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Lloyd’s Mansion
The Kingdom of Fife
Beams of daylight poked through the heavy curtain and landed on the Persian rug. The four-poster bed and antique furniture would have impressed Bethany if she wasn’t being held against her will. She perched on the edge of the bed and wrapped the cashmere throw rug tighter around herself. Sleep had eluded her, and cold shakiness had settled in her middle. Even the dawn chorus outside, evidence that the world would go on without her, couldn’t melt the ice collecting inside.
As civilised as Lloyd appeared, the glimpse into his soul last evening had convinced her that her life’s value held little meaning for him.
This was a takeover. A polite one so far, apart from when they roughed her up leading her to this room—but a takeover no less.
The door opened and Maxwell stood there.
“You’re expected at breakfast,” he said and strode away, leaving the door open.
Bethany slid off the bed and walked to the door, then peered to her left. Maxwell strutted along the hallway. The aroma of fried bacon and coffee wafted through the corridor and hit her nose, so she followed. At the far end of this corridor, Maxwell stood at a door to the left and directed her in.
Lloyd sat at the head of a table in a bay window.
“Come, Miss Watts, have a seat.” Lloyd gestured to the chair opposite.
Bethany stepped over and sat in the carver chair while Maxwell remained at the doorway.
“I trust you slept well,” Lloyd asked.
“No.”
A tight smile crossed Lloyd’s face. “Please, enjoy our fare.” He indicated the silver-plated serving dishes on the table before her. The bacon was tempting. She served herself some and a spoon full of the scrambled eggs, which were a bright yellow, not the pale of powdered egg. The salty bacon and creamy egg warmed her mouth and slid down her throat, sending the cold into a dark corner.
“I want you to give up the Prime Minister-ship.” Lloyd scooped egg into his mouth with the nonchalance of the psychopath he was.
“The Scottish people elected me—”
“What?” A short scoff escaped him. “The residents of the Government Bunker?”
“And,” she continued, ignoring his derision and the cold rising once more. “They will decide if I’m to be removed.”
Lloyd stared across the table at her, his head trembling to contain his smirk.
Bethany turned away to the view provided by the bay window; she couldn’t stand to look at Lloyd’s face. Outside, a guard dropped to the ground. Rory Campbell pulled his hand from the guard’s mouth and his knife out of the man’s back. Bethany willed her expression to calmness and returned her gaze to Lloyd. He forked baked beans with gusto, the noises of his own breakfast consumption masking any coming from the yard. He poured himself coffee and Bethany returned to observe the activity. The door to the closest outhouse was open and the Chinese man who usually accompanied Rory Campbell, came out of it—carrying handguns. Both he and Campbell disappeared around the corner.
“I won’t capitulate, Mr Lloyd,” she spoke in a loud voice. “What shall you do now?”
Lloyd’s forkful of scrambled egg stopped mid-ascent to his lips. He returned it to his plate and gave her his full attention.
“You have guts. I see why they voted you in. Pity you don’t have the right people on your side.”
Antony is on my side. He must be. But Antony didn’t have any power, imprisoned as he was.
“Don’t think McLellan will be any help to you. He and I... let me put it this way: we work together quite well.” His eyebrows raised.
The shivers started, accompanied by a sense of danger similar to what she felt whenever she was with Antony. But it wasn’t the exciting, sexually stimulating sense of danger. Her attraction to the damaged and intriguing man had led her here. To where Antony’s deception was revealed. He’d been playing chess. Not the chess where you are careful with your queen, but the chess in which to achieve your objective—keeping the king safe—you would sacrifice her to gain it. Bethany’s heartbeat rocked her chest, coinciding with another understanding.
Capitulation or decapitation were her only choices here.
And it would be soon.
The pop of distant gunfire came from behind the house. Lloyd’s head flicked up from his toast and Maxwell sped out of the room.
“What have you done?” His accusing stare bore into her.
Bethany blinked. The gunfire increased, then the window high above her cracked and glass rained down. Bethany gasped and ducked sideways, laying flat, face-down on the carpet. Lloyd rose and shoved past the breakfast table; cutlery clattered, and crockery rattled.
“What’s happening?” he shouted out the door of the breakfast room.
“I’m trying to find out, Father,” Maxwell yelled down the corridor.
“Someone’s forced the armoury and we can’t reach it to see what they’ve taken,” another voice from the hallway said. “Someone’s taking shots and they’re knocking off anyone who gets near.”
“What’s the noise from the back building?” Lloyd yelled.
Bethany crept to the window, avoiding shards of glass. Bodies lay near the open door to what must have been the arms store to which Maxwell referred. A young woman, vicious looking, ran in and came out with an armful of guns and a bag over her shoulder. She must be with Campbell, for she wasn’t in the uniform of Lloyd’s people.
A man with a dreadlock hairstyle ran into the room.
“It’s Rory Campbell, Father.” It was the bandit-turned-community man.
Lloyd followed him out.
So, I won’t be the only one double-crossed today.