Stephanie Laurens - The Elusive Bride

Gareth murmured, “So Rafe…?”

But Royce only smiled.

“You don’t need to know what you don’t need to know.” Jack caught Gareth’s eye. “That’s the way it always goes.”

“Indeed.” Royce pushed aside his empty plate. “So let’s see what we can accomplish today.” He looked inquiringly at Tristan and Jack. “What’s our situation?”

“They’re here, and in force.” Jack straightened in his chair. “We’ve been following a group of eight who’ve been tracking the carriage since Tilbury. Today they were joined by a larger force, another ten, just north of Braintree. That lot rode down from the north, by the way. And of special interest to us all, two of the ten aren’t Indian, but English. I don’t know Ferrar, so can’t say for certain, but I assume one is him. The other’s of similar build, darker hair.”

“They’re friends, not mere acquaintances,” Tristan put in. “And the other isn’t any servant, but an equal. You could tell from the way they interacted.”

Royce’s brows had risen. “That’s news. So we have another potential…lieutenant, let us say. And he’s English. If any chance offers, we need to catch him.” He looked at Tristan and Jack. “So by Braintree they were eighteen against a carriage with four men. What happened? Braintree is what? Twelve or more miles from here?”

“About that,” Jack said. “I wasn’t close enough to hear the conversations, but my best guess is that the dark-haired one wanted to attack, but Ferrar refused and had the whole lot of them shadowing the carriage, more or less flanking it all the way to Sudbury.”

“Once the carriage crossed the bridge into Sudbury, they peeled away and skirted the town.” Tristan tipped his head to the north. “We left them waiting on a rise from where they can watch the Bury and the Lavenham roads.”

Royce nodded. “They’ve guessed from Delborough’s destination that the carriage will head north, but they don’t know exactly to where. So they’re in position to pick up the carriage when it leaves here.” He glanced down the table. “Any guesses as to why they put off an attack?”

All eyes turned to Demon Cynster. “My guess is that Ferrar, having some familarity with the area, knows that the stretch from Sudbury to Bury, or Sudbury to Lavenham, is better for mounting an attack.”

“Did someone bring a map?” Royce asked.

Vane Cynster had. He drew it from his pocket and unfolded the large map, which showed most of the Eastern Counties. Various hands helped smooth it out and anchor it in front of Royce and Gareth.

Demon leaned forward to point. “Here’s Sudbury. This”-he pointed to a position just to the north-“is where Ferrar’s waiting.”

Royce studied the map. “If you were he, where would you choose to ambush the carriage?”

Without hesitation Demon placed a finger on the map. “Here-just a little way past the lane that leads to Glemsford and Clare. There’s also a country lane that leads up to Bury, just a little way along that lane. In terms of position, that spot is close to perfect.”

“Remember Ferrar and the cult tend to rely on overwhelming force.” Del looked at Demon. “Can he attack with all his men from there?”

Demon nodded. “There’s plenty of cover in stands of trees back from the road, but just there the usual hedges fall back and the road has wide, shallow ditches, open and clear, excellent for approaching a halted coach. All he’ll need to do is send men across the road to halt the coach, and then it’s trapped and at his mercy.”

“So we let him do that, commit his force against the coach, then we fall on them from the rear and wipe them out.” Devil Cynster smiled. “Easy.”

There were sounds of eager agreement all around.

“Yes, but is that the best we can do?” Royce murmured.

All talk ceased.

Devil looked up the table at him. “What now, o ye of devious mind?”

There were grins all around, including from Royce, but then he sobered. “The truth, as many of you have guessed, is that this entire scheme is designed not just to get the original copy of the Black Cobra’s letter into my hands, but if at all possible to provide further proof-more direct and damning proof-of Ferrar’s guilt. Ideally, I’d like to catch him with a scroll holder literally in his hand-have more than one of us see him so there’ll be multiple witnesses. If I have to accuse him with only the letter as proof, I will, but I’d far rather have something more-something less easy to destroy-as evidence.”

A moment of general cogitation followed, then Del waved at the map. “Do you think there’s a chance we could wrest that sort of proof from today’s situation?”

Staring at the map, Royce slowly nodded. “I think it’s possible, if we can only figure out how.” He looked at Gareth. “Where is your scroll holder?”

Gareth reached into the pocket of the greatcoat he’d draped over his chair and pulled out the holder. He stood it on the map, just south of Sudbury.

“All right.” Royce nodded. “So we have Ferrar here-the first thing we need. We have the scroll holder-the thing we want in his hand. If we go forward into the attack he has planned, Ferrar won’t show his face, he’ll sit back and watch the action. When we triumph over his forces, he’ll turn and ride away. Even if we’ve witnessed him sending the cultists to attack the carriage…” Royce shook his head. “That’s far too easy to explain away. He’ll deny all connection to the cult, and without the letter-even with the letter-it’s possible he, or more likely his father, will prevail, and he’ll go free. So doing the obvious-merrily going forward and letting them attack-will let us reduce cult numbers, but will not gain us the greater prize.”

When Royce fell silent, Devil prompted, “The alternative being…?”

Royce frowned. “We have to get the scroll holder into Ferrar’s hands. If we can somehow convince the cultists to take it in some way that won’t make them or Ferrar suspicious, they’ll take it back to him-and then we’ll have him.” He looked at the scroll holder. “But how do we innocently give the damn thing up after Hamilton and his men have fought so hard to get it here?”

That undoubtedly was the question.

The men leaned forward, making suggestions, expressing opinions, evaluating options.

After a moment, Emily eased back her chair-easing herself out of the ensuing discussion. She had an idea, but she needed quiet to think it through, enough to hear her own thoughts.

Gareth glanced at her the instant she moved, smiled vaguely, and drew back her chair.

She thanked him and retreated to the window seat across the room. Sitting in the alcove, she looked out at the view beyond and methodically worked through her notion.

The men had reached the point of considering ways to lose the holder “accidentally,” when she rose and headed back to the table.

The Cynster called Gabriel shook his head. “Accidentally losing it won’t work. The instant you try that, they’ll know it’s a decoy, and therefore of no worth-otherwise you’d never lose it, not after all this time-and also, ergo, that it’s bait. And bait means a trap, so they might well turn tail altogether, and then we’ll lose even the chance of reducing numbers.”

Royce grimaced. “If we can’t make the loss appear believable-”

“I could do it.” Emily halted behind the chair she’d occupied.

All the men looked at her, then Gareth asked, “Do what?”

She looked at him. “I could leave the scroll holder in a hedge for the cultists to take in such a way that it would appear unthreatening, unsuspicious.” She glanced at Jack and Tristan, then looked back at Gareth. “As if you, and Jack and Tristan, too, if they know about them, don’t know I’ve left it.”