To Catch A Fallen Spy (Brethren of the Coast Book 8) Read online

  to catch a fallen spy

  barbara devlin

  copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2016 Barbara C. Noyes

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Barbara Devlin

  The Brethren of the Coast Badge is a registered trademark ® of Barbara Devlin.

  Cover art by Lewellen Designs

  ISBN: 978-0-9962509-7-9

  titles by

  barbara devlin

  BRETHREN OF THE COAST SERIES

  Loving Lieutenant Douglas: A Brethren of the Coast Prequel

  Enter the Brethren

  My Lady, the Spy

  The Most Unlikely Lady

  One-Knight Stand

  Captain of Her Heart

  The Lucky One

  Love with an Improper Stranger

  To Catch a Fallen Spy

  BRETHREN ORIGINS

  Arucard

  Demetrius

  PIRATES OF THE COAST

  The Black Morass

  KATHRYN LE VEQUE’S KINDLE WORLD OF DE WOLFE PACK

  Lone Wolfe

  dedication

  This work is dedicated to my dear friend and unfailing supporter Kathryn Falk, Lady of Barrow. Kathryn has seen me through some dark hours, and her sense of humor always makes me laugh. Love you, Kathryn.

  to catch a fallen spy

  Prologue

  The Ascendents

  England

  The Year of Our Lord 1316

  “It is good to have the Brethren beneath my roof, again.” Yawning, Arucard stretched, rubbed his eyes, and joined his fellow Nautionnier Knights in the Great Hall at Chichester Castle. “And how did ye sleep, Morgan? Thou didst arrive late with Hawisia, and we didst not speak much. Art thou faring well this blessed morn?”

  “Ah, thither is naught but joy in my world, now that my wife is with child.” The youngest member of the distinguished order grinned. “I am to be a father, Arucard.” Morgan’s gaze grew misty. “Didst thou ever believe it would happen?”

  “Aye, knowing ye and thy much-professed penchant for the work.” Chuckling, Arucard studied the favored gadling and noted the stark change in his longtime friend. Despite Morgan’s rough start in the marital realm, which involved more than his fair share of injuries and spilt blood, he at last found his footing, and Arucard marveled at the striking transformation of the bawdy and immature lad to the focused and responsible adult. “I gather ye dost harbor no regrets in regard to thy nuptials?”

  “None whatsoever.” Morgan flagged the housekeeper. “Margery, may I have a bowl of sop, some bread, and a flagon of ale?”

  “Of course, Sir Morgan.” She dipped her chin. “The meal should be served as soon as the food is heated, but I will check with the kitchen staff, by thy leave.”

  “Thou art hungry, brother?” Demetrius gave Morgan a gentle nudge. “Hast thou engaged in questionable activities with thy spouse, to inspire thy appetite?”

  “No more than ye, I presume.” Snickering, Morgan waggled his brows. “But my intentions art honorable, as I endeavor to keep my wife happy, and she is quite the demanding little thing.”

  “Oh, the sacrifices we make to please our women.” Extending his arms above his head, Aristide groaned as he joined the knights. “My Dion all but attacked me this morning, but that is an observation, not a complaint, though I know not what possessed her, as she bit me.”

  “It is good to be a husband, is it not?” Arucard slapped Demetrius on the shoulder. “Isolde and I labor to produce a third de Villiers, and she is rather insistent that it will happen now.” And he savored sweet memories of the heated exchange, as he adored Isolde’s aggressive fortitude, which contrasted with her initial demeanor and drove him to the brink of insanity. In fact, only minutes ago, he left her abed, sleeping the sleep of the sated, after he instigated their morning exercise. “But if I am lucky, it will take us a while, as she ambushed me after weapons practice, yesterday, and I hope for an encore performance this eventide.”

  “What got into them, dost thou suspect?” With a grimace, Demetrius scratched his chin. “Lily barricaded the door to our chambers and pounced as soon as I returned from the evening hunt, and I almost did not attend sup, but I was starving by the time she set me free.”

