Read Online Once an Innocent by Elizabeth Boyce - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Boyce
Ads: Link
something truly extraordinary. “Whatever it is,” she grumbled, “it had better be worth making us all so unhappy.”
Chapter Five
Jordan rubbed ink-stained fingers across tired eyes. “Do any of you wish to contribute to this conversation, or am I as good as talking to myself?” The inn’s taproom was deserted but for them. Jordan had paid handsomely to ensure their privacy.
With a heavy sigh, he looked down the table where five of his men sat. They glanced at one another, avoiding Jordan’s gaze in the way of schoolboys loath to make eye contact with the headmaster.
“I think we should rotate the watch,” John Bates said after a long silence. The heavy man leaned back in his chair; the rickety furniture creaked and popped. His right hand dabbled idly in a ring of moisture at the base of his tankard, while the left scratched at the scrap of beard planted beneath his bottom lip. With slicked-back hair, mustache, and the bristles on his chin, Bates looked like something from the age of Elizabeth. In that era, he’d have held a profession with -eer attached to it — privateer, balladeer, musketeer — something to complement his affected bravado. It remained to be seen whether the man could match action to appearance.
Jordan tapped his sheet of notes. “We’ve already decided to mix the groups every day.”
Bates shook his head and waved a hand. “Not what I mean, Freese. I’m suggesting that, in addition to rotating through the groups, we spread ourselves thinner — keep a full watch going at night, as well.”
“Ahem,” interjected Ferguson Wood. Jordan glanced at the man sitting across from Bates. Wood blinked three times in quick succession. “Wouldn’t that arouse, uh” — his fingers danced in the air, just above the table, like a conjurer working an incantation — “notice?” he blurted. He flashed a smile, offering a glimpse of overlarge teeth. Blinking several more times, he tilted his head. “If the whole object of this exercise is to allay the, the, the
suspicion
of —
blink blink blink
— our
friends
, as it were, surely sending out full
hunting groups
at night would be —
blink blink
— inadvisable.”
Jordan’s eyes watered in sympathy with the man’s abused eyelids. “Good point,” he agreed. “Maintaining a lighter watch at night should be sufficient — a few men stationed close to the house.”
The house.
His house. His once and future prison. As a youth, he’d escaped the place as fast as he could and had spent the bulk of his adulthood avoiding Lintern Abbey. Castlereagh’s orders still felt like a bridle specially designed for Jordan. His nature bucked against the confines of it, resisting the call to home and all the drudgery it entailed. The muscle in his right cheek twitched around the scar. The ridge was numb, a streak of death embedded in his living flesh.
God, he did not want to go home.
The man seated on Jordan’s left, Andrew, Lord Gray, loudly gulped ale and made a satisfied sound as he set down his tankard. “There’s a cave not too far from here,” he said. “S’posed to be a lovely outing for ladies. Easy path. Not far in, there’s an underground pond full of blind fish. There’s torches available for sale.” The young man’s hazel eyes lit hopefully. There wasn’t a line on his face. Jordan doubted he shaved more than once a week.
“Are you quite sure you’re supposed to be here?” Jordan inquired with a scowl. “You didn’t open a letter meant for your father, by chance?”
Lord Gray’s light brows drew together quizzically, and he laughed, a golden, boyish sound. “I should think not, sir. My sire’s been dead these last five years.” He nudged his neighbor, Mr. Elton, and laughed again. That gentleman gave Lord Gray a sidelong glance from close-set eyes and moved his chair slightly away.
Jordan caught a shadow of motion out of the corner of his eye. He felt a twist of alarm until the shadow broke away from the wall and
Chapter Five
Jordan rubbed ink-stained fingers across tired eyes. “Do any of you wish to contribute to this conversation, or am I as good as talking to myself?” The inn’s taproom was deserted but for them. Jordan had paid handsomely to ensure their privacy.
With a heavy sigh, he looked down the table where five of his men sat. They glanced at one another, avoiding Jordan’s gaze in the way of schoolboys loath to make eye contact with the headmaster.
“I think we should rotate the watch,” John Bates said after a long silence. The heavy man leaned back in his chair; the rickety furniture creaked and popped. His right hand dabbled idly in a ring of moisture at the base of his tankard, while the left scratched at the scrap of beard planted beneath his bottom lip. With slicked-back hair, mustache, and the bristles on his chin, Bates looked like something from the age of Elizabeth. In that era, he’d have held a profession with -eer attached to it — privateer, balladeer, musketeer — something to complement his affected bravado. It remained to be seen whether the man could match action to appearance.
Jordan tapped his sheet of notes. “We’ve already decided to mix the groups every day.”
Bates shook his head and waved a hand. “Not what I mean, Freese. I’m suggesting that, in addition to rotating through the groups, we spread ourselves thinner — keep a full watch going at night, as well.”
“Ahem,” interjected Ferguson Wood. Jordan glanced at the man sitting across from Bates. Wood blinked three times in quick succession. “Wouldn’t that arouse, uh” — his fingers danced in the air, just above the table, like a conjurer working an incantation — “notice?” he blurted. He flashed a smile, offering a glimpse of overlarge teeth. Blinking several more times, he tilted his head. “If the whole object of this exercise is to allay the, the, the
suspicion
of —
blink blink blink
— our
friends
, as it were, surely sending out full
hunting groups
at night would be —
blink blink
— inadvisable.”
Jordan’s eyes watered in sympathy with the man’s abused eyelids. “Good point,” he agreed. “Maintaining a lighter watch at night should be sufficient — a few men stationed close to the house.”
The house.
His house. His once and future prison. As a youth, he’d escaped the place as fast as he could and had spent the bulk of his adulthood avoiding Lintern Abbey. Castlereagh’s orders still felt like a bridle specially designed for Jordan. His nature bucked against the confines of it, resisting the call to home and all the drudgery it entailed. The muscle in his right cheek twitched around the scar. The ridge was numb, a streak of death embedded in his living flesh.
God, he did not want to go home.
The man seated on Jordan’s left, Andrew, Lord Gray, loudly gulped ale and made a satisfied sound as he set down his tankard. “There’s a cave not too far from here,” he said. “S’posed to be a lovely outing for ladies. Easy path. Not far in, there’s an underground pond full of blind fish. There’s torches available for sale.” The young man’s hazel eyes lit hopefully. There wasn’t a line on his face. Jordan doubted he shaved more than once a week.
“Are you quite sure you’re supposed to be here?” Jordan inquired with a scowl. “You didn’t open a letter meant for your father, by chance?”
Lord Gray’s light brows drew together quizzically, and he laughed, a golden, boyish sound. “I should think not, sir. My sire’s been dead these last five years.” He nudged his neighbor, Mr. Elton, and laughed again. That gentleman gave Lord Gray a sidelong glance from close-set eyes and moved his chair slightly away.
Jordan caught a shadow of motion out of the corner of his eye. He felt a twist of alarm until the shadow broke away from the wall and
Similar Books
