Beyond Compare (33 page)

By the time Kyria and Con reached the roof, a man was dragging Alex inside through the window. The boy was still squirming and kicking and screaming—at least until his captor doubled up his fist and slammed it into the side of his head. Alex went limp.

Kyria let out an unholy shriek and ran across the roof, not so much climbing through the window as diving through it straight into the back of the man carrying Alex. All of them went tumbling to the floor, with Con jumping in on top.

Rafe, running up the stairs inside the building, heard Kyria’s high-pitched scream, and he took the last flight of stairs as if shot from a cannon. He met two of the black-clad kidnappers at the top of the stairs and took out one with a well-placed foot behind his knees that sent him crumpling to the stairs and then tumbling down them. The other one swung at Rafe’s head, and Rafe blocked the swing with his left arm, turning the pistol in his right hand around and bringing the butt of it down sharply on the man’s head. He slumped to the floor and Rafe stepped over him, then ran down the hallway toward the sounds of fighting.

What met his eyes—and Reed’s, as he charged into the room a moment later—was the sight of a large man rolling across the floor, desperately trying to fight off the flying fists and feet of a redheaded woman and a boy. He was screaming, more in fear, Rafe thought,
than in pain, but Kyria silenced that finally by grabbing his hair with both hands and banging his head sharply against the floor.

“All right, all right, that’s enough,” Reed said, moving in as she started to rap the man’s head against the wood a second time. “I think you’ve stopped him.”

Kyria looked up and saw her brother and, beside him, Rafe, who was grinning down at her, his blue eyes electric with the excitement of battle. “Alex!” she cried suddenly, remembering the reason for her rage.

She scrabbled across the floor to where he lay, still and silent. Tears flooded her eyes as she slipped her arms under him and lifted his head and shoulders, holding him to her. She cradled him against her chest, saying his name and smoothing his hair back from his forehead.

“What happened?” Reed asked, kneeling beside them.

“Is he all right?” Con cried, squirming between them. “Alex? Can you hear me?”

“That brute struck him!” Kyria told them hotly, her anger flaring anew at the thought of it. She bent and kissed his forehead. “He’s breathing.” She looked up anxiously at the others. “Do you think he’ll be all right?”

“We’ll take him home,” Reed told her, “and send for the doctor.”

“We have to go!” Rafe said urgently. “They’re coming.”

He swung out into the hallway, leveling his pistols. “Stop right there!”

Three of the black-clad men were charging toward them from the stairs. The masks had fallen off two of them, and the third one’s dangled foolishly from one
ear. Rafe was not sure whether or not any of them spoke English, but apparently the guns in his hands were something they could all understand, for they came to an abrupt halt and gazed at him warily.

“We are leaving now,” Rafe went on, “so I want you to move back.” He motioned with his guns, and the men obediently backed away.

Behind him, Reed came out into the hallway, carrying Alex in his arms, Con and Kyria beside him. Rafe started forward, and the black-clad men fell back even farther.

There was the sound of feet pounding on the stairs, and a moment later, the dark head of Brother Philip came into view. He stopped at the sight of the tableau before him. “Ah! I see you have them.”

“Are there any more out in the street?” Rafe asked.

“No. They have all fled. They took the man I knocked out with them. I would have pursued them, but I feared you might need my help.”

“I do. I think I saw a key back there, lying beside that fellow whose head Kyria was cracking.”

The monk’s eyes widened a little at this statement, but he said nothing.

Reed spoke up. “Yes, there was a key.”

“All right. Good. I’m going to put these fellows in that room behind them.” He spoke to the men, motioning again with a pistol. “You all go into that room. That’s right.”

The men backed into the room, and Rafe closed the door. “Now, Brother Philip, you get that key and I will lock them up. Then you go with Reed and the others down to the carriage.”

The monk nodded and bounded away to fetch the key. Kyria, Con and Reed, still carrying Alex, started
slowly down the stairs. Brother Philip returned and handed Rafe the key, then ran down the stairs to join the others, his staff at the ready just in case some of their enemies had found the courage to return.

Rafe tried the key in the door and found that it fit. With a smile, he turned the key. “So long, fellows. Don’t worry, we’ll send someone to get you out. What is it you call them here? Oh, yeah, ‘peelers,’ isn’t it?”

He caught up to the others on the stairs and passed them to go out the front door first and make sure that no one was waiting for them. The dark street was deserted except for their carriage, the coachman standing anxiously at the horses’ heads.

The coachman let out a gusty sigh of relief and climbed back to his seat, urging the horses forward to meet them. Rafe climbed into the carriage and took Alex from Reed, the others piling in behind them. Brother Philip, to give them more room, joined the coachman.

