Will felt his shoulders stiffen in apprehension. He didn’t like the way Rufus was talking; all the humor, the daredevil amusement had left him, and both voice and countenance were as hard as agate. Rufus was going somewhere with this account of his discoveries, and Will couldn’t guess where. But it was not a happy destination, that much he knew.

“Burghers’ wives will give up their jewels; merchants will yield silver plate, pewter, gold, anything that can be melted down or sold. And Granville’s going to be collecting lead and iron for bullets and cannon.”

The blue eyes were ciphers as they rested on Will’s face. “And where else do you think Granville’s going to be looking for revenue, Will?”

Will swallowed uneasily under the pitiless gaze. He was expected to come up with an answer, but he couldn’t think what would be the correct response.

Rufus drummed his fingers on the mantelpiece, his short, well-shaped nails clicking against the wood, waiting for Will to catch up. After a moment’s silence, he prompted softly, “Presumably, Granviile will contribute from his own resources too.”

“Well, yes, I suppose so,” Will said, frowning as he wrestled to find the answer that would satisfy his cousin. “He’s raised his own militia, and that’ll cost a pretty penny. And if he’s establishing his own armory…”

“Yes, I would imagine Cato is intending to make free with any source of revenue he can lay hands on,” Rufus said, and his voice now would have corroded alchemist’s gold.

Will stared at him as the implication slowly became clear. “You… you think he’ll use Rothbury?”

Rufus’s eyes were fixed on a point above Will’s head, but even so the younger man shivered at the deadly venomous spark flickering across the cold blue surface.

“Why wouldn’t he?” Rufus said in the same corrosive tone. “Why wouldn’t he?” He moved abruptly toward the table, swinging one booted foot, and a stool skittered across the flagged floor to fall on its side against the wall. “Cato Granviile holds the stewardship of the Rothbury estates. Why wouldn’t he use their revenues to support his own cause?”

Will rarely saw his cousin’s almost legendary temper, because Rufus had learned many years ago to keep it well under control. But he sensed now that Rufus was very close to the brink, and Will understood why.

“He holds the stewardship for the crown,” he suggested tentatively. “Surely he couldn’t divert such revenues to use against the crown.”

“Why not?” Rufus demanded. “The man’s a cheat, a liar, a traitor. He’s broken his oath of fealty to his sovereign. What possible moral code do you think he has? Don’t be naive!” He paced the room, and the walls seemed to close in on Will as his cousin’s powerful presence and enraged spirit filled the space until it seemed it couldn’t possibly contain him.

Suddenly Rufus slammed his clenched fist against the wall and a shelf of crockery above shivered, setting pewter and stoneware rattling against each other. Will, for all that he knew that he personally was safe from any explosion, began to wish he could slip from the room unnoticed.

“I will not permit it,” Rufus said, and his voice was now as quiet and as venomous as an adder’s sting. “That cur will not divert Rothbury revenues for his own purposes. I will have those for the king. And when he’s gathered his treasure, then I will have that too. I will have every piece of silver, every golden guinea, every jewel, every lead bullet and steel pike that he collects. I will have them for the king.”

Will didn’t know whether he should respond. His cousin didn’t seem to be speaking directly to him; this soft, vicious promise was a personal one. But Will couldn’t help himself. Into the ensuing silence, he said hesitantly, “How?”

Rufus came back to the table, and his eyes now were alight, the terrifying tension of his contained rage gone from his powerful frame. “I’ve a plan as nasty and as devious as Cato Granville himself, Will.” He picked up his tankard and drained it, before hooking a finger into the handle of a stone jar and hefting it from the shelf, holding it against his shoulder as he drew the cork with strong white teeth.

“Are you man enough for this, Will?” He gestured with the jar, his voice teasing, but Will had the feeling that the question applied to more than his ability to drink the powerful Scottish spirit made from malted barley that could put a strong man under the table within an hour.

He pushed his tankard forward and Rufus filled it halfway. “You’ll need a few more years under your belt before you can take much more than that, lad,” he said, perching on the edge of the table, taking a deep swallow from the jar before putting it beside him. “Right, what could Cato Granville have that he would value above all else?” A bushy red eyebrow lifted.

Will took a cautious sip of the spirit. “I don’t know. How could anyone know?”

“He has a daughter,” Rufus murmured in an almost musing tone. “Indeed, I believe he has three daughters… He has a beautiful wife…?” He regarded Will with the same lifted eyebrow.

Will was beginning to feel befuddled, but he didn’t think the condition could be entirely ascribed to the drink. Rufus seemed to be talking in riddles. He kept silent, regarding his cousin warily.

Rufus picked up the jar again. “It’s simple enough, lad. Cato will yield Rothbury revenues to me in exchange for his oldest daughter.” He tilted it to his mouth while Will stared aghast, Rufus’s plan finally making sense.

“A hostage… you would hold the girl for ransom, as a hostage.”

“Precisely.” Rufus set down the jar and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “In exchange for Rothbury-for the revenues of my rightful inheritance. His father betrayed mine for those revenues, and now I will bargain for their return with a coin he will not be able to refuse. They are mine, Will,” he said with soft savagery. “Mine. And I will not endure that they be used by a Granville sewer rat.”

Will gulped at the contents of his tankard and choked violently, doubling over as his eyes and nose streamed and the fire scorched his gullet. Rufus thumped him on the back with controlled vigor. “Small sips, Will, small sips,” he advised, and the intensity had left his voice, which was once more light and amused.

Will looked up through his fiery tears. “How are you going to do this?”

“I’m not sure yet, but it’ll come to me. Now, get you to supper. I’ve a deal of thinking to do.”

Will left his cousin alone with his thoughts and the stone jug. Rufus built up the fire and sat beside it. The spirit infused his body with warmth and relaxation but did nothing to tamp down the surging rage in his mind. Of all the injustices done the house of Rothbury, the hardest to bear was that the marquis of Granville had been given in perpetuity the stewardship of the confiscated Rothbury estates.

And now this, the final humiliation. That Rothbury revenues should be used to support Granville’s allegiance in this civil strife.

Rufus drank steadily and deliberately as the fire in the hearth died down, and with it his fury. Cold commitment, clear planning took its place. And when he finally cast aside the almost empty jug and made his way up the stairs to his solitary bed, he had a plan as perfectly formed in his mind as it was possible for it to be. He had learned quite a few useful facts during his brief-and surprisingly entertaining-visit to Castle Granville.