  “Art thou truly baffled?” Of course, Arucard had been married long enough to gain an in-depth understanding of the female spirit. “Didst thou not notice Hawisia is increasing?”

  A chorus of sighs echoed in the Great Hall.

  “I will never comprehend the competitive nature of our women.” When a servant placed a steaming bowl of sop before Demetrius, he picked up a spoon but paused. “Wherefore can they not follow our example and find contentment in their circumstances?”

  “Indeed.” Aristide nodded. “Hither we assemble, knights of the realm, estimable fighting men, and lords of prestigious holdings, yet we do not resort to such childish games.”

  “Of which Winchester is the largest.” Demetrius tore a chunk of bread from a loaf. “But what does it matter?”

  “Which is wherefore we lead, and the ladies follow,” remarked Morgan, with a stiff upper lip. “Although Norwich is far wealthier.”

  “But Rochester is more valuable to the King.” Aristide pointed for emphasis. “Which is wherefore His Majesty assigned me to govern it, as I am blessed with enviable organizational skills.”

  As expected, his brothers commenced the contest without prompting, because some things never changed. But Arucard suspected his friends would sing another tune were their respective other halves present. And he had committed his fair share of fierce comparisons, with regard to Isolde, on occasions too numerous to count, so he contributed naught to the conversation.

  “Thou art quiet, brother.” Demetrius elbowed Arucard in the ribs. “May I posit a guess as to what silences ye?”

  “You have to guess?” Rolling his eyes, Aristide snorted. “So when are we to break the news to Geoffrey, as I dread his reaction?”

  Mid-chew, Morgan choked. “Thou hast received the official summons?”

  “Aye.” And for a sennight, Arucard wrestled with the revelation that the Crown decreed the lone unattached Nautionnier Knight to wed, because of all the Brethren, Geoffrey was the most adamantly opposed to marriage. “Just last December, he vowed to die on the block before taking a wife. He swore he would rather burn at the stake than speak the vows.”

  And Arucard feared for Geoffrey. Not since the delivery of the royal decree announcing Demetrius’s impending nuptials had Arucard worried for the neck of a fellow knight. But Geoffrey held tight to the old traditions, which threatened a host of wicked maladies, including blindness and lunacy, for even a casual violation.

  “So he remains opposed to a union?” Morgan winced. “I would not want to be in thy boots when ye dost tell him.”

  “Opposed is putting it lightly.” A string of invective filled Arucard’s ears, and he shuddered, as he recalled his previous debates with Geoffrey.

  “Thou dost think to avoid the drama?” With an open palm, Aristide smacked Morgan’s forehead. “As we convened to reveal the King’s command to ye, thou wilt attend thy brother’s day of reckoning, in a show of support, and thou wilt portray a most happy husband.”


  “It did not work for ye.” Arucard gazed at the ceiling.

  “That is because I lingered in a perpetual state of ignorance, much like Aristide and Morgan, when I faced the same situation.” To Arucard’s irritation, Demetrius smirked. “And did ye not vomit in His Majesty’s presence when he ordered ye to take Isolde as thy mate?”

  “I forgot about that.” Slapping a thigh, Aristide guffawed.

  “I see no need to revisit past embarrassments.” Arucard still chafed at the remembrance. However, in his defense, he was the first to confront the altar. “But as I already mentioned, hither we meet to appeal to Geoffrey’s passion for logic and reason. As long as I have known him, he has always been a sensible man, even though he insists he would rather lose his head than his chastity.”

  “He hath no idea what he is missing,” Aristide replied, under his breath.

  “Doth Geoffrey honestly believe he can evade fate?” Then Morgan opened and closed his mouth. “Because if thither is aught I have learned about the singular emotion; it is that love takes no prisoners, and thither is no escape, no matter how far or fast ye might run. And I am a most happy husband.”

