“Where is he?”
“Give me the letter.”
“You’ll tell me where he is first.”
“He’s down in the folly across the pond.”
“Is he alive?”
“I suppose you’ll have to wait and see. Give me the blasted letter.”
She tossed the letter into a tangle of blackberry bushes. “It’s in the berry bushes,” she said, wheeling her horse and urging him into a gallop. She tried to keep the trees between her and Fairweather. He was a blur as he dashed for the letter. She had to cross into the open to circle the side of the pond. Her spine prickled in warning. She flattened herself over the horse’s back as mud flew from under his hooves. Please let him be alive. Please, please let him be alive.
The folly stood like a Roman temple, all white columns open to a circular rotunda covered in mosaics. Conall was currently lashed to one of those columns.
“Conall!”
There was a long moment when he did not respond. Her heart felt like one of those fireworks, whizzing around inside her body, in great danger of burning to a cinder and turning everything to ash.
And then he stirred, lifted his head. “Percy?”
Relief flooded through her, making her feel light-headed as she slid from the saddle. She ran, the mist from the pond tattering around her knees.
“Goddamn it, woman, what are you doing here?”
She laughed, because she could. He was alive. There was blood in his hair and on his collar, much like John, but he was alive. Thick ropes kept him immobile, raw flesh gleaming red where he had been struggling. There were bruises on his face. He’d never looked more beautiful. She kissed him quickly, to reassure herself that he was, in fact, real. He nipped at her lower lip. “You daft woman,” he said, emotion thick in his voice. “Get out of here before Fairweather returns.”
“Not without you.” She found the knots that secured him around the back of the column. The rope bit at her fingers. She pulled John’s knife from her boot and started to saw through it.
“Don’t you know I’m supposed to rescue you?” Conall asked, gently.
She grinned. “We rescue each other, remember?”
“I’m afraid that’s no longer an option.” Lord Fairweather’s voice was at her ear before she even realized he was there. The butt of the pistol pressed against the back of her head. She froze. “I won’t be organized like your damn festival.”
Conall swore, pulling viciously at his bindings. “Fairweather, if you hurt her, I’ll disembowel you.”
“Yes, yes,” Fairweather returned. “As a threat, it would be improved if you weren’t already tied up. By me.” He leaned closer to Persephone and she shrank from the feeling of his breath at her cheek. “I’ve decided I don’t like your proposal, after all. I am sure I can both find that extra letter and have you out of my business permanently. Move.”
He pressed the pistol into her flesh until she felt a bruise forming. Luckily, he didn’t think to look down at her hands. She didn’t have the width of movement required to stab him from this angle, but she could wedge the knife into the knot in the ropes and against the column. Conall might be able to saw his way free.
Fairweather pushed her forward. Conall strained against the ropes again, fury in his eyes. She saw the flicker of recognition when he realized what she’d done. Fairweather yanked her back with one arm banded across her chest. His fingers dug painfully into her arms. He was stronger than he looked. “You have been a nuisance, Lady Persephone. You and that damned Henry. Couldn’t leave well enough alone.”
“Where is he?” Persephone asked. “What have you done to him?”
“If I knew where he was, this would all be over much quicker.”
“You betrayed your country,” Conall spat, trying to draw his attention. “And caused your fellow countrymen to be killed in droves. For what? Pieces of old rocks found in a pyramid.”
“Regrettable.” Fairweather shrugged. “But they ought to have been better soldiers.”
“You can’t mean that,” Persephone said.
“Of course, I do. And the material point, my dear, is that precious historical artifacts have been given into my care. You of all people should understand that. We certainly can’t trust the French, can we?”
“I’d trust them over you. You’re the one who’s the traitor.”
He shook her when she pushed against his hold. “Stop struggling.”