She sniffed. "I wasn't the one who almost fell off a roof from sheer clumsiness."
He smiled and took her hand. "I stand corrected. I'll need you there tonight to save me from myself."
Yet in spite of his joke, his concern did not go away. As they rode back to Strathmore, a couple of lines of Shakespeare kept circling in his head: "By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes."
The man who had been watching the Marshall Street house for days swore as the actress climbed into the carriage with Strathmore and drove off. His employer had been furious that the abduction attempt had failed, and most insistent that the girl be taken by today. But it bloody wasn't possible. The silly chit hadn't been home in days. She'd finally shown her face, but only a damned fool would try to take her away from that languid earl who had turned out to be so much tougher than he looked.
The watcher shrugged and settled back into concealment in the room he had rented across the street from his quarry's house. He was being paid for his time, so he might as well sit and watch until it was time to report to his employer.
He yawned. If it was him, he'd kidnap a wench with more meat on her bones.
The hulking iron gates of Castle Raine were locked, with no watchman in sight. If there was one, he was probably inside, where it was warm and dry.
Michael had been right about the storm; as Kit waited by the gate, she was shivering from the freezing rain. If the temperature fell much further, the world would turn to ice. God willing, by then they would be safe and Kira would be free.
With a faint metallic jangle, Lucien bent over the lock of the man-sized door that was set into the larger gate. She could not see in detail what he was doing, but it seemed to involve a key ring with a broad assortment of keys and metal picks. She was not surprised when the door swung open with a faint squeal that vanished quickly amid the sounds of wind and rain.
Behind her Jason Travers said with a hint of laughter, "Am I going to have to learn to do that if I want to be a proper earl?"
"The real beauty of being a British peer," Lucien said as he ushered the others through, then closed the door behind them, "is that one can be as eccentric as one wishes."
"The issue isn't your eccentricity, Luce, but your unfortunate criminal tendencies," Michael said gently. The other men chuckled.
Her nerves strung drum-tight, Kit felt like swatting them for their frivolity. She refrained because she suspected that levity was a masculine way of coping with tension. It was easier to be female and allowed to show her fear. Lucien must have guessed at her state of mind, for he kept a light hand at the back of her waist as they moved soundlessly along the edge of the drive toward the main buildings.
The objective, writer part of her mind was taking notes, for this raid was giving her a sense of what war must be like. All four of them wore dark clothing, Kit in her burglar outfit again. Even the horses tethered in a nearby thicket were invisible because Michael had put blacking on the white markings that might have drawn attention at night.
She would never have thought of that; it was a small, comforting reminder of how much experience Michael had in covert missions. With his flinty expression, eyes that missed nothing, and a well-used carbine rifle slung over his shoulder, he was a formidable sight. Armed with pistols, Lucien and Jason looked equally dangerous. Though Kit prayed that violence would be unnecessary, if it occurred they were well-prepared.
Lucien had asked if she wanted a pistol, but she had refused with a shudder. It was one of the ways in which she differed from her twin; Kira was an excellent shot while Kit had always flatly refused to touch a gun, and it was too late to learn now.
The chapel was a dim outline, a blacker bulk against a stormy sky. Halfway there, she gasped and came to a stop, her fingers pressed to her temples.
"What is it?" Lucien asked in a low voice.
"She's here." Kit's voice trembled at the confirmation that her intuition had been correct. "She's really here!"
Jason made a sound that demonstrated how much his casual manner must be costing him. Cooler, Michael asked, "Can you tell what direction?"
Kit concentrated with an effort that made her temples throb. "Directly ahead, in the vicinity of the chapel. Below it, I think."
Heart hammering, she hastened toward the building, scarcely aware of her surroundings or the rain in her face. She reached the chapel and was fumbling for the knob when Lucien snapped, "Don't open the doors! There's light showing below."
She glanced down and saw that he was right.
As impatient as Kit, Jason said, "It's probably only the watchman. We can take care of one man."
"No doubt," Lucien replied. "Nevertheless, let's find another entrance. I believe that around to the right there's a side door that leads into the banquet hall."
They skirted the building until they found it. Lucien went to work on the lock, his movements so careful that Kit heard nothing even though she was less than six feet away. There was a faint click. He eased the door open, then ghosted through.
After a moment of listening he motioned for the others to follow. The banquet hall was a large room with the shapes of tables and chairs dimly visible in the faint glow that came from the far left corner. Wordlessly, he led the way toward the light, moving around the edge of the room to avoid the furniture.
At the entrance to the hall he pressed on Kit's shoulder in a silent order to stay. Leaving Jason with her, Lucien and Michael moved forward along the passage that went to the chapel.
The wait seemed endless. She clenched her hands into fists and forced herself to be still. Then, almost inaudible over the sounds of rain splattering against the windows, she heard a muffled cry, followed by a thud. A couple of minutes later, the men returned, Michael carrying a lighted taper that he used to ignite the two lamps Jason was carrying. The glass was shielded so that only narrow beams were emitted, but they were a great improvement over the dark.
"All clear," Lucien said. "There was only one guard."
"You didn't…" Kit said nervously.
"Merely knocked senseless and tied up," Michael assured her. "I never kill anyone without a reason."
She wondered if his nonchalance was bone-dry humor, then decided it wasn't. He had lived in a very different world from hers. As the men began searching through the small rooms and corridors that lay behind the chapel, she bent her head and probed inward to locate her sister.
She gasped when she succeeded. Kira's energy was scalding-not only close, but terrified. Though Kit tried to send a message of reassurance, she was unsuccessful; Kira was too distressed to feel her sister's presence.
Kit raised her head again, aware of a deep thrumming at the edge of her hearing. Unable to identify it, she went to Lucien. "What is that low, rumbling noise?"
He cocked his head and listened. From his expression she saw that he had not noticed it until she spoke.
"Machinery," he said with a frown. "Something like a steam boiler, I think. A very large one." If machines were running, there must be other people about. Kit had been right; this was going to be more difficult than anticipated.
"Over here," Jason called softly from around the corner.
When the other three reached him, Jason opened the door that he had discovered. Steps led down to an illuminated corridor and the sound of chanting voices filled the stairwell.
Lucien eased the door shut. "Damnation, the Disciples are holding one of their rituals tonight."
"Today is the winter solstice," Jason said tautly. "They probably play at paganism by celebrating the change of season."
Lucien thought back. "Very likely. It was around Midsummer Day when Ives's friend heard the screaming here."