”
Michael glanced up. A shadow passed by the ************************************************************ **** He knew the cold stare as easily as his own reflection. In an instant, the shape was gone, but the vision of his fair-haired cousin remained. Chances were Ambray had heard their entire conversation.
Michael smiled up at Wexley. Indeed, the fox may yet be in danger from the hound.
“You realize that we could both be hung, if we’re caught?”

“There is always the risk of discovery. I have made a career out of covering my tracks. There is only one person who can be connected to our dealings. Your esteemed cousin. Should anything unforeseen happen…”
“You’d sell him out in an instant.”
“Precisely. As I told you before, Ambray does have his usefulness.”
“And who’s to say that you wouldn’t do the same for me? No. I’m afraid General that I cannot be of help to you. Aside from the fact that I was as far removed from my father’s confidences as is Napoleon from French shores, I will not help you to commit treason.”
Wexley’s expression darkened. “Even though I have well proven ways of persuasion? I remind you that I was often in charge of interrogating French prisoners. I did much towards furthering our country’s knowledge of enemy intentions.”
“I have no doubt, sir. In fact, in a twisted sort of way, you’d be doing me a favor.” Michael sent his gaze downward. “In my present state, I have no freedom, no ability to be a proper husband, or father. My wife would fare much better if I were dead.”
“You truly believe that? Then you are a bigger fool than your pitiful cousin. No, I don’t think I shall kill you, Michael, as entertaining as that might prove. But I shall hurt you very badly.” Wexley shrugged. “You don’t want that, my boy. Let’s save us both a lot of trouble and begin our association anew, eh?”
“I’m afraid not, sir. I must decline.”
The General regarded him carefully. “You are a fool, Michael.”
“Am I?”
“You think you can outlast any actions I order against you. You support a government that has effectively reduced you to nothing more than an imbecile and will give your life to patriotism, despite all the evidence against you. Worse than that, you trust a doddering old fool like the Duke of Throckmorten to protect your wife.”
“I’ve heard it said that that ‘old fool’ has a great many friends in the peerage. I would wager that he could be quite effective at protecting his family.”

Michael knew his words were mostly bluster, that in fact he was fearful of any harm befalling Mouse. He couldn’t let the General know that. His own confidence in the Duke’s abilities could go far in protecting his wife.
“I’ve had enough of this bantering, Winningham. Will you help me renew the trade with France?”
Michael swallowed back the ball of ice that had formed in his throat. He knew his next words would decide his future, his and Mouse’s. Heaven help him, he could not be a traitor, nor would he give Wexley the satisfaction of seeing his fear.
“No,” Michael stated evenly.
“More’s the pity.” Wexley pushed his glass back and stood up to his full height. “You shall regret your decision, Michael. I assure you.”
Michael nodded only once, but spoke no further as the general turned and exited the cottage. His only regret came from knowing that he would likely not live to see his wife again.

Mouse paced the small parlor for what must have been the hundredth time that afternoon. Barely a week had passed since her discussion with Arthur and there’d been no word of Michael. She knew it was too early to really expect anything. Surely Arthur’s associate hadn’t had the time to gain access to Michael’s home, let alone find any new information and send a message back. Still, Mouse felt restless and fearful of what news might come. Was her husband well? Was he being fed? Or, were they filling him with laudanum and spirits and that awful broth that she’d come to loathe during her stay at Rosecliff?
Unable to embroider or settle her nerves long enough to read one of the vast tomes from her brother-in-law’s library, Mouse settled for standing in front of the large French windows that looked out over the drive. Many long afternoons she’d stood on that very spot and watched for her husband’s ill fitted, ancient carriage to come trundling down the lane.
Just as Mouse was about to give up and return to her room for an afternoon rest, something or someone rattled around the perimeter of the estate. She watched as the rose bushes, so delicately planted and cared for, jerked awkwardly around, one by one. It could have been a dog or a cat and, in fact, she was nearly certain that must be it. But the movement seemed purposeful as the mysterious visitor discreetly made its way away from the main building. Mouse suddenly felt the urge to go outside and discover the lurker, to set him or her to rights.

Pulling up her skirts, she left the parlor and made her way into the gardens. Just as she turned around a hedgerow, the shed door closed. Mouse’s curiosity piqued she quickstepped it through the last of the irises and slipped quietly into the outbuilding at the farthest corner of the property.
In the dwindling light, Mouse could make out a bent figure to one corner of the shed.
“Who’s there? Michael?” As the form stood and her eyes adjusted to the dimness, Mouse could see a shorter, more slender form.
“Tom.” Feeling both disappointed at it not being her husband and relieved that the young man was still alive, she sagged against the doorframe.
“Aye, my Lady, it’s me.” His voice was quiet, and strangely coarse.
“I can’t see you, are you all right?”
“Well enough,” he told her.
A match struck and Tom stepped forward with a lighted candle. His face was bruised and swollen, his eyes rimmed with dark circles. A large gash that was a sickly yellowish green could be seen just below the hairline on his left forehead.
“My goodness, Tom! What happened?”
“Them’s what happened. Those men hired by Lord Winningham’s cousin. They gave me a good round of their fists before they hauled me to the docks. They were going to ship me out on a merchant vessel but I managed to escape.”
“How terrible. You must come inside immediately. The Duke isn’t home right now but he’ll be here this evening. You must tell him your story.”
The younger man shrank back. “Oh, no milady, I can’t. If word got out, they’d have me arrested, or worse. His lordship’s cousin said he’d had charges brought up. My only choice was to sail or be thrown to the Runners.”
“But we know you’re innocent.”
“It makes no matter if I’m pinched before you could bring a case, I’d be hung.”

Mouse’s spirits fell. She knew that Tom was telling the truth. Even with Arthur’s intervention there was no guarantee of the man’s safety. Accidents happen in life, especially with the promise of a hefty purse.
“What can we do? I have a bit of money, perhaps we can get you out of the country.”
“Aw, your ladyship. I would feel something bad for taking your money. I doubt that Mister Kelton is going to be very generous with his lordship’s wealth.”
“I’m not worried about that right now. We must get you safe.”
“I’ll be all right, Missus. I’m more worried about Lord Winningham.”
“He’s gone back to Rosecliff. He chose to go with his cousin instead of staying with me.”
The younger man looked at her solidly. “Is that what you believe, for certain?”
Mouse hesitated. “Of course, not. But he made the statements in full view of my family. I can’t refute him in their eyes. And now with my ‘condition’, they aren’t willing to let me go after him. Unless I manage an escape more daring than the one which took us from Rosecliff in the first place, I fear I will spend my days here.”
“Perhaps it’s for the best then. Lord Winningham would not want any harm to come to you.”
Mouse shook her head disagreeing. “I’m not happy leaving his lordship to Ambray’s care, either. I’ll just have to insist that Arthur do something to get Michael released. There has got to be some way to get him away from there.”
“Never you mind, my lady,” Tom said quietly. “As soon as I get a bit of food and a night’s sleep, I’ll go back to the manse. Maybe I could convince his lordship to come back to London.”
“Maybe,” Mouse stated thoughtfully. “Just in case, I’ll speak to the Duke again. For now, you just rest. I think it would be safe for you to stay here the night, though the accommodations aren’t the best. I can have a cot brought in and some blankets.”
“Thank you, you’re my lady. Don’t worry, I’ll get the earl back here safe and sound.”

Mouse nodded absently. Before she could make her exit, she heard the sound of an approaching carriage. Peering out the door, she watched her brother-in-law step down from the cab. With a nod from him, the driver turned the carriage away and back out onto the street. Within moments the Duke entered the house. Mouse said a brief good-bye and set off after him.
~ * ~
She found the Duke in his suite of offices. The hard, polished wood gave the room a warm ambiance. A heady, lemon oil scent greeted her, mixed with the ever-present male tang of tobacco. Mouse breathed it in deeply. The atmosphere in the room very much reminded her of her scholarly father and the many nights she’d sat beside him before a stack of papers he’d been composing to send to his many colleagues.
The Duke did not stir as she approached him. He was seated at a mahogany desk; his concentration set on a stack of journals.
“Excuse me, Arthur,” Mouse began tentatively. It was true in the weeks that had passed she had gained a new respect for her sister’s husband. In fact, she was surprised at a growing fondness for him.
“Yes, dear one?” Arthur looked up from his books.
“I was wondering if you’d gotten any news of Michael?” Mouse couldn’t help but ask the question once again, as she had every day for the last two weeks.
A tinge of sadness danced upon his face. “Well, there’s been no news from Rosecliff, but…” Arthur hesitated, “I have gotten word of a different sort.”
Mouse stepped back, abruptly setting herself on the edge of the sofa. Gleaning his expression, she knew instantly that it could not have been good news. Arthur looked away from her, his gaze seeking out any one of the polished, framed paintings that adorned the study.
“What have you heard?” Mouse managed to say, her voice trembling nearly as much as her knees at that moment.
Taking in a deep breath, the Duke rose from his desk and walked to stand in front of her. Kneeling, he took both of her hands from her lap, enclosing them in his firm, protective grasp.

Despite Arthur’s kind manner, Mouse couldn’t quell the dread that rose in her. She felt a thick fog of despair wrapping itself around her, coiling like one of those python snakes she’d once read about.
“Before I share this information with you, Miranda, you must promise me two things. First, you must not tell anyone of our exchange. To do so would be the height of disaster. And, second, you must not make any judgment until we are completely certain that what I’m about to tell you has been proven as fact.”
With a curt nod, Mouse agreed. It didn’t matter. She could not have spoken otherwise, even if she’d managed to find her voice amidst the turmoil of her emotions.
Arthur slightly tightened his grip on her hands. “There have been many rumors rolling through the halls of Parliament, as there always are. Some, are founded in truth, others are more insidious. Lies, plain and simple, spread in order to defame otherwise honest and innocent men. Like any human institution, our government is not without its faults, weaknesses, and excesses. However, I have heard, on relatively reliable grounds, about a situation that has been brewing in the area of the northern coast. It’s been going on for some time, and frankly, I never gave it much credence. If we were to take seriously every threat of treachery that crosses the threshold, we’d spend all of our time chasing down rumors and none doing the important work of government.”
“These rumors are about Michael?” Mouse prompted, her impatience growing by the second.
“Not in the beginning, they weren’t. When your husband left for Spain, he was considered to be among the bravest, most valued men in service. In fact, most of his superiors considered the serious young man to be quite an asset to an already beleaguered fighting force.”
“Michael is a worthy man, Arthur. He’s just been mistreated.”
“I want very much to believe that, Miranda. However, shortly after he left for war, it was suspected that his father might have been using his estate’s coastal ************************************************************ **** to aide the French.”
“How?” Mouse asked, leaning forward until her face was a scant few inches from Arthur’s.

“There were different stories. Some stated that he’d harbored spies in the caves that line the coast. Still others allude to him financing the smuggling ships that carried goods across English blockades.”
Mouse shook her head. “But why should he do such a thing?”
“The only true reason for such abominable activities I can summon, is that of greed, pure and simple. The former Earl of Winningham was a man of considerably high taste and low pockets. He’d wasted a great deal of his family inheritance on shaky business dealings and gaming. In my own experience I barely knew the man. He was among the ton and that was a time in my youth that I was more concerned with my own status in business and family than that of my peers. However, I believe that I’d heard him often referred to as extravagant and frivolous. In fact, as I remember it, it was quite the surprise when he landed a marriage to the Canton heiress. A great riot, it was, her being of such a good family and all.”
“Michael’s mother,” Mouse muttered sadly.
“Another distressing situation,” the Duke agreed.
“Arthur, what has all this to do with Michael?”
“With the earl’s death and Michael’s ascension to the title, the rumors died down a bit. It was hoped by most of us that Michael would not succumb to his paternal lineage of suspicion and deceit and take more from his mother’s gentle upbringing.”
“Michael is very much like his mother, as I understand.”
“Except for his deplorable choice of guardians, I’d agree. I did a bit of investigation and I’ve uncovered some most disturbing news. Ambray Kelton was known quite well on the gambling circuit but not for his skill at Faro. It was said that many nights he’d robbed the innocent of their winnings by cheating. While he was called on it a few times, there had been no proof. Some even eluded that he’d gained an accomplice. A woman by the name of Haversham. She’d work on distracting unsuspecting gamers, while young Kelton would sweep the winnings clean.”
“Haversham? Elsbeth!”
“I suspect it was your late stepmother. There is a particularly disturbing story about the two of them luring Lord Dandridge’s son, Henry, from one of the gaming houses. That boy has been missing for

