“It brings me great pleasure to do so.”
“My father was fortunate to have such friends as Your Lordship.”
“Nay, it was your father who was the fortunate man to have had a daughter such as you, Miss Wallace. No man has ever been greater blessed.”
* * *
Arthur leaned his back against the cold hard stone of the building as he attempted to settle the pounding of his heart in his chest and its matching echo in his temple.Marriage tae Dustshore…the notion robbed him of breath and made him feel ill. The image of Cleo’s beautiful face, with her dark hair and eyes, being caressed by the hands of another man caused violent urges to rise up within Arthur’s soul. His hands clenched into fists as he breathed deeply in an attempt to get himself under control.
“She cannae marry him,” he breathed, his eyes closing against the pain of it. He knew that he had no right to feel the way that he did, but he could no sooner stop his feelings than he could have pulled the sun down from the sky. Sighing, he opened his eyes and forced himself to walk away. He would be seeing her again at midnight. He would talk to her about it then.
I will nae surrender her tae another man, nae unless she tells me that it is her heart’s truest desire. If she chooses another man, then I will do the honorable thing and go once we have found her father’s murderer, but if she does not wish tae wed another, then I will do all in my power tae see that it is nae so.Whether she chooses tae be mine or nae, I will see that she is protected, Henry, nae matter what it takes.
As Arthur walked away, he could have sworn that he felt the weight of the professor’s reassuring hand on his shoulder and the words of his friend whispering in the breeze as it floated past his ears.“May God protect you both, my daughter and the son that I wished I had. Never forget that I am with you, Arthur, always.”
Chapter 15
When midnight came, Cleo slipped from beneath her covers, and walked silently through the house to the back servants’ entrance. She stood in the darkness for a brief moment gathering the courage to open the door and face what lay beyond. Taking a deep breath, Cleo eased the door open carefully so as not to awaken anyone with the servants’ quarters.
“Cleo,” Arthur’s voice called softly from the night beyond.
“Arthur,” Cleo answered back just barely above a whisper.
“Aye, it is I, lass.” A few moments later and Arthur MacDonald was standing before her tall and strong like the Highland warrior he was born to be. Not for the first time, Cleo marveled at the strange twist of fate that had turned such a hardened Scotsman into an English earl. “Are ye well, lass?” his eyes searched her own in concern.
“Yes, come in, quietly,” she motioned for him to enter the house.
They walked to the washing room, where Cleo lit a candle and pulled the paper bearing the riddle out of her pocket. Arthur took it from her and held it to the light to read aloud softly.
“He the great,
he who pulled
sword from stone,
for doomed love
he swallowed fire,
the truth you find
beneath his feet.”
Arthur looked up at her. “It is King Arthur. It has tae be. There is nae other explanation.”
“Yes, I agree, but that is all that I have been able to understand of it. I have researched everything that I can find within my father’s study and have not found a single reference to Arthur swallowing fire or what truth might lay beneath his feet.”
“Aye, I can see how that would be a problem.” Arthur nodded his head as he thought the inscription over silently in his mind. Cleo could see the considerable effort of the task working busily behind his eyes, as his brow furrowed in a frown of concentration. “I will see what I can discover. I have a bit more freedom to go about asking questions without drawing tae much attention tae myself or yer father’s work than ye do being a young lady o’ good reputation.”
Cleo fought the urge to snort her frustration at the truth of his words. “It is infuriating to me that I must continue to live within the strictures of my sex when my father’s murderer is allowed to run free without such restrictions. He could abscond to France and I would be none the wiser for the lack of information that I possess.”
“Normally I would agree, but in this case I dinnae believe that the murderer has run. Yer faither would nae have gone tae such trouble tae conceal his messages tae ye if there was nae some danger inherent to his work. It is my belief, as I ken it is yers, that the offender is seeking something that the professor has hidden away. I believe that if we find the thing that the killer seeks, then in turn we will discover the culprit himself.”
“Yes, I share your view of the situation, but as the daughter of Henry Wallace, I must profess to having a great many feelings on the matter that faces us. Why did he not tell me? Why did he not share his work with me? What was he doing that was so dangerous as to result in his death at the hands of misadventure? I do not, nor will I ever, I fear, understand my father’s choices in keeping this from me. It is clear that he eventually planned for me to know what he was doing, so why not simply come and tell me?”
“I dinnae ken, lass, but I do ken that yer faither loved ye with everything that he had within himself. If he had been able tae tell ye without putting ye at risk, I believe that he would have. I myself have similar questions as tae why the professor did nae tell me either. He had told me on more than one occasion that I was his truest and most trusted friend and yet he did nae tell me anything o’ this secret.” Arthur tapped the paper that she had handed him for emphasis.
“My father was not the man I knew him to be. I think it is that fact in itself that I find the most disturbing. I had always believed my father to be a straightforward man of impeccable character and yet I find that he was keeping secrets from me, dangerous secrets that resulted in his untimely demise. What could a professor of Greek studies possibly have known or possessed that would have led to such an end or the need for this level of intrigue?”
