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Authors: Alyssa Alexander
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names.”
She could see the relief flow over them, a little wave of release that rippled around the table. They’d been living in fear for two weeks and she was glad she could relieve them of some of it. Yet now their worry weighed heavy on her shoulders.
“If we can help, we will.” John leaned back in his chair. “Just say the word.”
“Thank you.” She stood, the men following suit. “I must return to the manor, but I promise to let you know what happens.”
She bid them each good night and moved toward the door to the street. She waved good-bye to Jack, who called out from behind the bar, “Are you sure you don’t want to stay and have a spot of fun, my lovely?”
“Next time, Jack.” She knew he expected a laugh from her and obliged him. The sound was strained even to her own ears. When she turned Demon toward Cannon Manor a few minutes later, she let him have his head while her thoughts whirled.
Treason.
The word screamed through her mind. She was certain in the general course of things, an official military dispatch would not be in an abandoned quarry used by smugglers. It would be carried by a member of a governmental office, either diplomatic, military or political. An official British dispatch would not end with the phrase
Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité, ou la Mort!
Demon tensed beneath her. She rubbed his neck and crooned softly to him to calm him. Still, she couldn’t calm her own thoughts. She must inform someone in a position of power. But how to do so and still keep her word to the men? The only way to protect them was to conceal their identities from the authorities.
She would not fail in her promise.
Suddenly, the fine hair at the nape of her neck rose. She felt eyes watching her. Demon shifted beneath her and whinnied softly. He felt them, too.
Glancing to the right, then the left, she squinted into the deep shadows formed by the trees. Nothing was visible in the dense darkness. Yet she sensed the other person, like a faint hum of an insect she couldn’t quite see.
She raised her chin. Well, this was Cannon land. She regularly rode these lands in the early hours of the morning. She wouldn’t run and she wouldn’t be afraid. Besides, if the observer meant mischief, he’d had plenty of opportunity to pounce already and hadn’t done so.
The small, delicate pocket pistol in her coat weighed heavy. She’d become so accustomed to carrying it at night she’d forgotten it was there. Now, she was grateful for its presence and glad she’d been taught to use it.
She urged Demon into a canter as they broke the cover of trees and entered a long field. She looked behind her once, twice, and although she thought she saw a lone horseman, she couldn’t be certain.
When Demon finally entered the stable yard, Grace breathed a sigh of relief. A young groom staggered sleepily out of the stables. After dismounting, she handed him the reins and strode to the rear kitchen door. She knocked softly and waited, looking once more to the trees behind her. She could still feel eyes on her.
“Is all well, Miss Gracie?” A bleary-eyed Binkle swung open the door and let her in.
“I’m not sure. I have to think on it.”
“If there’s anything the staff can do, please inform us.” He secured the door, latching it tightly.
“Thank you, Binkle. I will.”
The shape of the leather folio pressed against her side. She needed to hide it while she decided how best to proceed. Only one place came to mind: her stillroom. She possessed the only key.
Grace hurried to her room and retrieved the ring of keys she carried with her during the day. After descending the rear servants’ stair, she delicately picked her way through the silent halls until she came to the stillroom. She slid the key into the lock and slipped into the room, locking the door again behind her. Pausing a moment, she breathed deep. The combined scent of spices mixed with dried flowers soothed her. This was her room, her space. She
She could see the relief flow over them, a little wave of release that rippled around the table. They’d been living in fear for two weeks and she was glad she could relieve them of some of it. Yet now their worry weighed heavy on her shoulders.
“If we can help, we will.” John leaned back in his chair. “Just say the word.”
“Thank you.” She stood, the men following suit. “I must return to the manor, but I promise to let you know what happens.”
She bid them each good night and moved toward the door to the street. She waved good-bye to Jack, who called out from behind the bar, “Are you sure you don’t want to stay and have a spot of fun, my lovely?”
“Next time, Jack.” She knew he expected a laugh from her and obliged him. The sound was strained even to her own ears. When she turned Demon toward Cannon Manor a few minutes later, she let him have his head while her thoughts whirled.
Treason.
The word screamed through her mind. She was certain in the general course of things, an official military dispatch would not be in an abandoned quarry used by smugglers. It would be carried by a member of a governmental office, either diplomatic, military or political. An official British dispatch would not end with the phrase
Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité, ou la Mort!
Demon tensed beneath her. She rubbed his neck and crooned softly to him to calm him. Still, she couldn’t calm her own thoughts. She must inform someone in a position of power. But how to do so and still keep her word to the men? The only way to protect them was to conceal their identities from the authorities.
She would not fail in her promise.
Suddenly, the fine hair at the nape of her neck rose. She felt eyes watching her. Demon shifted beneath her and whinnied softly. He felt them, too.
Glancing to the right, then the left, she squinted into the deep shadows formed by the trees. Nothing was visible in the dense darkness. Yet she sensed the other person, like a faint hum of an insect she couldn’t quite see.
She raised her chin. Well, this was Cannon land. She regularly rode these lands in the early hours of the morning. She wouldn’t run and she wouldn’t be afraid. Besides, if the observer meant mischief, he’d had plenty of opportunity to pounce already and hadn’t done so.
The small, delicate pocket pistol in her coat weighed heavy. She’d become so accustomed to carrying it at night she’d forgotten it was there. Now, she was grateful for its presence and glad she’d been taught to use it.
She urged Demon into a canter as they broke the cover of trees and entered a long field. She looked behind her once, twice, and although she thought she saw a lone horseman, she couldn’t be certain.
When Demon finally entered the stable yard, Grace breathed a sigh of relief. A young groom staggered sleepily out of the stables. After dismounting, she handed him the reins and strode to the rear kitchen door. She knocked softly and waited, looking once more to the trees behind her. She could still feel eyes on her.
“Is all well, Miss Gracie?” A bleary-eyed Binkle swung open the door and let her in.
“I’m not sure. I have to think on it.”
“If there’s anything the staff can do, please inform us.” He secured the door, latching it tightly.
“Thank you, Binkle. I will.”
The shape of the leather folio pressed against her side. She needed to hide it while she decided how best to proceed. Only one place came to mind: her stillroom. She possessed the only key.
Grace hurried to her room and retrieved the ring of keys she carried with her during the day. After descending the rear servants’ stair, she delicately picked her way through the silent halls until she came to the stillroom. She slid the key into the lock and slipped into the room, locking the door again behind her. Pausing a moment, she breathed deep. The combined scent of spices mixed with dried flowers soothed her. This was her room, her space. She
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