“Might I ask your name, sir?” Liam asked, his tone sardonic.
“Littlefield.”
Liam felt some surprise at his honesty. “Why did you give it to me?”
“You asked. Besides, you will not live long enough to tell anyone.”
“Mr. Littlefield,” Liam said slowly. “I suggest you take what you can get and depart now. Your master will not pay you.”
“So you think, do you? I happen to believe he will, so I plan to stay a bit longer.”
Liam studied him. He never knew what a cutthroat for hire might look like, and felt no little shock that he was just an ordinary man, but one who killed people for pay. “What made you become a murderer, Mr. Littlefield.”
He shrugged, squatting on his heels to look Liam in the eye. “I started out thieving on the streets of London, was an orphan. Someone paid me good money to cut up his rival, so I found that work easier than stealing.”
“Interesting.”
“Better than being a servant to a bloody noble.”
Liam grinned. “My line of work will not cut my life short.”
Littlefield grinned back. “You think so?” He pulled his cloak aside and yanked a long thin dagger from a sheath in his belt, displaying it in front of Liam’s eyes. “You will soon find out.”
Putting it back, the villain took his torch and trod back up the tunnel to his post, and sat down. Liam tugged at the ropes again, finding them just as tight as before. “Bring that knife back here and you will find out,” he muttered.
The long night passed without Littlefield returning to make conversation. Liam sensed the dawn arrive, as too many years of waking up to it set the time deep into his instincts. He wondered what Thea was doing, how she felt about Lord Willowdale’s pronouncement. No doubt she felt anger and fear, as well as betrayal, that her own brother set her up to marry that monster.
Thirst nagged his throat. “Littlefield,” he called. “Might I have a drink of water?”
The man rose, his torch with him, and ambled back to him. “I do not see why not,” he replied, uncorking a leather bottle.
He held it to Liam’s mouth, permitting him to drink as much as he wanted. “Thank you,” he said, feeling refreshed. “Have you any food?”
“I am not about to feed you,” Littlefield replied. “Nor untie your hands, so that you can do without.”
He walked back up the tunnel, and returned to his place, sitting under the torch. Liam leaned back against the pillar and closed his eyes. Falling into a light doze, he dreamed of Thea smiling and laughing, her long dark hair tossed by a light breeze off the lake. The sound of voices woke him with a start. Blinking, he stared down the tunnel as two men approached.
Stunned, Liam gazed up at Littlefield’s master, knowing his jaw had dropped but unable to do anything about it. Robert Cartwright, Baron of Ampleforth, grinned down at Liam. “Surprised to see me, footman?”
“You?” Liam swallowed his shock and tried again. “You are trying to murder Lord Willowdale?”
“I should think that would be obvious by now, Carter,” the Baron replied easily.
“But he is your best friend.”
“Why does that have anything to do with it?” Ampleforth asked lightly. “I want his estates and his sister. Not necessarily in that order. They belong to me and I will have them.”
“You have no right to the Willowdale estates,” Liam snarled, wrenching his hands to try to free them.
“Of course I do, old chap. They are mine because I say so. After all, I killed his parents to free him to inherit.”
“What?”
“Oh, yes.” Ampleforth grinned happily. “I had asked her father for her hand and he refused me. Dared to tell me to my face I had bad blood in me, that I was insane.”
Ampleforth’s face darkened, and a strange gleam showed in his eyes. Liam had no doubt the old Viscount was right – Ampleforth was indeed quite mad, and had learned to hide it. He had suspected it long ago when he dared show himself to Thea as a child. And that was why Liam had beat him up for it.
“So,” Ampleforth continued, his expression happy once more. “So I killed the old Viscount and his bat of a wife, freeing Freddie to inherit.”
