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SOPHIE STRODE INTO the armoury and glared at the swords, axes, bows, knives, rifles, crossbows, spears. Every weapon a defender of the manor could need. Had Morgan run? Had Wood got to her? Had they arrested her? Where was she and why had she not said a word?
She glared up at the chamfered longsword of Charles De Breton. The tip still bore her blood. A trophy for Henry, a reminder to her never ever to lose again.
She took Edward De Breton the Third’s broadsword from below it and swiped it through the air.
Her head, heart, and hunger all pulled at her.
Her head—she was foolhardy to let Frank go. Had he not turned on her? Had he not tried to ensure that some invader breached her walls? She swiped the blade with one hand, letting it twirl. The same habit that had seen her shave her arm as a child. Henry always flinched when she did it. She’d been better with a sword than him but it had taken too long to realise it.
Her heart—wanted her to be honest. It niggled at her that Morgan was trusting her when she should not have; that Morgan had given her an alibi and hid her pistol when she should not have; that Morgan had placed her own liberty on the line and left her own fiancé for her . . . when she should not have.
She swung the blade to the left arm. Equal strength, precision, and speed. Not even Michela De Breton had her talent. Her grandfather told her he’d never known anyone handle a sword like her. He’d said it was as if blade and body were one. He was right. With a sword in her hand, something ignited inside, something she knew flowed from her ancestors.
Her hunger—chastised her for being so weak. Morgan was where she needed to be, heart surrendered; body yielded, loyalty guaranteed.
Why was Sophie lowering herself to be nice? Why had she allowed Morgan to penetrate her mind and body with sentiment. Hayes did not feel. Why was she standing, twirling her sword when she should be slicing Bright to pieces?
She narrowed her eyes. Yes, flatten the enemy.
“That’s some skill,” Morgan said behind her, tone guarded.
Which only made her twirl it, switch hands, catch it at speed. Trying to impress Morgan or beguile her?
“The big blade above has rust . . . or something on it,” Morgan said and strolled to the wall in front of it. “But it’s not Eugenie’s because Raquel buried that, didn’t she?”
“Yes.” The twirl was faster, furious, angry. How dare Morgan ask her such questions? How dare Morgan look at her with such trust? How dare she care?
“Henry went to Australia and was killed. Did you kill him too?” Morgan wasn’t flinching or recoiling or doing anything but leaning against the wall of swords.
“I should have.” Faster, switch hands, swoop of metal like propellers.
“Your parents?” Morgan folded her arms.
“No.” Faster still, breeze from the blade tickled the hairs on her neck. Inches away.
“So which sword is missing? If you killed Eugenie with a sword, I mean, which one did you pick?” Morgan’s tone was calm, guarded and calm.
Faster, faster, swoop.
“Michael De Breton the Second’s longsword.” She switched hands. “It used to be in my office.”
“And how did you lure her out when she’d dismissed you?” Morgan frowned, stance still relaxed except for the folded arms.
She stepped, lunged with the blade, stopped it inches from Morgan’s neck. “The same way you left your fiancé, the same way you lied to the police, the same way you are about to ask if you should hide that blade because you think Bunion’s blood is on it.”
Morgan kept still. No show of fear. “Should I?”
Sophie growled. “Are you not listening?” She inched the blade closer to Morgan’s jugular. “You think that I could love anyone?”
“Yes.” Morgan held her gaze and her long throat flexed. “I’ve looked plenty of killers in the eyes over the years.”
Sophie snarled. “Then why are you defending me?”
“Because you’ve never killed a soul.” Morgan batted the sword away with her prosthesis. “Your sword is Edward the Third’s broadsword. You used it as a child to defend Fiona more than once. Your favourite sword.” She pointed to a sword at the top to the left. “Michael De Breton the Second’s longsword, which I can pull Raquel in here to confirm if you want.” She held Sophie’s glare. “The sword you defended yourself with was a sabre. A sabre that Henry used in the military.”