five years. Of course, there is no proof of duplicity. Never was a body found, and young Kelton joined the army after that and became a decorated hero, as I understand it.”
“But what has all this to do with Michael? Was he involved in Ambray’s dealings as well?”
“Not that we’re aware of. No, Michael remained at Rosecliff during most of that time, managing his father’s estates.” He hesitated. “But, after the fourth earl died, young Michael was expected to run the family affairs. As you well know, he was injured and himself under suspicion of foul play when he’d been captured in Spain.”
“It was a horrible time for Michael. If you heard him speak of it, you would know it was true.”
“I do not doubt it. Many of our brave men have suffered greatly. Since Michael’s return to Rosecliff the tongues have been wagging. There is suspicion that the French are trying to finance another war effort. And Michael, because of the ************************************************************ **** of his family estate, as well as his association with Ambray, has become suspect.”
“Michael is innocent, he’s been too sick to take part in such intrigues. Surely anyone who’s seen him these past months could attest to that.”
“I would believe so, Miranda. But given the ill climate that surrounded his father, the gray cast that was set upon him in Spain, then his first wife’s death—”
“Most would assume him guilty as charged,” Mouse finished. “They cannot hold his father’s nor his cousin’s duplicity against him.”
“While I personally believe each man should be granted his own honor until proven otherwise, most of society does not. Unfortunately for your husband, often times the sins of the fathers are rested upon the sons.”
“So, that’s it, then? Michael is to be judged guilty. What will happen to him?”
“First, there will be an inquiry. I was told that papers are being drawn up in the next few days. Some are even alluding to an arrest, though that is jumping the fence a bit. I have heard that the Crown is about to put a freeze on Winningham’s accounts, though there is nothing solid as yet. It wouldn’t surprise me if that happened sooner

rather than later. The Prince Regent has been known to dip into other men’s pockets under the guise of the law.”
“I see. Well, Michael never cared much for money. It’s his state of mind that worries me the most. He’s so solitary, except for Ambray, that is. He has no friends who could even speak to his character!”
“There is more, Miranda,” the Duke stated somberly, “Someone within the government is supporting the French activities as well. There are those that think Michael has a supporter in the House, or perhaps even in the army. It is not known, but if an association is uncovered, then it will be a scandal of massive proportion. Even now, with very little evidence of malfeasance, some are clamoring for justice.”
Mouse clutched her chest. “If Michael is found guilty of treason, they’ll hang him!”
“Dear one, do not fret just yet. As I have said, I shall myself finance an investigation and council for Winningham. I’ll not allow your husband to be carted off so easily.”
“Thank you, Arthur. I don’t know how to repay your generosity.”
“There is nothing to repay, sweet Miranda. I assure you, the two of you are Kitty’s family, and mine as well.”
~ * ~
Michael lay in a haze of pain. He knew when the morning came and when the sun descended but little else. Food and drink were brought to him sparingly, though he’d not the stomach for much of it. Other times, he was visited by Ambray, who maintained a silent vigil, just coming to stand in the darkness and glower over Michael’s condition.
No longer under the guise of his cousin’s concern, he was now being confined in one of the many cellars which sat quietly beneath Rosecliff. Michael didn’t mind so much, at least not as much as when he was prisoner in Spain. There were worse things that he could suffer. Though he lay in the corner on a straw mat with a thin blanket as covering, Michael was appreciative of what little light came in from a window that was set up on the far side of the room. The small amount of sunlight reminded him that there was yet another world beyond his wall. A world where Mouse was safe in her family’s

embrace. Where men and women lived and breathed free air and children played in the summer afternoons, oblivious to the tragedy of war and the greed of mankind.
Michael tried to move again, to find some small comfort. But he was held in a straight waistcoat, and his mobility was severely hampered. And the itching, god, the itching! The garment had not been washed in some time, and this, mixed with his own lacking hygiene and the vermin which had decided to share his bedding, added to his general discomfort.
Worse than his state of living quarters, was definitely his state of mind. Michael had been having more spells. Between the nightmares that woke him screaming at night and the memories that flooded him during the day, he was at the height of his misery. Indeed, he found himself wishing that Wexley and Ambray’s patience would soon run its course and they would dispose of him as neatly as they had suggested earlier on. For the moment, that was not to be the case.
That morning when Ambray visited, another man followed behind him. A stranger, of medium height and build, the second man had a tough look about him. His slender frame carried wiry, corded muscles. Though he could have been any member of the working class, he was clothed in a faded white shirt, with black britches and much used leather boots, the man’s appearance wore an expression of sharpness that spoke of a different vocation. A soldier, then, Michael thought. But not the usual manner of foot soldier, to be certain.
“This is his lordship,” Ambray was telling him, “make certain you take special care of him. Lord Wexley has left express orders that he is not to be harmed, though what’s to be said if he doesn’t suffer a few bruises from his own unsteadiness? Just keep him intact.”
“Aye, sir. That I shall. You can trust Timothy O’Malley to treat him like a sweet babe.”
“Whatever it takes, O’Malley. Just keep him alive. I am hoping you’ll do better than Mr. Mauler or Mr. Horn.”
Ambray turned on his heel and left them. With a thoughtful expression, the newcomer knelt down in front of Michael and carefully studied him for a moment.

In an Irish lilt he asked, “What I’m wondering is, what a man does to get himself in such a stramash?”
Michael barely breathed, looking away from his new keeper. He’d not give the man the satisfaction of knowing how frightened Ambray’s words had made him or of the depth of despair that he felt at that moment.
“Well, a talker, aren’t we? No matter. As the O’Malley clan is fond of saying, it only takes one of us to make a fête.”
Michael only kept his eyes away, not daring to answer. Before he could draw another breath, he felt a hand upon his arm. It was not the strike he’d expected, nor was it a comforting touch. It was a firm grasp, one that offered support and something else. Something he’d only felt once before, only in the presence of Mouse. Hope.
“There, Laddie,” O’Malley stated quietly, “don’t be distressed. Whether you know it or not, I come by way of a good ally. And it looks to my bonnie blue eyes, you’re in dire need of a friend.”
With that, O’Malley left the room, but not before he loosened the restraints on Michael’s wrists.
~ * ~
Mouse was beside herself with worry. She’d paced her rooms until she was certain to have worn holes in the Aubisson carpet. Worse yet, she’d not come up with a single answer to her problems. Arthur had tried to offer her words of comfort and support, and she greatly appreciated his efforts. But Michael was in terrible trouble and no amount of kind words and well intentions were going to change that. Just as she was about to retire for the evening, a slight knock came upon her door.
“Excuse me, milady,” announced an elderly man’s voice. Quickly she crossed the room, and answered the call. She opened the door to find the gardener, Raul standing nervously outside her room. She could see that he’d been hard at work in the garden, his elderly form still wearing the scent of flowers, newly cut grass, and the rich soil that he worked in.
“Yes?”

“I am sorry to be disturbing you, Missus,” he stated quietly, “But I was out trimming the bushes, when a young lad came sneaking through the roses.”
“How odd. What did he want?”
“Wouldn’t say much, but instead gave me this.” Raul held out a piece of parchment.
Quickly she took the note from him. Opening it, she read the message inside, the words written there cutting her like a knife.
Lady Winningham,
Your husband is gravely ill, though his caretaker is not the least distressed at the matter. I fear that his health will fail him before the season ends. He has been calling for you, his state of mind dwindling fast. I urge you to make the journey back north, to comfort him in what might prove to be his last hours. I have tried to befriend him the best I could, but my employ with Mr. Kelton is not secure. I am not sure how much longer I can help Lord Winningham. Please come soon, and be careful not to tell your family, for if they were to contact the Earl’s cousin, it would surely prove disastrous to us all.
Sincerely, a friend.
Clutching the note in her hands, Mouse tried to decide her best course of action. Before she could make a move, though, she realized that Raul stood looking at her, his expression questioning the *******s of the letter.
“Not bad news, I trust, my Lady?”
Mouse swallowed her fear a moment. “I’m afraid so, Raul. A friend of my father’s has taken ill and the dear old thing is requesting me to come to her bedside. Such a sweet soul she is. I can hardly refuse her. Would you be so kind as to tell the groom to ready a carriage? I shall be making a trip to the Lakes and I should like to start out first thing in the morning.”
The Mad Earl Pam Labud
210
“Aye, milady. But shouldn’t you wait until the Duke and Duchess return from the country? They should be back by tomorrow eve at the latest?”
Mouse gave her best attempt at a laugh. “There is no need. My sister will surely understand. I’ll just leave them a note and they can come and join me if they wish. Though, I doubt my sister is in condition for another trip so soon after visiting the Darrowby’s.” The couple had left that morning, shortly after Mouse’s talk with the Duke and for once she was glad of their absence. By the time her family could guess at which direction she was truly headed, she’d be halfway to Rosecliff.
“Tell the groom I wish to leave immediately.”
~ * ~
It was just after dusk when Mouse’s modest carriage arrived at the small inn. Dingy and unkempt, the building looking as did most in this part of the country. Plain from chipped paint and rotted wood, it was unlikely that many of the gentry had visited the inn recently. The eaves drooped, heavy with weight of the recent rain and the barrels beneath were full to overflowing leaving small puddles around them. Mouse was hoping that it was dry and warm on the inside, as she gathered her skirts and exited the carriage.
“Here, milady,” Tom called down to her, himself climbing down from the driver’s seat. By his stiff movements Mouse could see that he was still suffering the results of his attack. His right eye remained blackened and he guarded his left arm carefully as he walked up to her.
“Are you sure we should stop here for the night, milady?” He said, giving the well-used inn a suspicious glance.
“Tom, there’s not a place for miles and neither you nor the animals can go on much farther. You’ll collapse if you continue.” Tom looked away for a moment. Mouse could see that he’d drive the carriage to hell and back for her and Michael. She tried not to become irritated with him, but she was a creature of good sense and she knew very well the consequences if they didn’t rest sometime soon.

“Besides, if you should not be able to carry on, what would happen to me? A woman alone on the road, I’d stand a much less chance of making it to Rosecliff without you, Tom.”
The younger man’s features softened. “Aye, your ladyship. I suppose that’s true.”
“Good. Now, go take care of the horses and I’ll see about getting our lodging for the night.”
“Oh, your ladyship, please, I’ll manage in the carriage for the night. You needn’t pay for me a room as well.”
Mouse nodded, noting the practicality of it. “Just another night or two, Tom. Then I promise you we’ll get better lodgings.” She stated quietly.
Entering the small inn, Mouse noted that it was as much poorly managed on the inside as well as the outside. The walls of the common room wore many years of smoke and filth from the constant crowding of people. She also noted the pungent odor of unwashed bodies mixed with sour ale. In one corner sat a large pot of stew bubbling away on the hearth, on the other a set of rickety tables. Though each one was occupied, in the midst of the squalor a finely dressed, older gentleman sat alone. Before Mouse could turn to leave, the stranger beckoned her over to his table.
“Ah, a lady in distress!” He called out congenially. “Please, Miss, come share a table with an old man. It would make my evening pass much more pleasantly than merely being stuck with my own company.”
Mouse felt the blush rise to her cheeks and she nodded. While she was a bit shy of strangers in general, this man seemed harmless enough, and since there were no tables empty, the situation made the decision for her.
Instantly the man motioned for one of the attendants of the small inn. In moments, Mouse sat quietly listening to the older man bramble on about the weather and traveling. She watched the door constantly, waiting for Tom to appear through it at any second.
“I do hope that you will be staying on a bit. I must say, there aren’t many of the gentler nature around for a gentleman to converse with.”

“I am only staying the night, sir. I have a cousin in the north that is disparately ill and I fear the worst.”
“My condolences, Miss. It is so distressing to hear one so young encumbered by such sad circumstance. As it is, I am headed north myself. I am retired military and I’ve decided to spend my reclining years visiting my family’s country home. That and business dealings there conspire to keep me on these muddy roads.”
He winked conspiratorially and tipped his glass. “My name is Wexley, General Benton Wexley.”
“Miranda Ellerton,” Mouse nodded watching the innkeeper pour her a glass of wine. “I wish you a good journey, sir. I thank you for the conversation and the wine. But I must go check on my driver. It’s been a long journey and I’m sure he’s ready to turn in. I need to give him some instructions with my conveyance. Tom is a good man, you know, very protective of me.”
When Mouse moved to stand, Wexley reached out to her. “Have you booked a room for the night?”
Pausing, Mouse felt a catch in her chest. “I have not as yet. I need to speak with the proprietor to discuss finances. I left in such haste there wasn’t time to make the arrangements. I’m rather riding by the seat of my pantalets, you know.”
“I have it on good word that there aren’t many rooms here in decent repair and those that are, have already been rented. If you would allow me, I have a room at the back and you may rest there for the night. I find I’ve not much need for sleep these days. A malady of the elderly, I’m afraid. A delicate lady as yourself may take a chill if you persist against the elements.”
Mouse sat back, sending a worried glance to the door. “I appreciate your kindness, sir, but I don’t wish to intrude upon your good nature.”
“Ah, there’s nothing to intrude upon. My valet, Mr. Stones, feels that he must see to my every comfort, but an old war horse such as I prefers sleeping in less comfortable lodgings. To be sure, the only soft bed I require is the casket and I’m not yet ready for that.” He finished with a laugh.