As the carriage rolled forward, Alex stirred and muttered something incomprehensible. In another moment, his eyelids fluttered open. They soon focused on his sister.

“Kyria! I knew I heard you. And Reed. Where’s Con?”

“I’m here! I’m right here,” Con cried. “You’re all right! I knew you would be!”

“Are you kidding?” Rafe said, leaning over to ruffle Con’s hair. “It’d take a lot more than these fellas to do in either one of you.”

Rafe trotted down the front stairs the following morning, his mind on the task before him. They had returned to Broughton House late the night before, and
after Reed had sent for the police and a doctor, they had spent a good deal of time looking over Alex and seeing that he was fed and put to bed.

The doctor had pronounced Alex fit, despite the bump on his head, and had advised a day or two of rest for the boy, advice, he acknowledged with a sigh, that was unlikely to be followed. He had, after all, been the Morelands’ doctor for many years. The police had left and returned sometime later with the disheartening news that the miscreants had all fled the warehouse by the time they arrived. They had assured Reed that they would investigate the matter thoroughly, including visiting the opium den, but it was clear that they found the Morelands’ explanation preposterous and were likely going to go through the motions solely because of the family’s prominence.

Everyone had finally retired, Rafe kissing Kyria’s hand and leaving her and Reed to put the twins to bed, then going down the hall to his own room. He spent a lonely and rather wakeful remainder of the night alone in his bed, thinking.

By morning, he had decided on a course of action, and so planned to leave the house early to conduct a little private business.

As he reached the bottom step, he was startled to see the front door open and a large, rather odd-looking individual step inside. The stranger was tall and broad-shouldered and dressed in a lightweight white suit at odds with the chilly November weather. He wore no hat on his thick, black, shoulder-length hair, and his bronzed face was half-covered by a bushy black beard and mustache.

“Who the hell are you?” Rafe demanded, striding forward.

“Who the devil are you?” replied the intruder in a crisp British accent, dropping the valise he carried in one hand and balling up his hands into fists in readiness.

At that moment Rafe’s question was answered by a shriek from Kyria on the stairs above him. “Theo!”

K
yria raced down the stairs past Rafe and threw herself into the large man’s arms. He hugged her close, laughing.

“Well, it’s good to see I haven’t been forgotten,” Theo said, planting a kiss on Kyria’s forehead. “My God, girl, you get more beautiful every time I see you. I suppose half the hearts in London are still at your feet.”

“Don’t be silly.” Kyria’s face was wreathed in smiles. “It is so wonderful to see you. We were all hoping you would be here for Olivia’s wedding.”

“I was, too,” Theo said ruefully. “But I ran into some problems, and I’m a few weeks late. I’m sorry.”

His arm around Kyria’s waist, Theo’s eyes went beyond her to Rafe, his expression curious and faintly wary.

“Oh!” Kyria exclaimed. “Theo, you must meet Rafe.”

She took Theo’s hand, pulling him over to Rafe. “Theo, this is Rafe McIntyre. He is, um, a friend of Stephen St. Leger. He came for the wedding and has been…well, it’s a terribly long story, but he has been
helping us ever since. Rafe, this is my eldest brother, Theodosius, Lord Raine.”

The two men shook hands, silently taking each other’s measure. They were interrupted by a tornado in the form of the twins, who came bounding down the stairs, shrieking their brother’s name, and launched themselves at him. Theo staggered back under the onslaught, but it was clear from the broad smile that creased his face that he did not mind it.

“Theo.” Reed’s greeting was quieter as he descended the stairs, but his grin was broad, and he maneuvered around the bouncing twins to shake his brother’s hand heartily.

“What is this?” Reed teased, giving Theo’s beard a tug. “Have you gone native?”

Theo’s teeth shone whitely between the curling black beard and mustache, and his bright blue eyes twinkled. “Just got out of the outback and then jumped a ship straightaway to get to Olivia’s wedding. Storm set us back, though, blew us off course, and I lost most of my luggage. Why else do you think I’m freezing in this summer suit?”

Kyria urged them all into the sitting room and rang for tea and food for Theo.

“I’m so sorry you didn’t make it for the wedding,” she told her brother. “It was lovely, and Olivia was ecstatic. They’ll be on their honeymoon for a month in Europe. Please say you will stay until they get back so that you can see them.”

“Of course I will. Got to give them their present, after all—Olivia will be happy to know I managed to save it, even if I did lose my clothes,” Theo said cheerfully.

