Page 126 of The Viscount's Seduction
Why, indeed?
There’d been a portrait of Jamie, sketched by her mother. But after her death it had gone missing, and after that, she’d barely been able to remember her brother’s face.
“Do you know,” she said, “that man, Donegal. I thought for a moment he could be my brother, as Jamie might look all battered and scarred, and then, well, I had more than five words with him, and I knew that he couldn’t be.”
Bakeley stiffened next to her and a drop of blood spattered her arm. “You’re bleeding again.”
His blood had risen. She caught her breath. Aye, that glare was directed at her. He was angry she hadn’t told him about Donegal.
She looked away and spotted the flannel covering the pillow and grabbed for it, taking a breath to quell her answering anger and gentle her touch.
She put the cloth to his nicked head and gritted her teeth, glaring back.
“Lady Arbrough,” she said, “kindly bring me paper and ink or a pencil.”
“I’ll get it,” the man said.
A small table appeared in front of her. Paper was set upon it, with an inkwell. The man set to work sharpening a quill and handed it to her.
Her hand shook and she blotched the first line.
“Let me do it,iora.”
Her breath caught.Iora.Squirrel. It was the pet name Jamie had always used for her.
He dipped the quill and traced a half circle, the end points facing outward. Then he looped back for another at a right angle, and another, and a fourth, and one circle inside the center, and then he put the quill down and blew on the paper.
“Tell us the story of the four points of this knot, Sirena,” he said.
She swallowed moisture and shook her head. Bakeley’s hand covered hers, and she gripped it.
“Can you not then,iora? What will you guess? The four points of the compass? The four seasons? The four gospels?”
She pressed her lips together, blinked against a flood coming, and held her breath.
“Always, you leave it to me to tell. It’s the sign of Brighid—hand, hearth, head and heart. Brighid, Queen of the Four Fires, Goddess of Heaven, Bringer of Light, Ruler of Birth and New Beginnings.”
Air whooshed from her. She squeezed her eyes shut, hanging onto her husband.
“Breathe, love,” Bakeley whispered.
She took in a sharp breath. “Howdareyou, Roland James Hollister. Howdareyou, Lady Arbrough.” Her throat was raw from heaving and she squeezed her eyes again to hold back hot tears. “You drugged me. You struck Bakeley so hard, you might have killed the man I love. You say you were fleeing Hollister, but then why injure us? Why take us at all? We could have simply gone inside and—”
“You may not have been safe inside. We came as soon as we knew what was afoot. We know Hollister and Donegal had men amongst your household. The one who carted you out to the street, Lady Sirena, Obed recognized him.”
Bakeley shot to his feet, still gripping her hand. “Then my father, my sister, they’re in danger.”
“No. It’s Sirena he wants, to get to Roland,” Lady Arbrough said. “I’ve sent a message. Your father will take proper steps. The graver danger will be at the ball tomorrow night. You’ve invited Liverpool.”
“The danger to whom?” Sirena asked.
“You’ve invited dukes and ministers also, have you not?” Lady Arbrough asked.
“And they’ll all feel safe at the home of Lord Shaldon,” Bakeley said, staring off, frowning.
There was more he knew, and wouldn’t tell her in front of these two, or maybe not at all.
“But why take me now?” she asked. “Why not wait until the ball?”