“If you’re sure,” Mouse began. The truth was she was exhausted and the wine and the journey had conspired against her.
“Absolutely,” he managed with a smile. “And, do not worry about your man. I shall have Stones go after him. The two can share the stable room I’ve rented. You see, it all works for the best.”
Mouse reluctantly agreed. Within the hour she’d retired to her host’s room. Though small and well used, the tiny compartment had been cleaned and fresh linens had been placed out for her. With a sigh, she walked to the window and peered out into the night. Ten minutes before, Tom came to inform her that the carriage and horses had been settled for the night. In fact, he’d eaten himself and secured a place to sleep. With Mouse’s last responsibilities dispensed, she settled herself into the lumpy bed. Exhaustion swept over her and in a few moments, she was drifting off to sleep. At the edge of her senses, she could hear the distant sound of voices whispering. A part of her mind insisted upon new fears, that something might be terribly wrong, a niggling sense that she might be in danger. Mouse decided that it must be her own exhaustion affecting her judgments. Of course, she had never been one to beg off easily.
A new thought occurred to her. Perhaps she had cause to be concerned. After all, how fortunate was it that she should find a benefactor in so remote a place when she was in most need? Indeed, what if it was some evil plan, which somehow led back to Michael? Could she be placing herself in danger?
Mouse wanted very much to consider her new suspicions but a fog had drifted into her mind. Thinking it must be the wine, she tried to relax her thoughts and allow herself to tumble into sleep. But that small voice asked her once again, what if they’d drugged her wine? Before she could think more along the line of that idea, she heard a noise. Someone had indeed entered her room.
“Miss Ellerton! You must come quickly. Your groom has taken ill!”
An old woman’s voice shook her. Mouse roused quickly and in moments had her dressing gown wrapped around her. Stumbling across the now empty dining hall, she made her way to the door and running out to the stable yard. Inside the barn they heard the noise of

a sick man retching while other guests milled about commenting on his condition.
“Ne’re seen a body spout so much,” one of the boys noted. Pushing past the crowd, Mouse saw Tom, lying on a straw bed, curled on his side and breathing heavily.
“Tom! What’s wrong?” She asked, kneeling down beside him. “What happened?”
Before her friend could answer, another pushed through the gathering. “Here, Mr. Stone, see to the young man,” Wexley ordered. “It looks as if he’s taken the ague. That or been poisoned.”
Mouse looked up at him, “Who would do such a thing? We have no enemies here.”
“Oh, to be sure, Miss.” Wexley patted her back gently. “But a young woman traveling alone. Could be someone meant to rob you, or worse. I doubt we’ll find the culprit tonight. Let us take him into a room upstairs. I have sent Mr. Stone for a physician. We shall see to him.”
In the next few moments, Tom was carried inside to a small attic room. Mouse stayed by his side, offering him sips of water and bits of bread. After a time he settled and she left to return to her room. In the hall she met the General.
“How fares the boy, Miss?” He asked, his expression one of concern.
“He’s resting better, though I’m not sure as to what caused his malady. He tells me that he only ate a bit of stew.”
The general cleared his throat, “I couldn’t help but notice that he sports a few bruises. Could the young man have made an unfortunate acquaintance?”
Mouse shook her head. “He’d been attacked in London a few weeks ago. Terrible thing. Someone stole his horse and a sum of money, leaving him for dead. Fortunately, Tom found his way home. I don’t know what I’d do without him.” As much as she’d hated lying, Mouse couldn’t tell him the true details of their journey.
“Has he seen anyone he might have recognized from the attack?”
“No. Not that he’s mentioned.”

“Well, perhaps it is nothing but a bit of bad beef causing his problem. I didn’t eat any of the stew myself. I tend to get peptic. Not to worry, Miss. I shall have a word with the Innkeeper just in case, to see if anyone else has fallen ill.”
Mouse nodded her thanks. “I really do appreciate all of your help. I swear I don’t know what I shall do if Tom doesn’t get better soon. I am so worried about my friend.”
“Then think on it no more, Miss. I shall take you!”
“But, sir, I wouldn’t dare to impose on you. You surely have your own plans to complete. And, uh, my friend’s home is rather remote.”
“Nonsense! I would like nothing more than to accompany you. My own plans are nothing so important that they cannot be changed. In fact, I welcome the diversion.”
For a moment Mouse struggled with the decision to accept the man’s help once again.
“Well, if it wouldn’t be any trouble,” she began.
“Absolutely none. Though, not quite as pleasant as your rig, my carriage has kept an old man at ease for many miles.”
“I’m sure it will be fine, sir. When were you planning to leave?”
“I prefer to travel at night. So, you have the day to get rested and ********************************************************ed. That should give us time to see if your young friend is too seriously ill.”
“Thank you, General. I owe you a great deal for you kindness.”
“You are very welcome, my dear.”
Mouse returned to her own room, meaning only to rest a short while. But, when her head settled on the pillow, she fell into a fitful sleep. Her worry for Michael, and now Tom as well, weighed heavy on her mind, but there was nothing to be done for the moment. The chill of the night settled over her, but it came from within as well. How could she possibly care for both men?
~ * ~
A loud creaking sound shattered the night. Michael lay in darkness on the dirt floor of his prison. At times he was certain that he was merely having a nightmare. Others that he was back in Spain. If he tried hard enough he could scent the lingering smell of the grave, of a battlefield left too long unattended.

“Time to wake up, Lord Winningham,” a man’s voice roused him.
Michael opened one eye. It was the new attendant Ambray had hired, Timothy O’Malley. Not quite as tall as himself, but his length was sinewy, his frame beset with a sturdy build. Though he’d rather be left alone, Michael was relieved that it was the attendant and not his cousin. Less and less he’d seen of Ambray and for the time, it suited him well.
“Go away,” Michael muttered, though the effort to oppose his caretakers had long since died out of him.
“Nonsense, Lord Winningham. There is much to be done and you must be rid of these blue devils. I hear you have a brave lady awaiting your return. Now, be a good sort and eat for me.”
Michael came to with a start. Pulling himself to a sitting position, he gave his new keeper a wary look. “What are you talking about?”
“I am talking about your getting well enough to get back to your wife. A pretty thing, she is.” Kneeling down, O’Malley stated. He held out a small jug of water and a covered dish.
Cautiously, Michael took both from him. He’d no appetite for days and now his stomach twisted at the thought of food. It was the laudanum they’d been giving him. Half the time, he’d barely managed to keep that down.
“What do you know of my wife?”
“Only that she’s worried about you. You should have asked for help, my Lord. To take this whole business on alone is clearly foolish.”
“There is no one I could turn to. I already stand condemned by the military. I am either insane or a traitor in their eyes. Who would listen to the ramblings of the poor mad earl?” He asked, taking a small sip from the water bottle.
“There are those that have been listening for a bit. But who, I’m not able to say, just yet. The truth of it is you, sir, are at the heart of a very large intrigue. Others might be involved who stand to gain much by your complicity. There are those who stand to lose much as well.”
“And, all of it hinges on me? I find that harder to swallow than the boiled lamb. It seems as if you’ve been indulging in one of those late night stories that are so popular these days.”

“On the contrary, sir, I am nothing but a public servant.”
“Who just happens to be employed by my cousin?”
“For the time being. My situation is not of import here, sir. Yours is.”
“Are you a soldier?”
O’Malley smiled, “Of a sort, but not the kind that you were. I have a different vocation.”
“I see. If I am to be convinced that you are here to help me, then you must give me some bit of proof that I can trust you.”
“Unfortunately, I have none, save my word. I will not allow you to be beaten or starved. Beyond that, I can promise nothing.” O’Malley turned to leave. “Oh, and one other thing, I have not yet decided whether or not you stand guilty of any crimes as yet. Count it fortunate that you’ll not have to prove your innocence to me. Your actions from now on may save you. My advice is simple. You must behave yourself. Cooperate with your cousin, do what you must to stay alive until this scandal is exposed. If for no other reason, than for your wife. She’ll need you close by when this is all through.”
O’Malley nodded as he left the room. Michael had a dozen questions. At the bottom of them all was his wanting to know how Mouse fared. He’d remembered Ambray’s and Wexley’s threats. Those were questions he didn’t dare ask. He wanted very much for his captors to forget that his wife was so vulnerable. Knowing that he could deny them nothing if they threatened Mouse, Michael would truly betray his country then.
When Michael closed his eyes, he could only think of his wife. It would have been better, he knew, if he’d managed to close his heart to Mouse. So long he’d been without a kind word or a caring embrace, it was like a gentle breeze when she caressed him. Even now, with weeks since their separation his skin still tingled where she’d last touched him, her hands upon his face. He also remembered clearly the pain and question in her eyes. He’d hurt her badly this time and the crush of it would weigh upon him for eternity.
It was in those quiet moments, being visited by the thoughts of his wife, when Michael prayed. If ever he should find a way out of this hodgepodge, he asked that he be given one more chance with Mouse.

He didn’t care the consequences. But, as he spoke the litany of his loves, he knew also that a fate that had never been kind to him, would surely not give in to him now.
~ * ~
The past few days of travel left Mouse entirely exhausted. Add to the fact that her sleep had been uneven, she missed Tom’s quiet companionship and she was sick with worry about her husband, her misery was nearly complete. The General had been exceedingly nice to her. She could fault him for nothing as the day carried them closer to Rosecliff. But it was extremely difficult to be one’s polite-self every moment of the day. After a few days of being bounced upon the roadway, Mouse was at the end of her tattered nerves.
Also plaguing her was her lie. How was she to explain to Wexley about that? Of course, she’d not been planning to visit a friend. Without Tom to help her cover her deceit, she knew it would be difficult at best. At worst, she would look like a foolish female, which in its own way was not entirely a bad thing. It was just that Mouse hated appearing muddleheaded.
What made the trip even more unbearable was the constant fear for Michael. She was certain that her husband was being abused. His life was in danger and she was powerless to help him.
Neither did the weather help them. It was nearing the end of winter and the cold and dampness were vying for control over the elements. Mouse was certain that everything was conspiring against her in her flight to rescue Michael.
“Not too much farther, I hope,” the General smiled at her. Mouse returned the gesture, though it pained her greatly.
“No. Less than a day.” Mouse hedged. She knew she must breach the subject of Rosecliff, and had spent long hours deciding on how best to cover her story.
“Actually,” she began, “I need to be brought a bit farther than Darrowby.”
“Where does your friend reside?” He asked, his face never wavering. “I assure you, it will be no hindrance on our trip. I have so enjoyed having a companion, I am thinking of staying on, just so that you and I may make the return trip.”

Mouse’s breath left her. The horror of such an occurrence struck her squarely. For a moment no words came to her mouth. More lies! She knew she’d best come up with something quickly or the situation could become far worse.
“That is most generous of you, sir,” she stammered a moment more. “But, I, that is, my friend, Hattie is in the employ of the Earl of Winningham and I am most certain that they will see to my needs.”
“The earl? What a coincidence! I’d forgotten that his country estate was so near.”
Mouse swallowed, her mouth dry, making her speech even more difficult. “You know the earl?”
“Oh yes, poor boy. Served under me in Spain, both he and his cousin. Such a tragedy. Now, with his house staff ill, it is beyond the pale to think of what his family must be suffering.”
“Oh,” Mouse stated quietly, “yes, very much.” She looked out the ************************************************************ **** Already the craggy landscape of the coast began to overtake the road. Her heart fluttering in her chest, she knew that her story would not hold water and she would be caught in her duplicity the moment they rolled upon the estate lands.
~ * ~
Michael slept most of the day. The temperature of his cell had dropped. At least he was protected from the wind, but that was a small concession. Huddled against the cold, with no blanket, nor hearth to keep him warm, he had taken his refuge in slumber when he could. The mixture of sleep and cold had numbed him considerably, so it wasn’t until the noise outside his cell became so loud that it roused him.
The crashing sound was that of someone struggling, and the timber of voices shouting.
“You bastards.” came a familiar voice. “What have you done with her?”
No answer came, save the opening of the door. In the moments that followed, a body was thrust into the small enclosure. Falling to the floor instantly, it was clear his new companion had been treated badly. Clothes torn and reeking of days without proper hygiene, the

other man stumbled backwards to land in front of Michael, limbs askew. He looked much like a discarded rag doll.
“Tom?” The earl asked cautiously.
The other man spun around, searching the darkness for his new cellmate. Michael was shocked by the bruised appearance of the youth. In truth, the other man’s face was a mixture of old wounds and new. Purple skin covering old scars so that it was clear he’d been treated badly for some time.
“My lord? Is that really you?”
“I’m afraid so, Tom. I am so sorry that you’ve been dragged into all this.”
Tom shook his head stubbornly. “Oh no, my Lord. It is I who am sorry that things have turned out so badly.”
“At least you’re alive. After London, I feared the worst.”
Tom looked away for a moment. “To be honest, sir, I believe the worst has yet to visit upon us.”
A chill colder than the ocean wind in winter cut through Michael. Somehow he knew the news was not to be good. His nightmare had become real once again.
“Tom, where is my wife? Is she here as well?”
“Not yet, but soon, I fear.”
Michael sank back, his eyes closed. “Tell me, Tom. Please, tell me all.”
~ * ~
Mouse was both relieved and fearful as the sight of Michael’s estate rose in the distance. She knew that she’d no longer be able to hide the truth from her benefactor. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself, and plunged into the matter. To her credit, Mouse had never been good at lying and when she’d decided to be honest with the General, it was as if a great weight had been lifted from her chest.
Mouse quickly assessed her traveling partner. Though it was but early evening, the older man slumbered peacefully beside her. She was hesitant, not wanting to wake him, but knowing that in the next few moments it was inevitable. When the carriage stopped, he would surely arouse.

