The Tide Watchers by Lisa Chaplin Read Free Book Online Page A

rigidity he couldn’t control. “My ship leaves with the tide.”
    A slight nod indicated Narbonne’s second gracious acceptance of an apology Duncan refused to offer. He pointed to a pew seat and crossed to it without bothering to see if Duncan followed. The silken whisper of the episcopal slippers the comte’s son wore with the best tailoring London could provide ground at Duncan’s patience, which was never his strong point. Wily old hypocrite played the man of God when it suited him, but the latest in his string of mistresses was rumored to be his own niece.
    Duncan spoke through a tight jaw. “The tide turns in an hour, Votre Éminence, and my mission is imperative.”
    The archbishop lifted his brows, holding his haughtiness to the end. “With the signing of the Concordat, France and the Church abandoned me. Still, French, Irish, and Catholic dissidents here believe I share their causes and tell me their secrets as if in the confessional. They are sacred, and I will not reveal them without strong reason.”
    Click-clack. French. Irish. Duncan expected Narbonne, with Irish nobility for parents, but born, raised, and ordained in France, to have divided loyalties. “I know the rules of the confessional, Votre Éminence .” When would the old man finally get to the point?
    â€œBut one I must tell. There is a plot to kill the king.”
    Duncan stared at Narbonne. Surely Eddie wouldn’t recall me from France for this old chestnut? Poor old Farmer George, why so many people wanted to kill a harmless, half-mad king who liked to potter in his garden was beyond him. The Irish or the Catholics, he thought wearily. It’s always the same. “If you find it a serious threat, take it to a government representative.”
    Narbonne shifted on the pew, putting a cushion behind his back. “Sir Edward sent me to you. So don’t waste my time, bo . . . Commander.”
    Frozen inside, Duncan bowed again. “Why did Sir Edward pass this to me?”
    Narbonne’s lips pursed. “His wife is . . . ill.”
    The ice inside Duncan broke into sharp pieces. If Eddie wouldn’tleave Caroline even long enough to hold this single meeting, but had recalled him from France, she must be seriously ill. That meant he’d have to waste more time bringing the girl home— if he could make her leave without her child. Damn it, it meant delaying the mission until he could find another woman. But where the hell would he find a lady of a similar age and the same perfect combination of ruin and innocence? “Can we please get to the point?”
    Narbonne closed his eyes, as if asking God for patience. “As a French-born man of Irish nobility, and a displaced archbishop, I’m in a unique position to hear things. The plotters are not Jacobites or students preaching insurrection on the streets of London. Nor is it beer talk by the United Irishmen. These men lost titles and lands in Ireland and Scotland through ambitious men with social connections. The explosion is planned during the Opening of Parliament, which the king always attends, as do hundreds of those absentee lords raking in profits from their Irish and Scottish lands. A Colonel Despard is the ringleader—the former superintendent of Honduras, an Irishman with sufficient reason to want several men dead.”
    â€œI read about the case.” The men in Honduras, who’d accused Despard of treason and had him imprisoned for their profit, had escaped perjury charges through connections to the king; but though he’d eventually been freed, Despard’s life and reputation had been destroyed. “I don’t see how they’d get close enough. Armed guards surround Whitehall—”
    â€œThey’ve emulated Guy Fawkes and unsealed a tunnel beneath Whitehall,” Narbonne interrupted. “I didn’t dare ask for details, but from what one man said, I think they’re