Sophie lowered the sword. “Are you so blinded by your feelings that you cannot see what I am?”
Morgan pointed to the sword above. “The chamfered long sword of Charles De Breton . . . and it has your blood on it. He didn’t stab you with a knife, did he? No, Henry lunged at you with a sword, which is why he got sent to Sandhurst.”
How did Morgan know that? How did she know the swords?
“You didn’t kill the woman in Australia. Fiona sent over the forensics, it wasn’t your DNA at the scene but someone else’s.” Morgan nodded and pulled out her phone. “Someone very familiar.”
Sophie gripped the hilt of the sword. “Familiar?”
“Yes, you used evasion, narrow answers, matter-of-fact . . . you hate lying to me and it shows. You didn’t kill Eugenie but Henry wanted to. He wanted to kill you both and somehow you got the blade off him.” Morgan nodded, eyes intense and unyielding. “In fact you disarmed him and attacked him right back but it wasn’t to kill him, was it?” She stepped forward. “You didn’t kill Eugenie because she was alive and well to protect you in Australia . . . and I’ll prove it.” Morgan held up her phone and pressed call.
The phone answered.
“This is Morgan, I’m Sophie’s girlfriend. The police are on their way to arrest her for an attack on my ex-fiancé. I know you don’t have any reason to trust me but we need your help to hide anything than links her to any crime . . . please.” Morgan held her gaze.
Sophie stared at the phone.
Silence.
“I know you’re listening and I could use whatever means you have to expose Bright to the police?” Morgan’s tone and demeanour were so calm.
Sophie gripped the sword and growled.
“Easy, Darl. Girl talked me ’round. Already sweeping up as we speak.” The Recluse let out a chuckle. “Nicely played, Morgan.”
The Recluse cut the line.
Sophie growled again. “I should kill you for knowing.”
“But you won’t because you’re mush for me and you know it.” She tapped her forehead with her left hand which whirred. “Jackie’s blood was on some clothes behind the fireplace. Fiona had them sent out of the country and confirmed it but there was also DNA, but not yours, from the same person who killed the security guard Jake buried in the forest.” She held up her fingers one by one. “I found the guy from the conference centre on the moors too and he was shot by a rifle that matches one from the gun club.” She wagged her hand. “So here’s my theory, want to hear it?”
Sophie nodded, unable to speak.
“Henry was a psychotic bully who liked to kill people when he didn’t get his own way. You, as the real heir, defended your staff like you did with Frank and your siblings.” Morgan strolled from side to side. “But you were roped in to helping out your father because Peters was going to rip the estate from under him because he had a gambling issue with stocks and shares.” She flicked her phone screen across. “The estate was floated on the market it got so bad.”
Sophie stared at it. She couldn’t read it.
“So he sends you in to pull down Peters. You, a twenty-year-old kid made to seduce a twenty-five-year-old to save your own estate . . . Peters built his power on a strong ‘family’ ethos. The second his daughter stepped out with another woman he was finished.” Morgan flicked to a photo of her and Peters. “It was doctored, yes, but that was because it’s Eugenie in the car with you. She met you through Peters who was already part of the community quietly. You loved her, she loved you.”
“How do you know all this?” Sophie knew her jaw was slack but it was fruitless to try and move.
“I cheated. Eugenie likes to talk when you get her going and she really wants me to stick around.” Morgan waved it off. “Problem is, Eugenie’s father gets wind of it and he’s not a nice guy. He’s a nasty piece of work who has his tentacles in anything corrupt. She tries to shield you but her father gets Henry hooked on the horses . . . he owes him enough for the estate . . . makes him a deal. If he marries Eugenie, gives the Forthwright name some regal touches, he’ll call off the debt.”
“Which she must have told you.” How did Morgan get Eugenie to speak at all? She never revealed anything.
“Yep, and she told me that she told her father to get lost, that she loved you and that she was marrying Henry over her dead body.” Morgan nodded and stopped to focus on her. “So Henry, who’d already made the public announcement, agreed.”