“General,” she began, speaking softly at first. “My pardon, sir, but we are nearly there.”
Wexley’s eyes fluttered open and he loosed a yawn. “Really, my dear? Please forgive my poor manners. At my age, the movement of the carriage has the effect of rocking in a cradle. I have always slept better during travel.”
“I do regret having to wake you, sir.”
“Oh, think nothing of it. Plenty of time for sleep later, if you get my meaning,” he winked at her.
Mouse nodded. “General, I am most ashamed of my actions of late and I must make some things clear to you before we reach the estates. I am afraid I have not been honest with you.”
“You’ve no need to feel such discomfort. In truth, I suspected that there might be more to your story that you were willing to disclose.”
“You have?” Mouse’s heart was beating in double time now.
“Of course! A young woman, traveling virtually alone, traversing the most dangerous roads in the country.”
“Oh. And yet, you’ve said nothing to me?”
“Of course, not. There was no need.”
Mouse nodded. “Then, I suppose I must tell you the truth of my situation—”
The older man shook his head. “I already know all that is important about you, Lady Winningham.”

Sixteen

“Lady Winningham.”
Mouse nearly collapsed at the sound of her name. Her ‘married’ name. Suddenly the events of the past few days fell upon her, crashing against her like a wave against the surf and filling her with fear and anger.
“How long have you known?”
“Since the beginning,” he smiled then, his face turning a deeper shade of red, his eyes sparkling like glittering candles at midnight. “It was I who summoned you with that letter.”
Mouse sank back against the seat. “I see.”
“No, you don’t but it is awfully nice of you to say so.” His smile grew impossibly large. “I have need of your company and I knew that if I requested your presence, you would surely suspect wrong-doings.”
“Then it was you who poisoned Tom?”
“It was nothing but a mild concoction, no permanent damage to the boy. I wouldn’t have needed to do so if he hadn’t recognized my driver. Elliot Stone has been serving me for years.”
“What have you done with Tom?” Mouse asked, fearing the worst for her friend.
“Safely tucked away. You see, things aren’t really all that bad.”

The carriage had turned onto the drive. Mouse’s mind whirred with the possibilities. Feeling like a trapped animal, she searched the landscape for any hope of escape.
“What do you want?” She asked baldly. Her hands had gone to twisting the fabric of her skirt. She imagined them about the General’s neck, or even better, Ambray’s.
The General’s expression hardened. “From you, nothing. In fact, I believe I have done you quite the courtesy by accompanying you on your journey.”
“It was you who wrote me? You are the lowest of low, sir!”
“Be honest, Lady Winningham, you would have made the trip eventually, regardless of my intervention.”
Mouse couldn’t deny that. “Then what is the purpose of your contrivance? What did you hope to gain by abducting me?”
He laughed and Mouse heard the sinful pleasure he took from her discomfort. He thoroughly enjoyed her predicament and the intrigue of his actions.
“I will not argue the point of your being forced into this. In fact, until this very moment, you have continued under your own free will, Miss. I’ll not hold the blame of your circumstance. If you have not guessed already, it is your husband I am more concerned with.”
Mouse’s fears were realized. “Just what is it you want from him? He’s ill and I believe his cousin has been working to worsen his condition, for what reason I cannot imagine.”
“You are astute as well as comely,” the General noted. “Your husband has been quite fortunate in his choice of you for a wife, Lady Winningham. But not to worry, as much as Ambray Kelton despises your husband, he fears me even more. I assure you, since your husband’s initial agreement to return to Rosecliff, he has not suffered much. He’s been ********************************tered and fed. There was a small altercation between Lord Winningham and one of his orderlies that resulted in minor injuries. But that will not have reoccurred, I assure you.”

“You’ll excuse me if I don’t believe you until I’ve spoken with my husband.”
“Of course, I expected no less. He is well. When he sees that you have chosen to accompany me here, I am sure it will change his mind on matters on which we tend to disagree.”
“You mean to force him to your will by threatening me?”
“I am certain it will not come to that. Your husband will quickly see how much safer the both of you will be if he cooperates. Since my retirement from the military, I have lost certain avenues of action to continue my business. Michael’s father was most instrumental to me, as Michael will become now that you’ve come to join him. You see, things are bound to fall into place.”
Mouse didn’t have the patience to continue this line of discussion. Her anxieties were growing by the moment.
“I want to see my husband.”
“Of course. I’ve no intention of keeping the two of you apart.”
The carriage had stopped full and the driver opened the door before her. Steeling herself against what the future held, she took his hand and allowed the man to help her from the cab. She couldn’t fight down the feeling that she’d grabbed onto a snake and that it was merely a matter of time before it would sink fangs into her.
~ * ~
Tom stood on tiptoes, straining to see through the small window of the cellar. Squinting against the darkness, he turned his head from side to side.
“Nothing yet, my Lord. The carriage is not moving. Whoever has arrived, they’re not anxious to get to the manse.”
“Just keep watching, Tom. I must know who Ambray has lured here. I pray that Mouse returned to London, but knowing my wife, that was not her choice.”
Michael sank back against the bare wall. For hours he’d stood watching the drive, until his weakened state had forced him to the

ground. Though Tom was not in much better shape, he was younger and carried more stamina.
“There she is, my Lord!” Tom stated suddenly.
Ignoring his condition, Michael was straining to catch a glimpse of his bride.
“Can you see her, Tom?” Before the other man could answer, the earl saw the soft bustle of skirts and knew that his wife had arrived safely at last.
Letting go of a breath he’d not known he’d held, Michael sighed. “She’s all right.” He watched as she disappeared around the front of the walk and entered into the house’s main entrance.
“Aye, my lord. She’s inside. Surely, they won’t injure her.”
“No, they’d best not.” Michael spoke resolutely. A new anger filled him. Anger not at his cousin and the General, but at himself, for languishing all these months past, for not fighting hard enough, for not protecting Mouse as he should have. No more, he told his heart. No more would he bend to their will. No more would he allow fate and his enemies to have control over him. He’d save Mouse, even if it cost him his title and his life. Seeing his wife in their grasp only caused his resolve to strengthen. In those spare moments he began to form a plan.
“Someone’s coming,” Tom noted.
When the door opened, O’Malley stepped in. “The general’s here.”
“So I saw. Is my wife unharmed?”
O’Malley nodded. “Well enough, though if it were up to me, she’d still be in London.” The other man shook his head. “I’ll do what I can for her. You must tread carefully.”
Michael didn’t speak as he walked out of the room and into the night. Once outside, he breathed the night air as though it were a tonic.
“Let’s get this over with.”
~ * ~

It was in the midst of these thoughts that the door opened and a
servant swept Michael inside. She didn’t know the new man, but her
thoughts were more for the sight of her husband. She was both
shocked and relieved at seeing him.
Mouse fidgeted. She’d been ensconced in the parlor. It was the very same room in which she and Michael had first talked about their marriage. How foolish she’d been. How terribly childish she’d been to think that her few problems were so momentous when her husband had suffered so greatly in comparison. She knew the truth now. Well, not all of the details, but enough to know that Michael had been used from the beginning. First by Ambray and now by this General.
“Oh, Michael.” She ran to him, falling into him. He was thinner, she realized. Nearly as he’d been the first time she’d seen him. But there was a strength to him that had outlived the course of his imprisonment. The force of his hold on her could not be denied.
“Mouse,” he intoned, saying her name in a singsong voice. “My beautiful Mouse.”
For a moment she could scarcely breathe, let alone speak. she drew a ragged breath, tears springing to her eyes.
“I am so sorry, Michael! I’ve been such a fool!”
“No, my love. I should have prevented them from this. I should have done what they expected from the first. Anything to keep you safe.”
Mouse could hear the pain in the rub of his voice. “It’s going to be all right, Michael. You’ll see. We’ll find a way out of this.”
“Of course, we will.”
Mouse felt his embrace falter slightly. Concerned for his well-being, she pulled away and motioned him to the settee.
“Please, sit. You’re exhausted.”
“I’m afraid your visit must be interrupted.” Ambray stated.

Mouse turned to see the General and Michael’s cousin entering the room. Suddenly her heart turned ice as she faced the two men responsible for her husband’s condition.
Wexley moved forward. “Please forgive us, my dear. But your husband has not granted us his full attention for a time and we have business to dispense with. It has been a long journey Surely, you need to ******************************************************** after so many miles.” He looked to Michael. “Michael, you and I have much to do. I can see now that you are more amenable to our previous endeavors.”
“How dare you!” Mouse barely breathed. Michael’s arms tightened around her.
“It’s all right, my sweet,” he told her in a low voice. “I’ll go with them. It won’t be long. Then we’ll be together, won’t we, General?” Michael gazed into her eyes, reassuring her with a slight nod of his head.
“Of course.” Wexley smiled. “Ambray will see to your every comfort, Lady Winningham, won’t you, my boy?”
Ambray nodded, almost too eagerly. “Of course, General. I look so forward to keeping company with dear Miranda once again.”
His enthusiasm was quelled when Wexley glanced in his direction.
“Go on, Mouse,” Michael urged. “I’ll be fine.”
“Oh, Michael,” she began but her voice faltered before she could speak further.
“Listen, Mouse. I need you to be strong for me now. Do as they say and I will get you out of this safely. You have my word on that.”
Mouse studied his expression. Reflected in the muddy turquoise depths she found a strength and resolve that she’d not seen previously.
“I love you, Michael,” she managed.
“I love you as well. Go with Am, and when I see you next, all will be right. I promise.”
~ * ~
Michael was taken to the small room off of the kitchen that was used by the staff as an informal dining room. The house was now

empty save for Ambray, the General and their men, O’Malley, Mauler and Stone. The usual house staff was gone. Among the list of demands he was forming, Michael would insist the return of the cook, the gardener, and at least one lady’s maid for Mouse. He would not have her live in squalor. If the trade they were entering into was successful, they could well afford that.
“Have a seat, my boy,” Wexley offered cheerily.
Michael hesitated momentarily. He didn’t want congeniality from this devil. He wanted to be done with this so he could return to Mouse.
“Enough of the pleasantries, General. State what you came for and let me get back to my wife.”
Wexley took the chair across from him. His brow knotted with an expression of mild irritation. He nodded to Stone, who now flanked the doorway with O’Malley. The men stepped forward and forced Michael into the chair. He did not struggle, but sat stiffly, barely able to contain his rising anger.
“You know well what I came for, Michael. I have been patient with you and your cousin. In the next few nights, a ship full of my own property will be hailing into these waters. I will know where your father hid his treasures and who his contacts were. I am through playing cock-a-ninny with the Keltons. You will do as I instruct you or suffer the consequences.”
Michael considered his opponent. The visage of a kindly, older gentleman had gone, and every battle he’d ever waged—on land or otherwise—came to play across his features. It was an indication of just how much Wexley would do to have his way. Michael was fascinated as well as horrified at the vision before him. He’d seen greed in his lifetime—in his father and the men who’d visited him after his mother’s death. He’d even seen the lust in Ambray’s gaze when he’d cast his intentions on Katerina. What sat before Michael now was beyond those two human qualities. It was the sharp, jagged

edge of evil, plain and simple. And the blade of it cut to Michael’s marrow.
“Very well, you shall have what you wish from me.” When he spoke, Michael was surprised by his own calm tones. “But first, I have conditions—”
“Enough!” came Ambray’s voice from the doorway. “You have no concerns here! You will do as you are told!”
Michael ignored his cousin’s fury. He didn’t care, having already decided what part his cousin would play in this macabre dance. For his own sake, and for Mouse’s, the earl had already made the choice of who would survive this ordeal and who would not.
With carefully measured calmness, Michael turned his attentions back to Wexley. “My first condition is that Ambray have no further part in this. I will deal with you and you alone.”
“This is ridiculous! I will not stand for his impertinence.” Ambray stepped forward, raising an arm to strike Michael. Despite his age, the General was faster. He bolted upright, stopping Ambray’s arm in mid-swing.
Michael watched as his cousin’s inflamed gaze met Wexley’s calm demeanor. For a single moment the two were locked in a combat of silent rage. Michael wasn’t sure which one would win. He well knew the force of his cousin’s personality. Suddenly, Ambray’s strength wilted beneath the older man’s scrutiny.
In a single word, the matter was decided. “Done.” Wexley’s gaze never left Michael’s cousin.
Ambray stepped back, as though he had been slapped. Looking quickly around the room, confusion crowded his expression. Realization of the situation must have dawned because it quickly was replaced by an intense calm though electricity hung in the air between them.
“Very well, he whispered. “I am always your obedient servant, General. I hope that there will come a time when you will see the error of your decision in this. I won’t oppose you.” He turned to

Michael, straightening his waistcoat. “As for you, Cousin, you and I will finish on another day.” With that, he turned and stiffly exited the room.
Michael closed his eyes briefly. He allowed a bit of hope to creep into his mind. Of course, he had yet to deal with the worst of the two demons, but evil divided was certainly better than evil multiplied.
~ * ~
Mouse paced the thick carpets for what must have been the thousandth time. She’d been returned to her old room from before and the memories it brought forth were painful. She quickly dismissed them for a new set of concerns. Michael’s life was in danger and she was unable to save him. The first hour of her interment, she labored to find a way out, but Ambray had been most clever in finding and sealing the door that led to the back hallways. Her window had been nailed shut as well, so there was no chance for escape. She simply had to sit and wait for someone to free her.
Hours passed when a tray of food and wine was brought, but she trusted neither, drinking instead from the clean ewer which had been supplied for her to wash up. She would need to eat eventually, but for the moment she meant to keep her wits about her and wait for word of her husband.
Suddenly the door burst open and a single visitor entered.
“Hello, Miranda,” Ambray stated quietly.
“Where’s Michael?”
“He’s with Wexley. They are renewing an old acquaintance.” He sauntered into the room, deftly pushing the door closed behind him.
Mouse stepped back warily. She’d never trusted Ambray before and certainly didn’t now. Though her suspicions at his intentions were climbing by the second, she knew that she could not let him see her fear. He would feed off of it like wolves attacking a hen house.
“Shouldn’t you be with them?” She asked, feeling her comment hit the mark.

