The hush deepened.
“Stopped?” Barrington’s voice was low. “By whom?”
Townsend’s gaze swept the room and, for just a moment, paused on Bridget. Long enough to set her nerves thrumming.
“Grenville,” he said. “He intercepted me on the road.”
The air left Bridget’s lungs.
Barrington’s voice was sharp. “What do you mean he intercepted you?”
Townsend exhaled, setting his satchel down. “Grenville insisted that he take my place. He said it wasn’t the other party’s decision who they dealt with. It was ours. He believed his name and presence would draw out more information than I ever could.”
Barrington’s face darkened. “And you let him go?” His voice was sharp, but it couldn’t mask the flare of alarm in his eyes. For the first time since this began, Barrington looked truly unsettled.
“I didn’t have much of a choice,” Townsend replied, his voice calm but edged with something that sounded like regret. “Grenville made it clear this was his responsibility. Barrington had called him to this, asked him to do what others could not. He wasn’t going to back down.”
Barrington exhaled sharply. “Then at least tell me he had the book.”
Townsend hesitated. “He wouldn’t take it.”
Bridget’s stomach clenched. If Thomas had nothing to bargain with, then what was he walking into?
Townsend turned to her, his expression softening. “He’s capable, Lady Bridget. And he’s determined. I tried to argue, but he wouldn’t hear it.”
Bridget shook her head. “He’s walking into a trap,” she whispered, barely able to force the words past her throat.
Townsend hesitated before nodding. “He knows the risks. But he also knows what’s at stake.”
Barrington’s fingers curled into a fist. “We need to be ready. If this goes wrong, they will have the upper hand.”
But Bridget barely heard him.
Her fingers brushed her arm, finding the place where he had once rested his hand, a touch that had once felt like a promise. The ache in her chest deepened, twisting into something she couldn’t name. She had pushed him away. And still, he had chosen to fight. Now, it was a reminder of everything she might lose.
Bridget’s breath came fast and uneven. She had been so consumed by her own hurt that she hadn’t seen the truth sooner. Thomas was walking into a trap.
The realization slammed into her chest. She could not wait for permission, nor hope someone else would act. She had to be the one.
And she would not stand by and let it happen. Not again. Not to him.
Steeling herself, she turned and slipped out of the room. No one would stop her. By the time they realized she was gone, it would be too late.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The night wascool and still, Bridget smoothed her gown, then tested the grip of her sgian-dubh.
The weight was familiar and comforting. She had carried it since she was a girl, a reminder of where she came from and of what she was willing to fight for.
Bridget moved swiftly, stuffed the small dagger into her boot, and picked up a book of poems by William Blake that was next to her bed. The chamber was dark, but she didn’t dare light a candle. Every sound seemed amplified in the silence. The rustling of fabric, even the soft creak of the floorboards beneath her hurried steps, signaled she was leaving.
Her heart pounded against her ribs, each beat a reminder that she was running out of time. Thomas was out there, alone. Facing men who had no reason to bargain with him, not when they had the power to destroy him instead.
Bridget reached for the door latch, but the soft sound of footsteps in the corridor froze her in place. She barely had time to step away before the door swung open, and Catriona stood there, brows drawn, lips pressed into a thin line.
Bridget swallowed back a curse.
Catriona’s sharp gaze swept over her, the traveling cloak, the sturdy boots, the barely concealed tension in her stance. Her expression darkened. “Where are you going?”
