“It wouldna be a death sentence for ye, Lady Ingrid,” Rory said. “But I’m afraid ’twould be for Nolan once Vander Burke got hold of him.” He finished with a smile that could have easily knocked a weaker girl down flat.
It wasn’t even directed at Gabby, and she still felt the shock wave of it.
“Come, Lady Ingrid. We havna much time.”
Ingrid looked at Gabby and their mother apologetically, hands clasped before her. “I sent a note ahead of us,” she explained. “I need to do something, and I didn’t know when I’d have another chance to come to H?tel Bastian.”
Their mother puckered her brow, an expression her children had long ago learned to translate as “Not in a million years.”
“I helped you leave the rectory yesterday morning, but if you think I’m going to allow you to go off with this young man, you are sorely mistaken,” she told her elder daughter.
A show of solidarity was the only thing Gabby thought might work. She left the sofa and stood beside Ingrid.
“I’ll go along, Mama. She’ll be fine.” Their mother didn’t appear swayed in the least.
“Lady Brickton, I’m takin’ yer daughter to a library on the premises,” Rory said, his charm somehow softening the fact that he wore daggers upon his waistcoat. “No harm will come to her, ye have my word.”
Why Lady Brickton was convinced by Rory’s vow and not Gabby’s didn’t matter. Sneaking about H?tel Bastian promised to be ample compensation for Gabby’s wounded pride.
“Quickly,” Lady Brickton finally said. “I don’t know when your father will tire of this charade.”
Clearly, she already had.
Ingrid and Gabby followed Rory through the door and up a set of stairs. Chelle stayed in the parlor with their mother and shut the door behind them. The narrow stairwell went black.
Thick carpet muffled their footsteps, but their breathing seemed unnaturally loud.
“One more flight,” Rory announced. Gabby followed his voice and Ingrid’s swooshing skirts while feeling for the steps with the tips of her slippers.
“Lady Ingrid, pay no mind to my uncle’s plans,” Rory said once they neared the next landing. “He isna himself lately.”
Because of the mercurite, Gabby knew. He must have used a lot of it over the years. All Alliance fighters did. But how much was too much? She couldn’t help thinking of Nolan. Did all Alliance fighters eventually … change?
Rory opened the door to a dimly lit hallway. Ingrid seemed to recognize it. She led them toward a door to the right.
“I trust Nolan wouldn’t wish to marry me anyway,” Ingrid said with an all-too-obvious glimpse in Gabby’s direction. Rory didn’t miss it. He smiled widely.
“Aye, ye may have trouble wi’ the laoch who fancies my cousin. I hear she’s fierce.”
Ingrid laughed, while Gabby blushed. Laoch? He’d used that word before, but at the time she’d thought he’d been telling her his last name.
“What does that word mean?” she asked.
Rory opened the door for Ingrid and about a decade’s worth of musty, closed-up air escaped. Gabby gagged. It smelled like one of those stinky old bookshops Ingrid and Grayson went all cuckoo for. Ingrid stepped into the room and maneuvered between towering piles of books.
“It’s Scots for warrior. Isna that what ye are, lass?” No smile now. He wasn’t jesting with her. “Lady Ingrid, ye have fifteen minutes, no more.”
It wasn’t a lot of time to sift.
“What are you looking for, anyway?” Gabby asked her sister.
Ingrid craned her neck and read the spines along one shelf. “It’s difficult to explain.”
“That makes it a bit hard to help,” Gabby replied.
Ingrid kept her focus on the shelves. Gabby and Rory stood watching her.
“Well, this is uneventful,” Gabby muttered.
“I could show ye round,” Rory suggested.
He cocked his head and slipped back into the corridor. Gabby followed.
“Stay out of trouble,” Ingrid called, as if her snooping around were proper behavior. Of course, if Carrick came upon her, he would probably take her interest in the library as a promising sign of upcoming nuptials.
Gabby shook off the shudder of nausea the image of her sister and Nolan’s wedding gave her and concentrated on following Rory. He moved with purposeful strides, his shoulders squared. On his back he wore two short swords in crossed sheaths. The handle on each, she imagined, would be easy for him to reach and pull free.
Gabby wanted to see him in battle. If fighting skill ran in the family, he would be just as impressive as Nolan.
At the end of the corridor, Rory took hold of the banister on a spiral staircase and climbed. His feet scuffed along the metal lightly, making hardly a sound. It was strange how something as basic as walking and climbing stairs could display so much about a person, but in watching Rory, Gabby saw that he was observant and careful. Precise.
And that was when Gabby ran into him, treading on his heels. He’d stopped, and she’d been too focused on the way his body moved to notice.