Chapter Thirty

Eliot glanced out the window partway down the stairs and caught sight of a lone rider walking his horse out the gate at Deverell. Frowning, certain it was one of Garlon’s men, he hurried down and made for the drawing room on hearing Climence’s voice.

“The state of you,” she said, shaking her head.

Standing just inside the door, Eliot’s eyes widened at the sight of Jack’s dishevelled, begrimed appearance.

Marcelin and Lina, on the divan by Climence’s chair, looked equally stunned.

“Forgive me for appearing in this manner,” said Jack, his back to Eliot as he sagged in the chair.

“What happened?” Climence lowered her fan. “I expected you much sooner.”

“The giant, he captured me–”

“What?” Gasping, Climence started forward to perch on the edge of her seat.

Eliot’s muscles stiffened; Lina’s hand shot up to cover her mouth.

“He chained me,” said Jack, lowering his head. “Then caged me.”

Climence vigorously fanned herself. “Barbaric. But how did you escape?”

“The morning after, the giant was busy elsewhere, not in the house. I was alone with the female. I tricked her into freeing me. When I tried to escape, she sought to stop me. I pushed her, she fell. I grabbed my chance and managed to get away. Quen-my escort was still waiting for me.”

Climence’s eyebrows shot up as she began to smile. “Well done. Isn’t he brave?” She turned to Marcelin and Lina, but their expressions remained guarded.

“The female,” said Marcelin, “is she hurt?”

Straightaway, Climence scowled. “Why so bothered? You didn’t question their cruel treatment of Jack. All that matters is, he escaped.” Her expression softened as she faced Jack and pointed to the cloth-covered object he still held. “Is that the prize?”

“Yes, madam.” Getting to his feet, he took a faltering step forward. Placing the harp on the low table close to Climence’s chair, he removed the cloth.

Climence leaned forward while Marcelin and Lina rose and moved closer as did Eliot. They stood on one side of the harp with Jack on the other. Lina bent closer, her expression one of wonder.

The dark wood harp with its exquisite carving of the female form on the pillar drew murmurs of appreciation from them.

“Make it sing,” said Climence, sounding breathless.

Leaning forward, Jack plucked a string, as he had seen the giant do.

Eliot, standing by Marcelin, realised he was holding his breath.

The carved woman opened her eyes.

A small squeak escaped Lina, and she jerked back.

The carved woman opened her mouth, swivelled her gaze to Jack and said one word. Then she closed her eyes.

An almost tangible silence filled the room. Although none of them understood the word that had been spoken, there was no mistaking the harsh, offended tone.

Eliot had to quell the inexplicable urge to laugh.

Climence spoke, her tone that of a petulant child. “You said it sings most wondrously. Make it sing. I want to hear.”

A flush darkened Jack’s tired, pale face. Fumbling, he plucked another string.

The harp repeated the same word.

He tried twice more, and they heard the same word twice more; if anything, it sounded more severe each time. “But it does sing. I swear it does.”

Eliot couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pity at the man’s desperate tone. Glancing at Marcelin, he could see pity mirrored in her expression also.

Climence got to her feet and glared at Jack. “What’s the point of having this, thing when it looks no different from any other ornament? I suppose the cursed thing will only sing for its master. If it sings at all.”

“It does, I–”

“Shut up, Jack. I’m vexed enough as it is.” Snapping her fan open, she flounced to the window, her back to them.

Silent moments crept by as they stared at the innocuous-looking harp until a question occurred to Eliot. “When you were captured, did the tall-folk question you?”

Jack started to move away. “What do you mean?”

Eliot stepped in front of him. “Exactly what I said, did he ask you any questions?”

“I don’t–”

“It’s a simple question, did he, or didn’t he? Though your wariness makes me believe he did. What did you tell him?”

Keeping his gaze averted, Jack shouldered past Eliot.

“Answer me.” Eliot grabbed him by the arm.

“He wanted to know why I stole from him,” said Jack, his tone loud as he pulled away from Eliot.

“What did you tell him?”

Scowling, he shrugged.

“Did you mention our names?” Eliot refused to relent.

“This is most aggravating.” Climence, her voice unnaturally shrill, had turned to face them. “Why the relentless questioning?”

Unable to believe the foolishness of her words, Eliot stared before answering. “If he’s named us, named you, that could endanger us.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. How could one giant prove a danger to us?”

His nostrils flaring, Eliot returned his attention to Jack. “What did you say to the tall-folk?”

“I only said my master told me to. I didn’t say any names.”

The tell-tale flicker of Jack’s gaze did nothing to assuage Eliot’s unease.

“I didn’t believe for one moment Jack would betray us,” said Climence, a somewhat forced smile curving her lips.

“Thank you, madam,” said Jack, bowing. “By your leave, I’d better return–”

“No, you will be staying here for now.”

“What?” Eliot jerked upright. “Why?”

Before Climence could reply, Marcelin said, “Is that why Ismay readied a guest room?”

Glaring, first at Eliot then Marcelin, Climence said, “Again, I am being questioned in my house. What I decide is my business.”

“Why can’t he return to his master’s house?” said Eliot as if Climence hadn’t spoken.

“That is none of your concern.”

“Mother,” said Marcelin, “I don’t think this is a suitable–”

“Enough. Jack is staying and that is the end of the matter.”

“But–”

“Marcelin.” Her face twisted in anger, Climence brandished her closed fan at her daughter. “I said that is the end of it.”

Frowning, her lips pressed together in a straight line, Marcelin grabbed Lina by the hand and marched out of the room.

Eliot watched them leave then fixed Jack with a narrow-eyed stare, silently warning him not to step out of line before he, too, walked out.