  “Perchance thou canst convince Geoffrey that he will enjoy similar good fortune.” If Arucard were to succeed in dragging—aye, dragging Geoffrey to the church, Arucard required steadfast allies. As he wiped clean his bowl, he envisioned Isolde, with her hair splayed across her pillow, her features softened in repose, and her warm body that melded perfectly with his. “Mayhap we can discuss our approach when he arrives.” He peered at the entry. “Although I am surprised he hath not shown himself, as he is usually prompt for every meal.”

  Just then, Pellier strolled into the Great Hall. “Good morrow, my lord.”

  “Art thou not supposed to precede thy wife in thy duties?” With a frown, Arucard canted his head. “Thou art late, as Margery hath been in the kitchens since dawn.”

  “As well she should be, given such drudgery is women’s work.” When Margery appeared to refill the mugs, Pellier smacked her bottom. “Bring me some food, wench.”

  “Get it thyself, little man.” The housekeeper placed another loaf of bread in a trencher. “And pick up thy dishes when ye art done, as I serve his lordship—not ye.”

  “Ah, I love ye, brazen lass, especially when ye dost give me sauce.” Again, he swatted her backside. “Fetch my meal, because thou art crazy about me, and thou cannot resist me.”

  “I must be crazy to have married ye.” Margery humphed, turned on a heel, and set a bowl at Pellier’s usual spot. “Thither is thy sustenance.”

  “Now that is a right and obedient wife.” As he straddled the bench, Pellier caught Margery by the wrist, hauled her into his lap, and claimed a loud kiss. “Tell me ye dost love me, as thou dost own my heart.”

  In a fit of pique that had Arucard biting his tongue, Margery lifted her chin. “Thou dost know well how I feel, little man, but if thou dost require it, I love ye.”

  With that, Pellier released his much better half. “And if ye art expecting Sir Geoffrey, thou art in for a long wait, as he departed before the sun peeked over the horizon.”

  “Oh?” A shiver of unease traipsed Arucard’s spine. “Whither hath he gone?”

  Pellier shrugged. “Said something about meeting destiny on a road of his choice.”

  In unison, the Brethren scrambled from their seats.

  “Sound the alarm, summon the master of the horse, and saddle our mounts.” Arucard ran toward the double-door entrance. “Geoffrey hath fled.”

  to catch a fallen spy

  chapter one

  The Descendants

  London

  September, 1815

  Secrets lurked in the shadows, beckoning as a welcomed friend for the undaunted. Unfettered by social conventions, the spotlight of which forced many a lord or a lady to conform to the expectations of others, the blackness functioned as a form of liberty, wherein revelers conducted their covert games without threat of discovery or retribution. It was in those dark spaces Lady Elaine Horatia Prescott found comfort and strength.

  As the youngest member of a large, extended family comprised of spirited ladies with bold personalities and equally intrepid men, the famed Nautionnier Knights of the Brethren of the Coast, daring sea captains descended of the Templars, the warriors of the Crusades, she often hugged the background, taking pride in her ability to hide in plain sight. Searching for some sense of herself, something not influenced by the rich history of her ancestors or her colorful relations, she fought to construct her own identity on her terms.

  What she had not expected was to find love.

  With great care, she moved swift and sure as she approached her target, skulking amid the outskirts of the crowd that filled the Hawthorne’s ballroom, during the height of the Little Season. As she neared, he shifted, and she paused just shy of touching him and held her breath.

  In one fail swoop, he pivoted, slipped an arm about her waist, pulled her into a corner, and bent to whisper in her ear. “Lady Elaine, you are the only person capable of sneaking up on me, and I am not sure I appreciate your skill.” Sir Ross Logan, the enigmatic head of the Counterintelligence Corps, brushed the crest of her flesh with his lips, she suspected not by accident, and her knees buckled. “Why do you not dance? Why do you not take your place among the ton, with the other debutantes? Do you not wish to snare a husband, marry, and have children?”

  “On the contrary, I want all those things with someone of my choosing.” She cupped his cheek, and he retreated, much to her chagrin. “But I am here because you are here.”