A sharpened expression quickly lit upon his face like a lightning strike, but was just as quickly gone.
“There is no need. Besides, I’d much rather spend time with my favorite cousin. How have you been, Miranda? Or should I call you Mouse?”
Again he advanced and again Mouse retreated. Bile rose from her stomach at his use of her nickname, a name that had to that moment only been spoken by her beloved family and Michael.
“You will address me with my title or not at all!” She couldn’t keep the anger from her voice.
“Of course, if that is your wish, Lady Winningham,” he sneered, stepping closer still.
Mouse backed up against the armoire. She was quickly running out of territory as well as patience. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her weakness. No, she told herself she would fight him—fight him to her last breath if need be. She’d been a country Doctor’s daughter indeed, but her father had been wise enough teach her how to protect herself. She knew well where to strike a man to incapacitate him.
“As it happens, my lady, I have quite a fondness for the gentry. And for you especially. I have long been an admirer, even before your stepmother and I put forth our plan to have you wed my cousin. If fates were different, I daresay I might have taken you myself.”
He closed the distance and Mouse prepared for her attack. “You are mistaken, sir,” she said, her voice a low growl, “if you think to assault me. I am giving you fair warning to leave this room now.”
Ambray smiled at her statements. “It looks as though the little mouse has sharp teeth? Is that what you are telling me? Well, milady, as it happens, I prefer sharp teeth. In fact, if you didn’t attempt to defend yourself, I’d be disappointed. Yes, truly disappointed.”
In the next instant, Mouse pushed forward, quickly raising her knee to his groin, her hands grabbing for his face, nails poised to claw Ambray’s eyes from their sockets if need be.

Unfortunately Ambray had been a street fighter long before Mouse’s birth, and he knew well the tactics that women chose to defend themselves. With a hearty laugh he quickly sidestepped her advance and in the same motion slapped her smartly. The force of the blow knocked her sideways. Instantly he was upon her. Grabbing her by the hair, he thrust her onto the bed and descended upon her.
In full panic, Mouse gave a valiant struggle. She kicked and bit furiously, but the long night had taken its toll and she was quickly running out of steam. Still, she wouldn’t beg, or cry. The minutes passed until she became still beneath him, gasping for breath. She tried to draw in more air, but Ambray’s weight upon her was like a granite stone.
“That’s my girl!” He said gleefully above her. “Is that all the vinegar in you, Mouse? Surely you can fight a bit longer.” Cupping her face with one hand, his other pushed through the soft recesses of her now tattered dress. Mouse tried to push him away but he was quickly gaining ground. Instinctively, she knew what must come next.
“Get off me, you fiend.” Mouse screamed.
“I think not, my girl. I’ve much planned for you this night. You’ll not disappoint me. We’ll see how much your darling Michael cares for you when I’ve had my way, hmm? Perhaps I shall put a child there and it’ll be my heir to claim his wealth and title. Wouldn’t that be a stain to the family stockings?”
“You will do nothing.” Mouse said through clenched teeth. “You wouldn’t dare. Michael would kill you.”
He laughed again. “Aren’t you the foolish chit! I took his fair Katerina from him, you know. She actually preferred me. Imagine that. Believe me, Lady Mouse, you very much pale in comparison to her.” With that, Ambray leaned forward and invaded her mouth.
Mouse gagged at the scent of him, a mixture of stale wine and male sweat, all infused him. She struggled again beneath him, the last of her breath being stolen by him. When she was on the brink of sinking into oblivion Ambray was gone.

Not just him, but his entire body had been thrown away. The heat he had generated had instantly dissipated, leaving her shivering in the cold chill of its wake.
Looking up she saw who had rescued her and though she knew him not, her heart sang at whatever fate it was that had released her from Ambray’s hold, even for whatever short time that was to be.
“What do you think you’re doing, you Irish bastard?” Ambray shouted, swinging his arm around to strike the other man. The intended target only sidestepped the impending blow, deftly striking Ambray, much in the manner a man swats away an insect.
This only inflamed Ambray further. “You dare to strike me?” He came forward, but the Irishman’s arm shot out.
“I came at the General’s order. He’s struck a bargain with Winningham. He’s asking for you.” He spared a glance at Mouse’s crumpled form on the bed. She watched as he summarily dismissed her and turned his attention back to Ambray. “I don’t believe he would take it too well if he knew you were roughing up the girl. Especially at this most delicate point in the negotiations.”
Ambray drug a ragged sleeve across his mouth, wiping off the blood from the spot where Mouse had bitten him. “What is your concern in the negotiations? You work for me, remember?”
“Well, there’s the thing, Kelton. The general has made me an offer and it’s a right pretty one. I’d be a fool to turn him down. Timothy O’Malley is many things, but a fool he is not.” He motioned for the door.
Mouse held her breath when the stranger mentioned his name. It was the name of the man whom Arthur had sent to rescue her husband. Had he turned traitor by Ambry and Wexley’s promise of rewards? Or was this a guise to help her and Michael escape? Mouse wasn’t sure what to believe anymore.
Ambray stood quiet for a moment. “That’s the way of it then? We shall see who the fool is here, and who is not.”

Glancing back at Mouse, Ambray straightened his shirt, “Until another time, my dear.” He smiled then shoved past O’Malley. The other man didn’t spare her a nod and followed close behind.
Only after the lock had turned in the door and she’d heard their footsteps fade down the hall did Mouse give over to her emotions and sobbed uncontrollably until the last of her energies were spent and a heavy slumber came to claim her.

When Michael was taken back to his cell, the sun was rising outside the tiny ************************************************************ **** Exhausted, he leaned against the stone wall. A stirring noise beside him brought him abruptly out of his reverie.
“My lord, please forgive me, I didn’t hear you come in,” Tom said, quickly rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“Nonsense, there is nothing to forgive. I’ve not been back long and you needed the rest.”
Tom hesitated beside him. “How are you, my Lord? I mean, they didn’t hurt you or anything?”
Michael smiled, “Only my pride, Tom. But, that’s of little import now, isn’t it?”
Tom nodded. “And what of Lady Winningham, did you see her?”
“Yes, briefly. And, if things go well, by tomorrow morning you and she should be back on your way to London.”
“What about you, sir? Will you be coming with us?”
Michael shook his head. “I’m afraid not, Tom. I must charge you with getting Mouse safely back to her family and seeing to it that she stays there. The next few months will be hard on her, but I think in time she’ll forgive me.”
“Forgive you, sir? What for?”
Michael turned away, the words could barely form in his mouth. He knew, with the events having been set in motion, there was no turning back. He only hoped that one day Mouse would come to

understand what had driven him to this. Only being certain of her safety was worth the sacrifices he’d make.
“For being a traitor, Tom.”
~ * ~
Ambray wore through the carpet in the small office. He’d stomped and fumed his way into the room, only to be put off by Wexley’s man. The cretin actually had enjoyed Ambray’s fit of pique and went off on his own, chuckling as he left.
Just before dawn, Wexley entered the room. Ambray grew quiet at the old man’s appearance.
“Good morning, Ambray. My, don’t you look all tossed today.” The general seated himself behind the small desk. “It is time for us to come to an understanding.”
Ambray straightened his shoulders, inwardly patting himself for having the forethought to change his clothing and clean up before this meeting. It wouldn’t have done for Wexley to see him in disarray.
“I haven’t slept, if that’s what you’re referring to. It’s hard to rest when there is a knife of betrayal wedged in your back, sir.”
Wexley looked up at him. “I haven’t betrayed you, Kelton. I’ve no reason to. I merely did what was necessary to keep Winningham happy. If he believes you are out of the picture, he’ll be more cooperative. In exchange for your good graces, you will be heavily rewarded. Believe me, I only want to keep his lordship around until I have established my own trade routes, then I will gladly let you dispense with him and his wife, if you so wish.”
Ambray took a deep breath. “I have designs on the fair lady. As for Michael, you know what my price is, what it has always been.”
The general regarded him a moment. “Why is it that you want Winningham dead, if you don’t mind my asking? He seems a fair enough sort. I must say the starch in his britches impressed me last night. I knew he was an exemplary soldier, but I’d not expected him to stand up to me.”
“My reasons for wanting my cousin dead are my own. I am owed a debt and I mean to collect it.”
“Fair enough. We must travel into the village. There are two men there who will connect with the coast and prepare a docking for my

ship. We only need to wait until the former Lord Winningham’s contact man arrives. We should have things in hand in the next few days.”
Ambray nodded. “Why wait so long? Couldn’t we have done this all months ago? Michael was in far better shape then, you know. I had him full of enough laudanum to make him betray his own mother.”
The General nodded. “And suspicions would have been high, you dolt! You’ve never seen the larger picture, have you? I needed time to gather my own forces, to pull together my network of spies to support my interests. I have finally achieved that. Michael is only a small part of my plans, you know. It was his father’s death that nearly had me boxed. I’ve worked diligently to clear the path to France. The next few days will see the fruition of my plans.”
“Very well, General. I am, as always, your servant. Is there anything else you require?”
“Not presently. Go get yourself some sleep. You look like hell.”
~ * ~
After sleeping most of the day, Mouse awakened to the late afternoon shadows. Lunch had been served while she’d rested. A new tray had been set on the bedside table, laden with a bottle of warm ale and a congealed bowl of ox-tail soup beside it.
Deciding against at even attempting the meal, Mouse instead began setting herself to rights. After a quick wash with the stale water in the ewer, a few brushes threw the tangles of her hair and donning a fresh dress and slippers, she finally sat down at the writing desk and reflected on her situation.
It was true that at the moment there was absolutely no hope of escaping the dreaded room or even of seeing Michael until Ambray and the general saw fit to let her. She knew she was being ransomed in order to force Michael to aid them in their treachery. The thought of them threatening her to insure his cooperation made her set her temper to boil. For the moment, there was simply nothing to be done about it.
In truth, Mouse had never spent a helpless day in her life. It was making her desperate for activity. At least the forced occupation left her plenty of time for planning. The way she saw things, she had two

main purposes—first, to fend off any further attempts by Ambray and second, to free Michael.
Spying the pewter pitcher on the dressing table, Mouse constructed a plan of attack. Quickly she placed it on the table beside the bed. Knowing her husband’s cousin’s weaknesses, she settled herself on the bed, spreading her skirts about and leaning back slightly.
The second concern, however, was less easily dealt with. Mouse knew that the safest course of action would be for her to escape to the nearest village. Once there she could beg the local gentry for help. Unfortunately, she feared what the general might do to her husband once he’d learned of her desperate flight. The memory of Michael’s poor condition the night before only hardened Mouse’s resolve to not leave her husband behind. No matter the outcome, they would escape together.
~ * ~
It was just before dusk when the door to Michael’s cell opened. O’Malley entered carrying two bottles of water and a plate of cold meats and cheese. The aroma filled the tiny room instantly, arousing both Michael and Tom.
“Good eve’ to you, Lord Winningham,” O’Malley stated, holding out the food for them. “Sorry, I’ve not been able to get away before now to bring you something to eat. With the house staff gone, the General’s been ordering me around like his own personal abigail. In all my years of employment, I have never wished to be a valet and I am fairly certain now that I never will.”
Michael watched the man closely. “How is my wife? Have you seen her?”
O’Malley’s expression darkened a moment. “She’s well enough. Took a bad scare from your cousin last evening. Fortunately, I was there to intervene before anything regrettable occurred.”
Instantly Michael was on his feet. “If anything happens to her—” he began.
O’Malley put up his hand, “My lord, I can assure you I have been watching over the lady. She’s not eaten, but I left her plenty of water. I suppose by tonight her appetite will come back.”