“So the box wasn’t a wedding present,” Kyria said.
“I thought surely it was not. But was it you who sent it, Theo? I know you have barely gotten home and I hate to plague you with questions, but there has been the most enormous mess over that box, and I just have to know—”

“Know what?” Theo looked at her blankly. “What box? What are you talking about?”

“The reliquary,” Reed told him. “Are you telling us that you didn’t send it to Kyria?”

“What’s a reliquary?” Theo asked.

“You didn’t send it?” Kyria cried. “Then who did? And why?”

“I’ll show you the thing,” Reed said in answer to his brother’s question, and went to get the box from the safe in the study.

While he was gone, the twins proceeded to pelt their eldest brother with their versions of the story about the box.

“It’s a religious thing,” Con told him, “and I was the one who figured out how to open it.”

“And they kidnapped me ’cause they wanted it,” Alex stuck in. “But I got away, and then Rafe and Reed and Kyria came and got me—”

“Me, too!” Con said indignantly.

“And Con. He’s the one who told everybody about the men grabbing me.”

“They grabbed us both, but I got away.”

Theo looked at Kyria in confusion. “What are they talking about? Alex was kidnapped?”

Kyria nodded and shushed the boys. “Let me tell him the whole thing.”

By the time she finished, Theo’s jaw was hanging open in astonishment. “Are you having me on?” he asked suspiciously.

Kyria laughed. “No. I promise you. I know it’s all terribly bizarre, but that is what happened.”

“Here,” Reed said, coming into the room and setting the box down in front of his brother. “See for yourself.”

His large hands moving carefully, Theo removed the reliquary from the drawstring bag. He sucked in his breath in admiration. “It’s magnificent! No wonder everyone wants it. Look at this jewel—is that a black diamond? It’s huge!”

Kyria nodded. “It’s called the Heart of Night. The box opens. Show him, Con.”

Con proceeded to do so, and Theo looked even more awestruck at the sight of the ancient scrap of cloth. He closed the box and returned it to the bag, then handed it to Reed, saying, “But why was it sent to you, Kyria?”

“We thought you had done it. The man who delivered it was named Leonides Kousoulous, or so we think. That is the name that was on his calling card, and—”

“Kousoulous! But I know him.” Theo frowned, saying, “That must have been what he was talking about! Oh, my God—you said he died?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. We thought you had sent him, but then when you didn’t know about the reliquary, I assumed you didn’t know him, either.”

“How did you say it happened?”

“Someone stabbed him,” Rafe explained. “I saw it happen, but I was too far away to get there in time to catch the culprit. We carried him inside, but he was too badly wounded to survive.”

Theo put his head on his hand, looking stricken. “He
must have been bringing it to me. Bloody hell! If only I had made it in time…”

“What do you mean?” Reed asked. “Why did he ask for Kyria?”

Theo shook his head. “I don’t—Oh! He probably was saying
kyrie.
He was Greek. He always called me
Lord
Moreland. Kyrie Moreland. I didn’t bother to explain the titles, and
kyrie
means
lord
in Greek.”

“You said he talked to you about the box?” Rafe prodded.

“He wrote me.” Theo sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. “I got a letter from him right before I left Australia. He was being very secretive, talking about some object without ever really saying what it was. He wrote that he needed my advice. He said he had bought something and had later learned that it was even more valuable than he had thought. He and I had talked many times about artifacts and what should be done with them. We agreed that they shouldn’t be looted and sent all over the world to wealthy private collectors.” He looked at Kyria. “I’m sorry. Father knows how I feel about that.”

Kyria nodded encouragingly. “I know. That is one reason that we were so puzzled, thinking that you had sent it.”

“I could hardly make heads or tails of what he was talking about, he was so blasted mysterious—and his handwriting looked as if he’d done it in the dark. He kept bringing up faith and God, and I hadn’t the least notion what he was upset about. If I hadn’t known him and trusted him, I would have dismissed his letter as a lunatic’s ravings. Anyway, he wanted me to come to Istanbul and talk to him. Alternatively, he said he would meet me somewhere, anywhere I chose. So I
cabled him back, telling him I had to return to England and that I would meet him here in London. But then my ship was delayed, and I didn’t make it back in time.”

“He came here, but the servants didn’t know what he was talking about,” Kyria said. “They thought he was saying Kyria Moreland, too, and they told him we had all gone to Broughton Park for the wedding.”

Theo nodded. “He was not proficient in English. We usually conversed in French.” He sighed. “Poor chap.”

“Well then,” Kyria said, “the reliquary belongs to you. It was you he was bringing it to.” She was aware of a curious reluctance to turn over the reliquary, even to her brother.

