Brant shook off a moment of self-pity and asked, “Are there strong men in the village that you can trust? This is not forever, merely until we can stop her. There may be some who would welcome the extra coin to act as a guard for your son, Olympia.”
“There most certainly would,” said Antigone. “Jones Two and I can see to that today. In fact, why do we not all take a walk into the village together. The magistrate has a nice home at the far end of the village and the man who was captured here is locked in his wine cellar.”
“A splendid idea, Auntie. I will finish this fine food, put those foolish cats away in my bedchamber, and then we shall all go to the village,” Olympia said, sighing when Lure pulled her small golden body up her skirts to sit on her lap. “I think I am going to have trouble with this one.” She smiled when Ilar began to lightly stroke the cat and it began to purr its very loud, too-big-for-its-body purr. “Aye, I am definitely going to have trouble with this one.”
Olympia wanted to hold Brant’s hand as they followed Peter Jenkins down into his wine cellar but knew she could not. This was the local squire, a man who might live on the fringes of society but still moved within it. He would not be able to resist telling his wife about the baroness and the earl, about how they held hands. His wife would tell her sister, who would tell her dearest friends, who would tell their dearest friends, and so on until the whole of society would begin wondering just what was going on between “that strange Wherlocke girl” and that wretched, dissolute child of Lady Letitia Mallam. She stiffened her spine and hoped her face held the calm, sweet expression she was struggling to hold.
“Here he be, m’lady,” Peter said. “Real sorry I did not get there to catch the other one but your lad did himself proud.”
The man in the cell stood up and stared at Olympia. He was of medium height, thinning brown hair, and pale hazel eyes. She saw fear in his eyes and knew he saw her son when he looked at her.
“Why did you try to take my son?” she asked.
“The lady told Jake that she wanted the boy so she could rule the mother.” He looked around. “You find Jake?”
“No,” answered Peter. “He left you here to hang for him.”
“Better to hang than go back and tell that cursed bitch that we failed.” He looked back at Olympia. “You got yourself a brave lad but I be thinking he be a might strange, too. Best you keep that boy out of that bitch’s hands.”
“What is the woman’s name?” asked Brant.
“You think you can stop her?” said the man. “Think you can make her go away? Nay, lad. She be a coldhearted devil of a woman and she means to rule. Best you and the lass stay tucked up here because of the lady who has your eyes. She hates men, that she does, but she sure hates you, lad.”
“Now you be quiet,” said Peter. “They were asking for a name.”
“We have it, Peter. We have it,” Olympia said and gave up on discretion by taking Brant’s hand in hers. She knew this had to hurt. At the very least it had to pick at the wound in his heart that had never had the time to heal properly.
“Fine then. I will be judging this fellow on the morrow and I suspect he will be hanging from the tree in the square soon.”
“No, he must stay alive, Peter. I may have need of him when I capture that woman. She came into my home and touched my child, and I mean to see her pay dearly for that. This fellow, since he knows who she is, could prove to be a great help in the doing of that.”
“M’lady,” the man in the cell called when Olympia turned to leave.
“Are you about to tell me that you cannot help me?”
“Oh, I can help you but the magistrate there should also have himself a few new guards.”
“Are you threatening him?”
“Not at all. Seems a good fellow. Nay, her ladyship is not fond of leaving folk around who can talk. I can talk. The magistrate there can talk. M’lady prefers silence. Jake has not gone back to tell her he failed. He is running for his life.”
Olympia was silent all the way back to the house and then joined her son in putting away the books he had used in his fight to save his life. She was sitting on the floor in the middle of several stacks of books and wondering which ones should be put back on the shelves first when Brant arrived and sat down next to her. He looked thoughtful but no more. She had to wonder if he had become used to hearing bad news concerning his mother.
“You threw all these off the shelves?” he asked.
“I did.” Ilar looked at Olympia and she nodded, silently giving him permission to speak of what he could do. “It was all I could think of. I had no weapon.”