  “Elaine, you must stop this nonsense.” Now he withdrew and attempted to push her aside, but she resisted, even as her heart plummeted. And despite his complaints, he would not hazard courting attention, so she held her ground. “I am not the man for you.”

  “How do you know that?” It was not the first time he rejected her, and she surmised it would not be the last. “Why will you not give us a chance at happiness?”

  “Because I have nothing to give you but misery and regret.” As usual, Ross offered the same excuse.

  “I disagree.” As usual, she would not be deterred. “And I will not yield my cause, no matter your protestations.”

  “Neither will I.” To convey his position, he folded his arms, but he could never fool her. “Go back to your world of perfume and petticoats, as I have work to do, and I require no partner.”

  “As you wish.” Of course, she knew well the routine and her part to play in their typical drama. So she marched into the fray, unabashed and poised in her determination. A potential solution tripped before her, and she extended assistance, as would any woman of character. “Sir Kleinfeld, are you all right?”

  “Oh, my lady.” With a toothy grin, he brushed off his lapels and bowed. “Did I step on you?”

  “No.” Elaine giggled, because he was well known for such behavior. “How are you enjoying the party?”

  “Not very much, I am sorry to admit.” Frowning, he glanced over his shoulder. “The elder Miss Hogart refuses to grant me the honor of the Allemande.”

  “Perhaps she will change her mind, when she spies you in a graceful performance of the waltz, with me.” In a valiant appeal to his pride, she curtseyed. “What say you, Sir Kleinfeld?”

  “Lady Elaine, you are the soul of charity.” When she rested her palm in the crook of his elbow, he covered her hand with his. “You know, if my affections were not firmly planted in Miss Hogart’s garden, I should court you.”

  “You flatter me, sir.” To her credit, she mustered the courage to brave the rotation with one of the clumsiest, but good-natured, members of her set.

  And so she ventured into the breach, imperiling her feet in her quest to win Sir Ross. After the third trouncing of her toes, she swallowed a grunt of pain and prayed her savior would not linger, else she might suffer broken bones. Just how long would her beau wait? As if on cue, her rescuer presented himself as she predicted.
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br />   “May I intrude?” Ross tapped Archibald on the shoulder. “As I believe Miss Hogart seeks an audience.”

  “Capital.” Without so much as a backward glance, Sir Kleinfeld gave her into Ross’s care, and that suited Elaine just fine.

  “I know what you are doing.” Ross took her in his arms, twined her fingers with his, and they whirled in the soft light of the cut-glass chandeliers.

  “I beg your pardon?” She lifted her chin and avoided his stare.

  “Do not dissemble with me, Lady Elaine.” The tone of his voice declared she had scored a direct hit, and she reveled in her small victory. Near the side wall, he pulled her closer. “How dare you deliberately put yourself in jeopardy to bait me, as that buffoon could have seriously injured you.”

  “But you are not the man for me, so you would never answer a supposed summons.” Let him counter that. “Or did you lie?”

  “You lured me into the open, without thought of my mission or the risk to my safety, just to meet your selfish aims.” Now that hurt. “I ought to spank you.”

  “Name the date and time, and I shall accommodate you.” Swallowing her trepidation, she looked him in the eye, and he cast the hint of a grin. “I challenge you, sir.” She licked her lips. “Resist me.”

  “What in bloody hell are you two about?” Lance Prescott, sixth Marquess of Raynesford, her cousin and guardian, cleared his throat, and it was then she realized the music had stopped. “Do you intend to garner the notice of everyone present, as you have damn well succeeded?”

  A rush of whispers signaled society’s interest in the exchange, and she gulped, given she detested the spotlight and the gossip often associated with the glare of unscrupulous contemplation.

  “Lance, you are not helping.” Cara, Lance’s wife and one of Elaine’s lifelong friends and confidants, elbowed her husband. “Sir Ross, it is wonderful to see you, as always. Given your service to my family, might I persuade you to favor me with a minuet?”