Pendragon (Sherbrooke Brides 7)

“It’s the truth. She’s gone, I just told you that.”

His head ached like the very devil, but now who cared? Nothing mattered but Meggie. Gone? Someone had come into the White Room, struck him, and taken her? Then he knew, of course. It was because of yesterday at tea, because he’d scared the person responsible into acting immediately.

“Damnation. What time is it?”

“It’s just past dawn. I was awake, just couldn’t go back to sleep. I’ve been thinking and thinking about all this, and I wanted to see if you were awake so we could discuss it. God, Thomas, and here you were unconscious and bloody and Meggie was gone. What shall we do?”

“I’m going to dress. Get Meggie’s father. Quickly, William.”

William was out the door on a dead run, slamming it behind him. Thomas managed to pull himself out of the bed. He stood there a moment, realized he had blood on his head and face, and walked to the commode. He gingerly washed the wound with the cold water in the basin. At least now the blood was clotted and wouldn’t run down his face anymore.

He closed his eyes a moment, Meggie’s laughing face in his mind’s eye. Oh God—she’d been taken, right out of their bed, and it was his fault that it happened. He hadn’t been vigilant, taking not a single precaution, even though he’d known he’d stirred the viper’s nest. Maybe she was already dead, maybe shot again, hurled over the cliffs. No, no, dammit. He had to stop it. She was alive, he knew it to his soul.

Why hadn’t the person killed or taken him as well? Had the person who’d struck him believed him dead and just left him be in the bed? Why take Meggie?

Thank God William had come.

A few moments later the door burst open and Tysen Sherbrooke ran into the room, Mary Rose and William at his heels. Thomas had just fastened his breeches. He sat down to pull on his boots. He said, cold, calm, in control now, “I was struck down while I was sleeping. Meggie was taken. During our afternoon tea yesterday, someone said something that was close enough to the truth, so that person was forced to act immediately. Now, I think I know who it was and why he’s doing this. I think William does, too. Let’s go see my mother and Aunt Libby.”

“No, Thomas, I don’t know, not really.”

“I think someplace deep inside you, William, you know. It’s simply too painful to admit it. Everything is going to come clear soon enough.” He took his half-brother’s hand. “It will be all right. No matter what the truth is, I won’t let you stand alone. Trust me.”

William looked pale as death; slowly he nodded.

Tysen awakened Jeremy, helped Mary Rose fasten her gown, then herded the three of them to the dining room. Barnacle, Cook, and Mrs. Black were there as well, lined up like troops ready to be deployed.

Thomas said without preamble,

“Aunt Libby, who is William’s father?”

“His father was the earl of Lancaster, Thomas. He is a Malcombe, just as you are a Malcombe. The only pity here is that he is the younger, not you. He could have been the earl, not you, but Madeleine came along too quickly. That was an impertinent question. You will apologize.”

“Mother, it’s too late now,” William said quietly and laid his hand on her shoulder. He was ready to face it now, had to be ready. He added, his voice thick, “Mother, please, it’s time for the truth. If for no one else, then for me.”

“My dear boy, Thomas is lying. Your father is the earl of Lancaster.”

“Aunt Libby,” Thomas said patiently, “you know that neither William nor I in any way resemble the earl of Lancaster. Both of us look more like our mothers than anyone else. It is up to you, ma’am. Who is William’s father, Aunt Libby? Tell us now. Tell William now. There’s really not much time. Meggie’s gone and we must find her before it is too late.”

She stubbornly shook her head.

“Madam,” Tysen said, rising from his chair. “My daughter is in grave danger. You will tell us the truth now or I will do something I will probably regret. Now, madam, the truth, if you please.”

William said very quietly, pain and dread mixed in his voice, “It is Lord Kipper, isn’t it, Mother?”

She turned utterly white, froze in her place, her eyes fastened on her folded hands.

“Lord Kipper,” Tysen repeated slowly.

“Yes, William,” Thomas said, “I believe he is your father and that explains everything, now doesn’t it?”

Madeleine said, “But William is not beautiful like Lord Kipper is. What a wretched thing. How very unfair.”

“But, Thomas,” William said, ignoring her, “I was with him, I swear it to you, when Jenny was taken. That’s why I believed I must be wrong. You see, I was beginning to wonder why he gave me so much attention, wonder why he always inquired so closely into what I wanted to do, how I felt about things. He was acting like—a man who was related to me, like a man who wanted to claim me somehow, to teach me, to guide me.”

“Like a father,” Thomas said.

“Yes, and it scared me to my toes. That’s why I came to your bedchamber early this morning. I knew I couldn’t wait. But I wanted you to tell me it was nonsense, I really did.”