“How do I know I can trust you?” Michael dropped his fisted hands to his sides. “You’ve never told me just why it is that you’ve chosen to help me. For all I know you could be working for my cousin.”
O’Malley shrugged. “True enough. I’m not ready to divulge my employer just yet. I have been hired to look into the goings on here. Since Lady Winningham’s arrival, it makes her my charge to protect. And protect her I shall, whether it’s against the General, Mister Kelton, or you.”
“Against me?” Michael could barely contain his anger. “She is my wife, sir!”
“Which, to my thinking, is all the more reason to be suspicious. You narrowly escaped a charge of treason, are said by some to have murdered your first wife, and now have been revealed to have connections with smugglers and conspirators. At the very least, your sanity is in question. Not a good recommendation of character thus far, my Lord.”
Michael swallowed the bile that was forming in the back of his throat. “I don’t have to answer any charges to you, sir. Whatever happens to me, I only want my wife safely back with her family. My life means nothing.”
O’Malley stood quietly for a moment. “Now, there’s where you’re wrong. It would seem that right now, you are indeed very important. First, to your lady, who is ready to sacrifice herself to save you. Second, to your cousin, who wants the particular pleasure of killing you all to himself. And, third, to Wexley who believes that you are the goose that has laid the golden egg. No matter how we examine things, my lord, it always comes back to you. For the moment I’ve added you to my list of charges, if only to make certain that you remain alive to answer to my superiors. That seems tantamount.”
“So, you bring me food and news of my wife,” Michael said with defeat.
“For now. That’s about the limit of what I can do for you, my lord. That and to tell you that the General has returned from the village. He has ordered me to get you ready for travel at first light. His ships will be coming on to shore within the next few days. He’s anxious to find

your father’s treasure before that. My advice to you is to give him whatever he wants. That way we shall have more time to get things arranged. When you and he are gone, I will free your wife and the young lad here and send them packing to London.”
Michael nodded. “As I’ve said before, I will cooperate. Just get my wife to safety. After that, they won’t care whether I’m alive or dead.”
“There is one more thing, my lord.” O’Malley grasped Michael’s arm. “If you are indeed a traitor, you must know that I will do everything I can to see that justice is served. I will bring you in. You will answer to the charges.”
Michael smiled thinly. “Sir, if I survive to that point, I will follow you dancing a jig.”
~ * ~
Mouse had dozed until few hours from sunset. She hadn’t meant to drift away, but the course of her nerves and the long hours of waiting for Ambray’s return had drained her energies.
Sitting up abruptly, when she heard the loud click of the key in the bedroom’s door lock, Mouse scooted herself to sit at the edge of the bed, the table and pitcher within arm’s length.
The door opened and Ambray stepped in. Behind him, Mr. Mauler pushed in a wheeled cart carrying a full service of dinner. Scents of steamed carrots, freshly roasted beef and onion soup filled the room. Mouse became instantly dizzy and famished all at the same time. Inwardly, she chided herself for not eating earlier.
“You look rested, Miranda,” Ambray motioned for his servant to leave. Closing the door and locking it once more, he quickly deposited the key in his shirt pocket.
“I was able to sleep a bit,” she told him, “and think.”
Ambray didn’t bother to quell his look of surprise. “Oh, really? And what was troubling your mind?”
“I love my husband, Ambray,” she started quietly, “but I’ve no experience with men. When you were here earlier, you frightened me terribly.” Mouse paused, looking away and quickly muttering a prayer under her breath that her lies would prevail.

“I apologize for my behavior earlier. I was in an angry mood, my dear. Your husband infuriated me with his betrayal. Worse yet, I was dismissed by General Wexley. When I came to your room, I was quite overcome by your charms. It is difficult being a man, Miranda. So many things are placed within our reach and yet we are told not to touch them.”
“I think I understand,” Mouse said quietly, casting her gaze downward. “It leads me to consider what it would be like if things were different. You said something to me earlier that has left me wondering.”
Mouse could feel Ambray’s smile grow as she waited.
“What is it that you wish to know?”
She lifted her eyes and looked at him squarely. “Why was it that Katerina chose you over Michael?”
Ambray started slightly. “Why indeed? I have always considered Michael to be the far better catch. No doubt his wealth and position are among his best attributes. It is a wise woman who would choose a man for that kind of security. In the long run, I imagine it often does leave a girl lingering in the night when she is left with a husband who is cold and brooding. I, who have nothing to my name, but far more time on my hands, have the ability to quell those long lonely nights, my dear. In a way, I have done a service to my cousin. By keeping his wife happy and loved, he was free to do what it is that he does best, stay in hiding.”
As he spoke, Ambray began advancing on her once again. Mouse suppressed a shudder as she watched the predatory expression overtake his face. Still, he wasn’t close enough for her to strike, so she leaned closer, appearing caught in his speech like an insect in a spider’s web.
“Was Katerina happy and loved?” She asked in a voice just barely above a whisper.
“Oh, very happy. And loved.” He said, his voice a gentle sigh. He stood barely a foot from her now. Reaching out his hand, he lightly caressed her face.
Mouse closed her eyes and tilting her head back, leaned into him. But, as her right hand reached to join his, her left was closing on the

pitcher handle. Slowly she stood up from the edge of the bed and began to press her body into his.
“I want to be loved, too…” She said though in the next instant she was swinging the pewter in a forceful arc, landing it succinctly against Ambray’s temple. The ********************************l made connection with a dull thud. In the next instant he lay sprawled out on the ground before her, knocked completely unconscious.
“… but not by you, you worthless scut!” Quickly Mouse dropped the pitcher and bent down to extract the room’s key his front shirt pocket. Stepping lightly over him she made her escape.
~ * ~
Michael stood gazing out the cellar’s only window into the night. Moonlight kept the grounds from being entirely dark, but the dim light was not enough to reveal what had been going on in the manse. From his vantage point across the yard, he could see the shapes of men running about the estate. He could make out the bent shape of Mauler and the thin tall form of Stone. Even the quicksilver form of O’Malley had darted across the landscape twice.
“What’s going on, sir?” Tom asked behind him.
“Something’s got everyone stirred up,” he commented. “They’re looking for something, or someone.”
“Her ladyship?”
“Perhaps.” Michael sighed. “For her own sake, I hope she is on her way back to town.”
“So do I, my lord.”
Suddenly the door burst open behind them and a disheveled Ambray pushed into the room. Clothing soiled with blood, he also sported a fresh bruise that covered his right eye, cheek and temple.
“Where is she, Michael?” He demanded.
“What’s happened, Ambray? You’re hurt.”
“Your wife struck me with a pewter pitcher, the chit! Where is she hiding?” Ambray held up a pistol, aiming it at Michael’s chest.
“I’ve no idea. I’ve been here all day. How could I possibly know of her whereabouts?”
“Liar. No matter. We shall find her. In the meantime, you and I must settle things.”

Michael looked at him darkly. “Now? Before I’ve helped the general? A bit premature, isn’t it?”
“Hardly, since you are going to give me your father’s secrets. I shall be Wexley’s champion and you shall be dead.”
“No!” Tom, stood suddenly, pushing himself between Ambray and Michael.
“Don’t do it, boy,” Ambray hissed. “You’ve interfered enough with my plans. Another word, and I’ll kill you where you stand. Now, get out of the way.”
Michael stepped between them. “No. There’s no need for that, Am. Let’s just keep this between the two of us. I’ll make you a bargain. I’ll tell you what you want. In fact, I’ll take you to the caves where my father’s goods were hidden. I doubt you’ll find anything there, but at least you’ll know for certain. You can still use it to store enough guns and ammunition to start another insurrection. In return, you must let Mouse and Tom free. Send them packing to London tonight. The secrets shall be yours alone.”
Ambray paused, the point of the gun drifting slightly downward.
“Mine alone?”
“Yes. For you to do with as you please.” Michael stepped slowly forward, locking his gaze with Ambray’s. “For all I know, there might be a king’s ransom down there, trapped between the surf and the sea. Think what you could do with such wealth.”
Ambray’s expression changed to one of suspicion. “If such a thing exists, why haven’t you said so before now?”
Michael breathed slowly. “Why should I? I have everything—a title, a home, and you to care for me. Gold has never meant anything to me. When my father was alive, I only wanted his affection. After his death, I wanted the same from my wife. With all my wealth and title, I could have neither.”
“You’re a fool, Michael,” Ambray chuckled. “You always have been. Your father provided everything for you. Good schooling, an expensive commission in the Army, and a beautiful wife were gifts he bestowed on you. You never once acknowledged those things. You disgust me, cousin.”

“There are more things than material wealth, Am. An occasional conversation would have been enough. A few kind words, even an afternoon spent together as father and son.”
“Since it’s far too late for any of that, let’s dispense with this business now.” Ambray took hold of Michael’s sleeve, leaning closer. “Betraying your father should please you. Think of it as a chance for you to have your revenge on him. He never meant for anyone to find his treasure, you know. Never wanted anyone else to profit from his labors. Not even his son.”
“At least in that, you are correct, Ambray.” Michael took a deep breath. “He never divulged his secrets to anyone, not even me. I followed him. I was about thirteen. I was both frightened by my father and amazed by him. He took a handful of men down to the surf and I watched while wagons filled with armaments were quietly stowed away. There were Frenchmen who’d come to do business with him. I was too young to understand war and smuggling then. All those years he held onto the weapons. I didn’t realize just why it was he’d so vehemently argued against my joining the war effort, then the next day sign my commission papers. Turns out, having a son fighting for England made him less suspicious. I actually thought he might have been proud of his son’s accomplishments. I was wrong.”
“You could have turned him in, you know. Been the hero,” Ambray said quietly.
“I had intended to. I went to the caves shortly before I left for the Continent. The weapons were gone, the caves empty. I had thought my father might have had a change of heart. That he’d become a patriot. When I returned after the war, he was dead. I supposed the cache was still empty. I didn’t want any trouble so I just kept it as another family secret. It seems my father’s sins are mine now as well.”
“Mine and yours. Aren’t you the comical figure in all of this?” Ambray laughed. “Never wanting to take the legacy your father left you, but not quite wanting to let go of it either?”
“There’s nothing to let go of, Ambray. Wexley knows that. He wants to use only my name. Or, rather my father’s name. He seems to

think that I can persuade my father’s compatriots to trust him, to start the business once again. That is the only gift my father has given me.”
“You’re wrong, Michael. Your father did leave you something. Not long after we went to war he started up the business again. A full shipload of weapons and ammunitions bound for the English soldiers in Spain was pirated. The vessel was sunk about fifty miles from these very shores. The shipment has never been located. Just think of the wealth those guns might bring!”
“You think that my father took it? Is that what this is really about, Ambray? All about money?”
His cousin smiled. “It is ever about money, Michael.”
“No one has bothered to search for it?”
“We have been up and down this coast for nearly two years with no success. Your father outmaneuvered us all. Until now. Take me to the caves, Michael. Let’s be done with this.”
Michael studied his cousin carefully. “In the end, I wanted nothing from him. I still don’t. It’s yours, Ambray. Every last bit of it. I only want to be left in peace.”
Ambray motioned to the door. “Then, let’s go. You and I alone. Once you give me what I want, I’ll set you free. You can catch up with your bride, though little good it will do you. Once it’s learned of your escape, the authorities will be hot on your heels. Perhaps the two of you can manage in hiding.”
Michael only nodded, moving past his cousin to the door. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted, Ambray.”
~ * ~
Mouse had gone over the grounds twice. It had become increasingly harder to stay hidden, especially in light of the men searching so vigilantly. Managing to escape their notice, she huddled between the tool shed and the row of primroses that grew wildly along one border of the property. Night was beginning to fall and with darkening skies, she sat trying to fight off the oncoming chill and cursing her own ineptitude at not grabbing a proper wrap on her flight out of the manse.
Just beyond her hiding place, she saw two men heading towards the north end of the property. Just barely visible were the general and

Mr. O’Malley. She could make out the older man’s voice as it carried past her on the night wind. He was shouting, but the gist of the words was carried away from her. By the way he was tossing his hands, she could easily tell that he was extremely unhinged about something.
Carefully Mouse pulled herself out of the brush. Hunched down against the building, she made an attempt to follow. After a pace, she watched them enter one of the small cellars which sat at the northern perimeter of the property. Used to store vegetables and various other household goods, the cellar sat back against a small hill that rose up to the cliff behind it and abruptly jutted down to the coast. There was one tiny window that faced the manse with the rest covered by ground. Creeping up to the window, Mouse noted that it was only slightly cracked open, and nailed so that it wouldn’t be opened any further. Obviously meant to keep small animals from entering into the foodstuffs.
“Where is the Earl, boy?” The General’s voice cut through the night.
“I don’t know, sir. They didn’t tell me where they were going. I only know what I told you already, the Earl is gone and it was Mr. Kelton who took him!”
Mouse felt both relief and pain at hearing Tom’s voice. She had hoped that somehow he’d managed an escape on his own and had made it safely back to London. At least he was still alive, and that in itself was enough to be thankful for.
“If you’ve lied to me, it’ll be your arse!” Wexley’s threat rang out.
Mouse could hear the sounds of a scuffle below her and could barely make out the shapes of the three men entangled.
“Here now, sir,” O’Malley yelled out, “it’ll do no good to harm the boy now. We might have need of him later. Since Mr. Kelton has taken the Earl, then surely he means to bring him back. If you were to ask me, that man is fair scared of you.”
Wexely didn’t speak for a moment. “If he’s trying to cut me, it’ll be all the worse for him. Ambray Kelton doesn’t realize just how powerful I am!”