“She did spare him some public attentions.” Sophie picked up the sword and placed it back. “But he decided he was going to teach her a lesson.”
“Yes and you and Eugenie used it to escape your own prisons.” Morgan leaned against the wall next to her. “But you are a Haye and Hayes always do their duty.”
Sophie sighed. “I do not like to think where this leads.”
“Forthwright was after you. Yes, you defended Eugenie when she was attacked by that woman. Who was pretty much a serial killer, by the way.” Morgan held her gaze. “You repeatedly said, ‘I killed her,’ to me with regret. The normal regret of a person who was forced into the situation.”
“She had her at gunpoint.” Sophie turned away.
“I know. Forthwright’s thugs liked to pose as the police and you did shoot the woman but she survived . . . only for someone related to you to catch up with her. The guy who arrested you wasn’t a police officer and tried to kill you.” Morgan reached for her hand. “Didn’t he?”
“Yes but Eugenie found us.” And she was lucky that Eugenie hadn’t been harmed in the rescue attempt.
“And killed him. Now Eugenie is a killer when she needs to be but the victims all seem to be nasty pieces of work who thought they could push you . . . which brings me to Mead.” Morgan held up her hand. “I know she killed him and I know you went with her. He tried to rat her out to Forthwright’s successor and Henry’s thugs, didn’t he?” She held her face. “And you followed your M.O. to the letter. You seduced his wife and made her turn on him. He lost everything and Henry and Forthwright’s successor turned away.”
“Jackie pleaded with me for help. I trusted her to do a job. She betrayed me,” Sophie growled.
“Yes, but you didn’t kill her. In fact, you tried to save her. The blood marks on your shirt are consistent with you having taken it off and tried to plug an arterial wound.” Morgan brushed soft lips over hers. “There’s even mucus on there from you crying.”
“Nonsense.” Sophie cleared her throat.
“Not nonsense. Then comes Henry. He finds you in Australia because you rescued Jackie from her husband, and follows you.” Morgan slid her arms around Sophie’s shoulders. “He goes after Eugenie’s child and you charge to the rescue . . . as always. Thing is, you’ve spent years in hiding, fighting, learning every trick, and he’s a big gambler who needs that child to bribe you because he now owes Salisbury, a big big shark, millions in gambling debts.” She smiled. “And considering Henry is such a gambler, he stays out of the spotlight completely. There are no pictures of him after Eugenie and you disappeared.”
“My parents banned him from public life.” She sighed. “They knew what truly happened and they tried to warn me when Henry came after us . . . but he killed them and I was helpless other than to mourn from afar.”
“Yes, but when he took Eugenie’s child, you flipped. You went at him in a way he wasn’t expecting on that boat and you had him where he once caught you but he fell overboard before you could change your mind and go after him.” Morgan shook her head. “I saw the police report. His blood was everywhere and he fell into waters with a lot of sharks living in it.”
“What does Fiona do again?” Sophie stared at Morgan. How did she have so much detail?
“Don’t slow my rhythm. I’m on a roll.” Morgan pulled back and took a small sword from the wall; one that had been used to train children for generations, its edges blunt. “So Henry is dead and you are the only living Haye . . . or not . . . You have to head back to England as steward of the estate, only Salisbury wants his money.”
“Which Eugenie told you.” Sophie picked up a second training sword. “Never place your leg out in front unless you are jabbing.”
Morgan nodded and swooshed her sword around. “Eugenie has been silent for years and she wants you safe. So Salisbury already owns Bright from a previous takeover.”
“Yes,” Sophie said and motioned for Morgan to attack. “And Bright is one way to recoup his money, I assume?”
“And then some.” Morgan swung the sword gently.
Sophie blocked it, gently. “Stand sideways. With a blade, always understand what is on display is a target. It is harder to hit a target that is thinner, yes?”
