Page 156 of The Language of Love

She could only assume that Julia had told them about the entrance. Did Henry know about it, too? If not, he mightn’t know that they’d entered the castle.

Fear and dread writhed in her belly at the thought. Should she make a racket to draw attention? Should she—

Richard’s voice was a low hiss beside her ear, “Don’t do anything foolish, Annis.”

Annis swallowed down a yelp.

“Get going,” he ordered.

She prayed they’d pass a servant on their long, winding journey to Henry’s study, but at one-thirty in the morning there wasn’t a soul about and they reached Henry’s study without incident.

“Open the door, Annis.”

Annis did as Richard bade her and lifted the lamp shield higher as she entered. The fireplace glowed darkly, the embers a sullen red, telling her it had been hours since Henry had last been in the room. She liked to tease him about his need for fires, even in the summer.

The door clicked shut behind her and there was a flare of light from Martha’s lamp.

Richard strode toward the fireplace and grunted as he tilted the andiron off the stone hearth.

“Ha!” he muttered in triumph, taking the key before lowering the heavy firedog. Without hesitating, he went to the portrait covering the vault, and his wife followed.

Annis inched backward, toward the door.

As if she had eyes in her head, Martha swung around. “Not so fast.” She lifted the pistol. “Put the lamp on that table and come sit over here where I can keep an eye on you.” She gestured to the chair in front of Henry’s desk.

Annis did as she was told, and Martha positioned herself so that she could keep both Annis and Richard in her line of sight.

There was a dull metallic clang and then Richard’s low laughter. “Bloody hell,” he murmured. He grunted and stepped back.

When he turned, he had the reliquary in his arms. “This thing must be worth a fortune by itself,” he said in a strained voice, setting it on the table with a thump.

“It’s not solid gold, but it will be thickly plated.” Martha craned her neck to get a better look while still keeping Annis in view. “It’s a shame we don’t have time to remove some of those emeralds.”

“We stay with the plan, my dear,” Richard said as he lifted the top. He whistled softly at the contents. When Martha took a step closer, he gave her a sharp look. “Keep an eye on her ladyship, Martha.”

His wife scowled but stepped back.

Richard opened the doctor’s bag he’d brought along with him and took out a bundle of thick felt, laying a piece flat before reaching into the reliquary.

The first thing he took out was the painting. He held it closer to the lamp, turning the religious icon side to side, his grin turning slowly to a frown as he stared.

“What is it, Richard?” Martha asked. “Is something—”

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Julia’s voice shattered the tense silence.

The way Annis would remember it later, five things happened simultaneously.

She shrieked, Martha shrieked, Richard dropped the painting, a deafening bang echoed in the cavernous room, and the silk-covered cushion she was leaning against exploded, filling the air with goose down.

A fraction of a second later, a second shot went off and Richard made a muffled grunting sound before staggering back a step, raising his hand to his chest, his eyes wide. “You shot me,” he said, his voice thick with disbelief.

“Richard!” Martha cried out, dropping her still smoking pistol and running to her husband. She caught Richard as he slid to the floor, staggering beneath his weight, and falling down with him.

Annis’s head whipped around to where Julia stood, a pistol still in her hand, her lips parted in shock. “I didn’t mean to,” she said, her face as white as parchment.

“Richard!” Martha wailed.

The door flew open, clipping Julia hard enough in the back that it knocked her forward.