“I’m sure of it, sir. I’ll just take a skiff into town and see what he’s up to. If he’s gone on ahead to meet your contacts, then I’ll put a blade in him myself.”
Wexley seemed to relax a bit. “You’re a good man, O’Malley. You help me now and I’ll see that you’re well rewarded for it.”
At that, Mouse heard the door creak. Quickly pulling her skirts up, she darted around behind the hill and crouched in the narrow passage between cliff face and the cellar mound.
As she waited, she heard the resounding turn of the lock on the cellar door. Pausing a few minutes more, she was certain the general and his lackey had left the area. Edging out quietly, she bent once again to the small ************************************************************ ****
“Tom? Are you all right?” She called softly. The room was now completely dark and she heard a shuffling from within it.
“Aye, ma’am, I’m about as right as a man can be that has been bruised and knocked about the last few days.”
“I am so sorry to have brought you to this, Tom! If not for me, you’d be safe at home.”
“Don’t you fret, Lady Winningham. I’m as tough as a wildebeest. You’ll see.”
Mouse took a deep breath. “Listen, Tom, I won’t be able to get you free just yet. The general has you locked in quite well.”
“Don’t worry about me, Ma’am. I’m snug in here. You just get yourself to safety. There’s a widow’s property not far from here to the west. If you’re careful and don’t go near the cliff edge it should be an easy journey. I know she’ll keep you safe. Her name’s Donnelly.”
“Once I’ve located Michael I’ll go straight there.”
“Oh, my lady, you mustn’t try to find him! Mr. Kelton took him an hour ago. If he finds you, it’ll be far worse for the earl.”
“Nonsense. It’s about time Ambray Kelton was taken to task. He’s ruined Michael’s life long enough.” A rattling sound cut through the sounds of night. Mouse paused, listening. “I’ve no time to argue with you, Tom. Just take care. I’ll come back for you as soon as I can.”
Before her young friend could argue, Mouse quickly backed away from the cellar and began the long walk back towards the stable. She knew that Ambray must have taken at least one mount, possibly two.

And, if he forced Michael into anything, it would be far worse for them both.
Mouse had nearly reached the back door to the barn, when a sudden shadow fell upon her. To the left, the shape of a man came at her through the dark. With barely enough time to react, she turned and set off in the opposite direction but before she could travel ten feet, the tall figure was tackling her to the ground. Fiercely clamping his hand on her mouth, the stranger quickly had her subdued.
“Don’t move, Miss.” The harsh man’s voice whispered. “If we’re found out, I can assure you, it’ll be much worse for you than me!” With quick, deft movements, Mouse’s attacker rolled over, pulling her atop him. In the next second she was looking into the face of Timothy O’Malley, his wide smile and dark appearance smiling benevolently up at her.

Michael rode silently behind Ambray. It should have been easy enough to make the two-hour ride along the coast and back, but with the wind and the cooling temperatures, he could barely keep his mount. Of course, his days with few rations and hours spent without sleep only added to his exhaustion. Relentless fear for Mouse’s safety kept him upright, weathering the course, uneven road that led back to the manse
Michael had taken Ambray to the small space of surf that was hidden during high tide. With swift movements, the two of them pushed aside the hedge covered wooden door that led down to the crypt-like enclosure. Unless one knew where to look for, it was not visible from the beach.
“Amazing,” Ambray carried the oil lamp down the stairs.
“I think that this was a hiding place for Viking marauders. I know it’s been here far longer than any of us,” Michael told him.
When they entered the cave, Ambray pushed in ahead of him. Arm held high, he illuminated the cavernous room.
“My God,” Michael exclaimed. The room was full with neatly piled wooden crates. They were stacked floor to ceiling with barely enough room for a man to move between them.

“God has nothing to do with this, cousin,” Ambray said. Searching the room, he found a long, iron rod. “Take this and open one of the crates,” he ordered.
Doing as he was bid, Michael managed to pull off the top of one of the cases. Inside was what he dreaded the most. The scent of powder and gun oil wafted up to fill his senses. For a moment, he could smell again the reek of battle, the smoke drifting in the air. Shaken back to the present, he looked into Ambray’s face and saw a similar expression.
“Ambray, we can’t sell these to the enemy. Think of the men that will die if another war ensues.”
“I am thinking, Michael. I am always thinking.”
Michael stepped forward, grasping Ambray’s arm. “At least remember the men who died in battle beside us—Holloway, Billings, Everly—surely you haven’t forgotten what it was like to pry their bodies from the frozen ground.”
“I haven’t forgotten, Michael. But things are different now.” His expression suddenly changed. “It’s time for us to get back to the manse.”
Michael looked down to see his cousin’s pistol raised once again, the barrel pointed only inches from his abdomen. Without another word, the two of them left the cache behind and began the ride back to the manse.
Before long they approached the small lane that led to Rosecliff proper. A half-mile more to go and they would be turning toward the main estate. But, to his surprise, his cousin leaned sidewise, and grabbed at the reigns.
“What are you doing?” Michael asked, nearly falling from his mount at the sharp turn.
“We’ve got a small chore to attend to before I put you up for the night,” Ambray answered, tight lipped.
Near to exhaustion, Michael only shrugged, following his cousin’s lead.

For a few moments, Ambray remained quiet. When the road had disappeared from view, he paused, turning his mount towards Michael.
“We’ve been together a long time, Michael,” he spoke quietly, his voice low and cold against the increasing background of the surf.
“Indeed, we have. I know it hasn’t been pleasant for you.”
“I’ve devoted my life to you and your father, cousin. I nursed and coddled him before you. My whole existence has been in service to the great and mighty Keltons. No longer.” He kicked his horse into a trot, and Michael’s mount had little choice but to follow.
Michael tightened the grip on the reins, an uneasy feeling edging up his spine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Am. You were never pressed into attendance to my father and me. Many times I told you to leave us, to find your own way. If you stayed, it was by your own choice.”
Ambray abruptly turned his horse so that he faced Michael. “My choice? Are you foolish enough to actually believe that! Your father owned me the same as he owned his prized stallions! He carried my life in his fists the same way he did yours. Only you were too blind or too stupid to realize it. He bought you that army commission. He pushed me to follow you, to care for his only son, his heir.”
“You didn’t have to follow, Ambray. You could have struck out on your own. You’ve always been more courageous, stronger than I. Why didn’t you? What made you stay with us if you hated it so much?”
Ambray set his jaw and stared harshly into the horizon. “Let’s get to the cliffs, cousin, and I’ll gladly enlighten you.” Ambray turned his horse back to the road. With a jerking motion, Michael followed.
~ * ~
“Get off me.” Mouse gave a strangled shout to her captor. Though he was only slightly taller than she, Timothy O’Malley was a force to be reckoned with. The man was practically all arms and legs, or so it seemed to Mouse, as she struggled to gain her precious freedom.

“Here now, Miss. Stop this tussling and I’ll let you up.” True to his words, the lanky fellow eased his hold, and though somewhat disheveled, Mouse managed to free herself from his grasp. Instantly she made to escape, but a firm hand on her shoulder promptly pulled her back to a sitting position.
“Glory, Miss, you are relentless,” he laughed.
“Unhand me this moment, sir, or I shall take action!”
“Aye, Lady Winningham, I would be disappointed if you didn’t. You’ve no need to be upset with me. I am in the employ of your brother-in-law, the Duke. He would be sorely upset if I were to allow anything bad to happen to you.”
“You have a fine way of showing it. Pushing me about like a rag doll.”
“I apologize,” he began, standing up and brushing the grass and dirt from his trousers, “but it was necessary to get your full attention before we were found out.”
Mouse huffed indignantly, straightening her skirts, and trying to return what little dignity the circumstance allowed.
“Your apology will be accepted as soon as you help me find my husband. His cousin has taken him somewhere. I fear the worst.”
“And you are correct in doing so, Ma’am. Unfortunately, my first concern is not your husband.”
“Not my husband? What are you talking about? Rescuing Michael is why we’re here.”
“The duke specifically requested my assistance in finding the truth about the earl, yes. Thus far, I have found no proof that he was forced to leave with his cousin. In fact, circumstances point towards his being in league with Kelton. While I’ve not yet acquired all the facts, I only know for certain that matters would be much better handled with you safely back in London. That is why I plan to take you to a friend of mine just outside Durney. From there she will see to it that you get transport back to the city.”

Mouse stepped back. “I will not be tossed off just like that, I refuse. I will find my husband and get him to safety. You may help me or not, it makes no difference.”
O’Malley’s expression darkened. “Is that truly what you think, Miss?”
“I do! Furthermore, when I contact Arthur, he will surely see the reason of this and have you discharged immediately.”
The man only shrugged. “Perhaps I should enlighten you, Lady Winningham. The Duke sent me a special missive that arrived just a day ago. If you’ll permit me?”
Suspicious of O’Malley’s intent, Mouse nodded. He motioned for her to follow and in minutes they were standing inside a small room just at the back of the stables. He quickly lit a sconce, and reaching into his shirt pocket, he withdrew a carefully folded piece of paper. Without saying a word, he handed it to her.
Holding her breath, Mouse took the parchment
“This can’t be.” She managed through the rising grief in her throat.
“I’m afraid it is, Miss. Your husband is clearly a traitor, as was his father before him. I truly don’t believe it to be entirely his doing, my lady. But the duke presents a solid case. Your husband was involved in quite a scandal in Spain. Trade routes and battle plans, in which he was one of the few men with the responsibility to keep secret, fell into the hands of the enemy. Lives were lost. Make no mistake, your husband is at least partially responsible.”
“I cannot believe that Michael would do such a thing.”
“He may have had no choice. Once a man is tortured, there’s no telling what he might do. Survival is a basic instinct in us all. Rumor has it that even now there are those who are supremely interested in reviving Napoleon’s venue. Your husband is at the center of it all.”
“What can we do?”

“We can do nothing but let things work out as they may. You can return home to your family and let me do what I was hired to do, which is find the truth.”
Mouse nodded, defeated.
“As long as you remain, you leave him no choice. He cannot fight them if he is in fear for your life. Remove yourself from Rosecliff, and there might be a chance to save your husband. Stay, and you are forcing him to cooperate with these men.”
“I’ll go,” she said, though it nearly broke her heart to say it.
Within the hour Mouse was seated in a carriage, ready to leave her husband to the devious ministrations of the murderous Ambray Kelton and the secret intrigues of General Wexley. Her throat burned, her stomach ached, and her heart beat fiercely within her breast. She had accepted that there was nothing to be done for her husband. Despite O’Malley’s assurances that he would do all he could, Mouse feared that she had left her husband for the last time.
It was near dusk as Mouse’s carriage pulled out of Rosecliff’s drive. Gazing out into the deepening shadows, she watched the landscape roll past her. Her thoughts were still on Michael and what might be done to strengthen his case.
“Be patient,” O’Malley had assured her. “You’re brother-in-law has a far reach. If anyone can aid your husband, he would be the man.”
“You’ve a lot of faith in Arthur. I wish I could be as certain.”
Despite his assurances, she felt there was little hope. As she mulled over his words, a muffled rumbling drew her attention. She could see two men on horseback, riding furiously in the distance.
Her own road bumping along, her driver had been oblivious to the silent companions that rode nearly two hundred yards beside them until the other path had veered off towards the sea. For a brief moment the two sets of travelers had nearly met, and Mouse saw something that gave her hope. To her surprise, she recognized the men who’d raced past her. It was Ambray and Michael, riding