“Me?” Theo shook his head. “Oh, no, it’s not mine. It was Kousoulous’s. He was just asking my advice. He gave it to you.”

“No, we just
thought
that was what he was doing.”

“It is as much yours as anyone’s,” Theo insisted. “You are the one who has been dealing with it. You should make the decision of what to do with it.” He paused, then added curiously, “What
are
you going to do with it?”

“I don’t know. I hadn’t made any decision because I was waiting to hear from you. I thought you had sent it for a reason. Now that I know why he brought it here…well, it obviously doesn’t belong to any of us. And I certainly have no intention of selling it to that dealer or one of the collectors.”

“What about a museum?” Reed asked.

“There is the Imperial Ottoman Museum in Istanbul,” Theo suggested.

“Yes. But I can’t help but think that the Keepers
have the best claim to it,” Kyria mused. “Their order was entrusted its care, and they have cared for it for hundreds and hundreds of years.”

“That’s true,” Rafe agreed. “And I think that they have amply demonstrated that they were not the ones who killed Mr. Kousoulous or invaded your house.”

“They certainly helped us yesterday,” Reed agreed. “And they saved you two the other night.”

“It seems a shame to hide it from sight,” Theo said.

“I don’t know. Perhaps that would be the best thing in the larger sense—to protect it, to restore it to the holy order that has looked after it for centuries, rather than making it an object of display in a museum.” Kyria shrugged.

“Well, whatever you think is best, Kyria,” Theo said. “I trust your instincts.”

Kyria smiled at him. “I’m not sure I do.” She was quite aware of feeling again that curious reluctance to give up the reliquary.

She was still feeling it some hours later as she sat in the study, the reliquary sitting in her lap, her hand resting lightly on it. The others had all gone—the twins to their studies, Rafe out on some personal business matter, and her older brothers, once Reed’s valet had shaved Theo and cut off an excess of hair, off to their club to while away their time with a few drinks and masculine company.

Kyria had puttered around for a while, starting and stopping a number of tasks, her mind not on any of them. She had thought about Rafe and wondered what pressing personal business had sent him off this afternoon. It seemed odd that he should suddenly decide that he needed to work on some business matter when he had been in the city for some time now and had not
made the slightest move to do any business. She could not help but wonder if he was considering an imminent departure.

There was no reason, she told herself, to think that he was planning to leave other than that was precisely what everyone said men did if one was unwise enough to let a man “have his way” with one. Rafe was different, she knew. He had not set out to seduce her. He had, in fact, tried to play the honorable role. It wronged him to think that he would just leave now.

But he had not said he loved her.

Of course, Kyria thought, she had not said the words, either, but she knew that she felt them. She would not have gone to his bed, otherwise, no matter how carried away she had been with passion. She wanted to think that Rafe would not have done so, either, but every time she told herself that, her insecurities rose up to scoff at her.

To get her mind off Rafe, she had decided to think about the problem of the reliquary, instead. That problem, she found, was no more easily resolved. The box should go back to the Keepers, she thought. She could not help but believe that their story was genuine. But she was too honest to ignore the fact that she hated to give it up.

Finally, she had gone to the study and taken the reliquary out of the safe again. She held it in her lap, her thumb unconsciously caressing the black stone. The Heart of Night…

It seemed such an apt name. Lyrical and romantic, an appropriate jewel for a goddess. She thought about the worship of the goddess that Nelson Ashcombe had described to them. The world had once had a number of goddess cults, she knew; after all, the themes of har
vest and rebirth were similar to the Druidic religion that had thrived in England in ancient times. Odd, how ancient religion had centered on the female…

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” A man’s voice spoke from the doorway of the study.

Kyria jumped, almost knocking the reliquary from her lap, and she whirled around to look at the doorway, her hands clamping around the box. “Oh!” She let out a shaky little laugh of relief. “Lord Walford. You startled me.”

“I am sorry.” He smiled at her and advanced into the room. “I hope you will excuse me for dropping in on you like this.”

Kyria rose and set the box down on the small table beside her. “Of course. You are quite welcome here.”

However, she thought, she intended to have a talk with Phipps about the servants’ letting a visitor just walk in without announcing him first. She supposed they, too, must be excited by Theo’s arrival, but still…

“Shall we repair to the drawing room?” she suggested, gesturing toward the door. “If you will excuse me, I will just put this away, and then I will join you.”

“Oh, please, don’t put it away.” Walford stopped, looked abashed. “I am sorry. You must think me terribly presumptuous. But if that is the Reliquary of the Holy Standard you have there, I would very much like to look at it. Ashcombe told me about it. I have never seen the man so excited.”