“Okay.” Morgan did as advised and used her right hand to hold the blade. She swung for Sophie’s lower body, slowly. “Salisbury sends in his daughter to butter you up but more so because he thinks you’re lying about Henry and wants to know where he is.”
Sophie blocked the strike and tutted. “Watch your balance. I need only tug your arm and you are on my blade.”
Morgan stepped back. “I was a goalkeeper. I’m better at charging at you.”
“In that case, Arthur . . . or Michela’s . . . sword might be of more use.” She smiled and Morgan tried a jab.
She grabbed Morgan’s wrist, yanked her in, delivered a searing kiss, and shoved Morgan back.
“If that’s what sword fighting is about, I like it.” Morgan touched her left hand to her lips. “Bright hired Mead’s people often but then Mead realised Bright’s new accountant was . . . Jackie. He wanted to get his own back and got her to think he would expose that you killed Henry by hiring . . . Bunion.”
“Very good. You should do this for a living.” Sophie parried another slow attack.
“You think?” Morgan poked out her tongue and flicked her blonde hair back in concentration. “Bunion discovers something . . . I don’t know what . . . but I think it’s something to do with the ticket stump in his pocket that Trin was onto. That led to the pottery . . . And Trin was in town the day she was attacked.”
“And you don’t think I attacked?” Sophie parried yet another slow strike. Morgan was getting it.
“No. I think you were persuading Raquel to move in, which is why she was still here in the library at midnight.” Morgan shifted on her feet, light, like a boxer. Yes, she was a natural.
“Guilty as charged.” Sophie tried a slow and gentle attack to the torso.
Morgan blocked it. “And the other two deaths were because the killer was trying to get to me . . . because whoever they were, they knew I was either something to you . . . or I was stopping them getting in.”
“Yet your friends will still arrest me and possibly charge me.” Sophie went for a slow, gentle overhead strike.
Morgan caught her hand with her left hand, swept her feet from her, removed her sword, turned her, and had her on her front on the floor in a takedown move so smooth that Sophie laughed.
“Not with me around.” Morgan lay on her, mouth to her ear. “I have someone we know watching Bright with a camera. He’s bound to meet Doyle and the second he does, we have him.”
“How so?” She glanced down her body. Morgan had placed both swords away from them.
“Because Doyle links Salisbury to Bright, to Mead, to Henry, and his debts to Frank and the witness statement I have waiting, to the gun club on the estate because Doyle happens to be a member of your club.” Morgan kissed her ear, kissed below it. “And my guess is that his gun will match the one which killed Rachel Salisbury.”
Sophie rolled herself onto Morgan and beamed down at her. “You seem very sure of yourself.”
“I am. You’ve rescued me several times and, for a scary serial killer, you weren’t half fast at getting to the wing ready to rescue me when Frank was sneaking around.” Morgan brushed her lips over Sophie’s chin.
“Perhaps I was merely defending the creepy suits of armour?” She sighed. It was unnerving how very transparent Morgan seemed to find her.
“Next you’ll be saying you were defending the deeds hidden in the room upstairs but you’d have gone into your hidden passageway for that.” Morgan pulled her by the chin into a kiss: slow, sensual, sure.
Sophie growled then sighed and laughed. “I fear you have unravelled me.” She pulled Morgan up, replaced the swords, and let Morgan lead her from the armoury. The bust of her grandfather stared back. She could imagine him howling with laughter. “Where are you taking me?”
“Fiona and Bob have camera feeds on them and are checking in every fifteen minutes.” Morgan leaned against the office door, eyes twinkling. “We’ll have what Wood needs to back off because Derek pushed through an intrusive surveillance order. In layman’s terms . . . the trap is set, the security are on high alert, Eugenie and Kate are cleaning up . . . and you may kiss me when you’re ready.”
Sophie yanked her up, forcing Morgan to wrap her strong thighs around her waist and shoved her through into the office. “I shall do much more than kiss you.”
Morgan smiled a sure smile. “Good. We’ll need plenty to do while we wait.”