furiously on the path winding deeper into the wilderness and towards the sea. Michael was leaning precariously on his mount, being lead by his cousin, God above only knew where.
Mouse suddenly sensed imminent danger and knew once and for all she could not abandon her husband to his death. Whatever the courts decided, whatever her family thought, it mattered not. She was going to rescue her husband once and for all and everyone else be damned!
In answer to her prayer, the cabin of the vehicle suddenly hit a large pit in the road, precariously tipping sidewise, then jerking back upright. In response to the rough treatment, the carriage door popped open, swinging perilously on its hinges. Without thinking of the consequences or the possibility of injury, Mouse quickly pulled her skirts about her and jumped from the carriage.
Mouse knew what a picture she must have been. A bumbling figure in the moonlight, still wearing her paisley afternoon dress, her hat pinned precariously to her head and her lady’s kid shoes all askew. She didn’t have long to worry over appearances. Landing with an undignified thump on the road, she felt the instant shock as her bottom met roughly with the ground. Fortunately, she’d landed in her most well padded area. After making a quick check of herself, she confirmed the fact that she’d sported no broken limbs, ribs, or anything other of her anatomy, save her pride. Since there was no witness to the latter, she dismissed it immediately. As she untangled her dress from the surrounding weeds and grasses, she watched the carriage ramble off into the darkness, door flapping as if waving good-bye to her, until the vehicle disappeared into the distance.
Certain that the driver was unaware that he’d lost his only passenger, she managed to stand and begin the long walk to the road which Ambray and Michael had taken. Of course, without any weapon, horse, or other possessions to aid her in freeing her husband, she’d no idea just how she was to help him. In Mouse’s experience, time and opportunity had always taken care of her in the past and she expected no less of it now.
~ * ~
When Ambray made the final turn of the road, Michael could see the rise of the cliffs just beyond the trees. Fear snaked through him. Scanning the landscape, he searched for a chance at escape. Even if he managed to get free, what awaited him beyond that? Most certainly arrest and execution. Still, it would be far better than being locked in a sick room, wrapped in a madman’s waistcoat. Whatever the outcome, Michael knew one thing. He must find Mouse. To see her and hold her one last time before surrendering to his fate was the best he could hope. After that, he didn’t care what happened.
The noise of the surf roared in Michael’s ears, but the sound of his own thoughts drowned out all other awareness. The truth was, at that moment, he had no care for King and country. What was it to him if Napoleon was foolish enough to return for another fight? Hadn’t Michael suffered enough in Spain for a nation that had soon after branded him a madman and would now judge him traitor?
Closing his eyes, Michael could still felt the gritty Spanish soil on his skin, taste the blood and grime, and smell the reeking scent of death. The memories of the men bleeding and dying never completely left him.
In the midst of those thoughts Michael began to recall the night when he’d fled the enemy. With sudden clarity he remembered giving the order to his men to fall back, only to watch them be summarily slaughtered by a hidden enemy at their rear. Despite the dire circumstances, the Englishmen didn’t fall easily. The company fought bravely, but the numbers were too many. In a matter of minutes the soldiers fell.
Once again, Michael stood alone on the battlefield, facing the enemy. Fighting with an empty weapon, despite a fiercely bleeding wound to his shoulder, the earl had been certain his death was mere moments away. Still he clutched the empty bayonet, its blade

bloodied from the two soldiers he’d been fighting. It was then that his body betrayed him. Overcome by a sudden seizure he was caught in the thrum of jerking motions. Helpless he watched as the confused enemy stood over him, staring down in confusion.
Suddenly, back in the present, Michael remembered something that his then injured mind did not reveal. It hadn’t been a fit of madness that had taken him down after all.
Michael’s battered brain reached across the many months and he knew just what had happened that night in Spain. He’d not fallen to his childhood malady. Before the convulsion claimed him, another event occurred. Michael suddenly remembered being struck from behind. He could feel the blow as it crashed against the back of his head. The ground had rushed up to greet him, but he didn’t give in to the darkness too readily. He’d seen the face of his attacker even then, but the wound’s severity had not allowed him that knowledge until he was being taken to his death along a moonlit road.
Michael tensed as he returned to himself. They had reached the cliff edge. Suddenly, Ambray dismounted and stood looking up at him. Michael watched face of his cousin transform into something different. No longer the sharp, good looks of his only living relative, but Satan transformed. It was a visage he knew all too well from another place, another time. It hadn’t been his illness that had struck him down that night. It had been Ambray.
Michael took in a slow breath. He suddenly saw the face of his cousin all those months before, surrounded by the enemy. But they hadn’t spoken French or Spanish. These men conversed in the King’s own tongue. They were speaking with Ambry about Michael. What were they to do with him? Should they kill him now? One of the soldiers asked, kneeling down, to observe the final shaking of Michael’s seizure. No, Ambray had told them. Michael still possessed much needed information.
“Get down, Michael,” Ambray’s voice cut into Michael’s ghostly recollections.

Michael nodded once and began to dismount. For him, the past and the present became instantly fused together. Even though his feet landed on English soil, he stood in the past as well.
Obeying, Michael observed his cousin with new eyes. In the person of Ambray stood what the earl had both dreaded and long forgotten. The man who’d haunted both his nightmares and daily consciousness was no longer a puzzle. With crystalline clarity, Michael realized just what his cousin was capable of doing. He needn’t have looked to the pair of pistols that Ambray held, each cocked and ready to fire.
“Are you going to kill me now, Am?” Surprised at the calmness of his own voice, Michael stepped forward, his hands in front of him.
“Over there, by the cliffs.” Ambray lifted the pistols higher.
Michael shrugged. “You don’t need to do this. You know that, don’t you? What will Wexley think if you kill his one tie to wealth and power?”
“He doesn’t need you anymore, Michael.” Ambray’s voice was calm and smooth and for a moment, Michael thought that his cousin of old had returned.
“Why not? I’ve given you the ************************************************************ **** of the caves, but that won’t be enough to keep him in the trade routes. He needs a name, a title. My title.” Michael said, as he walked to the ground that overlooked the sharp outcropping of rocks that met its own demise with the ocean below him. A few feet down, he saw the small ledge that he’d used as a child when his governess had taken him out on an afternoon exploration. It was there, as sure as the cradle and as safe a haven as any small boy or desperate man could hope existed. He prayed a silent thank you for a chance to save himself one last time. That was, if his cousin didn’t grow impatient and shoot him first.
“I’ll provide the general with everything he needs.”
Michael turned to face him. “Really? My impression was that Wexley didn’t want your help? What have you done to change his mind?”

Ambray smiled. “Oh, it’s nothing I’ve done. It’s something that was done long ago, by the former earl. He set the circumstances before you were even born, Michael.”
“Father? What has he to do with all this? Granted his hidden treasures and connections are still lucrative. But he was a selfish man. He would have made certain that no one, certainly neither you nor I, would ever prosper from his efforts.”
“Very true. In fact, it was his rapacious attitude towards his wealth that set the events in motion, now two years after his death. It matters little. For his entire life the Earl had appetites for women other than his wife. A pretty thing, she was, who, until your birth was completely worthless. As an heiress, he needed her money. Let’s say his tastes went to the underside of society, much as men in his position often do. His affections went more in the order of his lady’s maid. Imelda Tomkins, to be exact. My mother.”
Michael watched his cousin’s expression change in the dimness of the moonlight. There was a glow growing in Ambray’s eyes, the light of madness forming which spread across his face like a summer storm across a meadow. Suddenly, Michael realized that the insanity hidden within his cousin—no, half-brother—had always been a part of his visage. He’d always known the man who’d stood over him in his father’s affections as somewhat off the center. But now, that trait overtook his personality. As he watched, Michael’s guardian angel transformed into Lucifer himself. Red eyes stared at him, like knife-points, stabbing into Michael’s awareness. Even Ambray’s usually golden complexion had deepened to a dark, bluish cast. His pale, blonde hair dampened against his brow.
Michael moved back, half a step, all too aware of the nearness of the cliff behind him and of the rocky sea below.
“What are you saying? That you’re my older brother and not my cousin?”
Michael instinctively knew that he needed to keep the madman before him talking. Only that would buy him time to make an escape,

or perhaps allow Wexley’s men the chance to find them both. They were behind the estate, not far from where the gardens overlooked the sea. If he squinted pass the tangle of trees to the east, he could just see the outline of his home. Surely the general would come looking for him? If not, there was a slim chance he could manage the rocky fall as he’d done often enough when he was a boy. If not, then Mouse would be a widow for certain.
“Don’t play the fool, Michael.” Ambray shouted. “You know very well what I’m saying. I am the earl’s oldest son. I should have gotten the inheritance. I should have been the one to continue his empire.”
“You make him sound like Julius Caesar, Ambray. Our father was nothing but a scoundrel, a rakehell who womanized and threw his money away on gambling houses and liqueurs. He was a traitor and a spy. How can you want to follow in the stead of such a man?
“You knew, didn’t you?” Ambray stepped threateningly forward, forcing Michael a grudging retreat as well.
“I’ve always known, Am. Since I was a boy, father tried to include me in his circles. I never would comply. I hated him as well as loved him. I couldn’t help myself after mother died. It’s the pain of being a child, I suppose. A child loves even a bad parent. Later on, I showed no aptitude for his intrigues. He became angered after awhile and cast me off. Not long after, you came to live with us. You became the son that I never could be.”
“Son, but not heir. Never that. I only came to live at Rosecliff because our esteemed Uncle Brody would no longer tolerate the care of his bastard,” Ambray’s voice deepened. I was to be your servant, Michael. Your playmate and friend. Your father couldn’t help himself. While he groomed you to take over his position as heir, he taught me well the other side of his affairs. Trading on confiscated goods, sending messages to the enemy. He got me into the army so that I could serve you, while bleeding out whatever intelligence information I could find for his circle of conspirators.”

“It was you who took me prisoner in Spain,” Michael breathed softly.
Ambray smiled. “You never guessed. See how clever I am, brother.”
“What do you plan to do now, Ambray? Kill me? Even if you do, you’ll not inherit the title.”
“Oh, but there is another way. I will take the name that is rightfully mine, as the husband to the Winningham widow.”
Michael shook his head. “That’s madness, Ambray. Mouse would never marry you.”
Ambray’s smile deepened. “Perhaps not now, but later. She’ll want to keep quiet the scandal of her affair with her husband’s cousin.”
“Mouse has no care what society thinks of her reputation. She’s stronger than that.”
“Is that what you think?” Ambray moved a step closer. “You’re mistaken, my brother. It was but a few weeks ago when your wife came to me, begging for me to release her from the betrothal. She was so distressed that she fell into my arms, sobbing and pleading with me. It was all I could do to turn her away, poor thing.”
“You’re lying. She would never do such a thing.” The memory of his first wife in a tangled embrace with Ambray flashed through his mind like lightning. A sudden surge of anger burst into his blood.
“She has little choice, brother. When I’ve finished with you, I’ll find her. I’ll tell her of her husband’s unfortunate accident. Overcome with grief, she’ll come to me for comfort. By the end of the summer, the poor widowed lady will be full with child, one who will advance the name of Winningham. It will be my son or daughter who will claim the family wealth. I’ll marry Miranda and it’ll be my blood which rules the house, Michael, not yours.”
It was Michael’s turn to smile. “I’m afraid,” he started when he noted Ambray’s confusion, “that your plans have come to naught,

Ambray. You’re too late to gain anything in that quarter. You’ll end up with nothing.”
“Nothing?” Ambray shouted, stepping forward so that he nearly was nose to nose with Michael. “What are you saying? You think I’m not capable of siring a child?”
Michael let his expression harden, “I’ve no doubts as to your abilities, brother, but you simply cannot make my wife pregnant,” he paused a moment to allow the effect of his words to form into the weapon which would strike the hardest. “Because she already carries a child. Mine.”
Instantly Ambray stepped back, leveling the pistols menacingly at Michael’s once again. “You bastard.” He lifted the muzzle, pointing the gun straight at Michael’s chest. In the split of an instant, a loud crack sounded. Michael jerked backwards as the bullet hit him.
~ * ~
Mouse walked for the better part of an hour. Cursing as the wild bramble caught on her skirts. Doing her best not to stumble, she carefully navigated the rugged path. Around her a cacophony of night birds sang eerie melodies, that only added to her growing anxieties.
Twenty minutes later, Mouse noted that the road she’d been following had visibly shrunken to a worn path in the grass. To her left was a small wooded area, to her right were the climbing rocks and the sound and smell of the sea beyond it. Suddenly she came to the edge of a clearing and was rewarded by the sight of two figures standing a few feet from the sharp drop of the stone into the sea.
As she approached, she could make out the sound of raised voices. Clearly recognizable as Michael and Ambray’s, the two were arguing, though not loud enough for Mouse to hear the ******* of their speech. Her heart jumped when Ambray moved sharply forward and Michael stepped back, placing himself even closer to the edge of the cliff. Only a few more feet and he’d be in danger of losing his footing and falling to the rocks below.

Suddenly she saw a glimmer of something in Ambray’s hand. It looked as though a piece of the moonlight had suddenly appeared between them. She ran towards the two men, an uneasy feeling stirring in her chest. The light shifted and she saw what her husband faced. Ambray threateningly raised the pistol upwards. Before Mouse could draw a single breath, the world exploded.
Mouse watched, frozen in time while a spark of light burst forth and was quickly consumed by the darkness. At the same moment, Michael jerked backwards as though a great wind had knocked into him. Waving his arms madly he tottered between cliff edge and the drop until, unable to hold his balance any longer, he fell backwards and into the nothingness behind him.
“No!” Mouse screamed, flinging herself forward, the pain from the sight of her husband’s fall nearly tearing her in half.