Thanks to Leonard’s complete disregard for traffic restrictions or speed limits, we were nearly to the A40.
“He had Phoebe.” I shrank into the seat, trying to stabilize my roiling stomach by clamping both arms over the twins.
“Where was Granny?” Gallowglass asked.
“Granny was listening to a horrible woman in a magenta blouse tell me about the library’s building works while sixty children screamed in the quadrangle.” Ysabeau glared at Gallowglass. “Where were you?”
“Both of you stop it. We were all exactly where we planned to be.” As usual, Phoebe’s voice was the only reasonable one. “And we all got out alive. Let’s not lose sight of the big picture.”
Leonard sped onto the M40, headed for Heathrow.
I held a cold hand to my forehead. “I’m so sorry, Phoebe.” I pressed my lips together as the car swayed. “I couldn’t think.”
“Perfectly understandable,” Phoebe said briskly. “May I please speak to Miriam?”
“Miriam?” Fernando asked.
“Yes. I know that I am not infected with blood rage, because I didn’t ingest any of Benjamin’s blood. But he did bite me, and she may wish to have a sample of my blood to see if his saliva has affected me.”
We all stared at her, openmouthed.
“Later,” Gallowglass said curtly. “We’ll worry about science and that godforsaken manuscript later.”
The countryside rushed by in a blur. I rested my forehead against the glass and wished with all my heart that Matthew was with me, that the day had ended differently, that Benjamin didn’t know I was pregnant with twins.
His final words—and the prospect of the future they painted—taunted me as we drew closer to the airport.
I hope your children are both girls.
“Diana!” Ysabeau’s voice interrupted my troubled sleep. “Matthew or Baldwin. Choose.” Her tone was fierce. “One of them has to be told.”
“Not Matthew.” I winced and sat straighter. That damned arrow was still jabbing my shoulder.
“He’ll come running, and there’s no reason for it. Phoebe is right. We’re all alive.”
Ysabeau swore like a sailor and pulled out her red phone. Before anyone could stop her, she was speaking to Baldwin in rapid French. I caught only half of it, but based on her awed response, Phoebe obviously understood more.
“Oh, Christ.” Gallowglass shook his shaggy head.
“Baldwin wishes to speak with you.” Ysabeau extended the phone in my direction.
“I understand you’ve seen Benjamin.” Baldwin was as cool and composed as Phoebe. “I did.”
“He threatened the twins?”
“He did.”
“I’m your brother, Diana, not your enemy,” Baldwin said. “Ysabeau was right to call me.”
“If you say so,” I said. “Sieur.”
“Do you know where Matthew is?” he demanded.
“No.” I didn’t know—not exactly. “Do you?”
“I presume he is off somewhere burying Jack Blackfriars.”
The silence that followed Baldwin’s words was lengthy.
“You are an utter bastard, Baldwin de Clermont.” My voice shook.
“Jack was a necessary casualty of a dangerous and deadly war—one that you started, by the way.”
Baldwin sighed. “Come home, sister. That’s an order. Lick your wounds and wait for him. It’s what we’ve all learned to do when Matthew goes off to assuage his guilty conscience.”
He hung up on me before I could manage a reply.
“I. Hate. Him.” I spit out each word.
“So do I,” Ysabeau said, taking back her phone.
“Baldwin is jealous of Matthew, that’s all,” Phoebe said. This time her reasonableness was irritating, and I felt the power rush through my body.
“I don’t feel right.” My anxiety spiked. “Is something wrong? Is someone following us?”
Gallowglass forced my head around. “You look hectic. How far are we from London?”
“London?” Leonard exclaimed. “You said Heathrow.” He wrenched the wheel to head in a different direction off the roundabout.
My stomach proceeded on our previous route. I retched, trying hold down the vomit. But it wasn’t possible.
“Diana?” Ysabeau said, holding back my hair and wiping at my mouth with her silk scarf. “What is it?”
“I must have eaten something that didn’t agree with me,” I said, suppressing another urge to vomit.
“I’ve felt funny for the last few days.”
“Funny how?” Gallowglass’s voice was urgent. “Do you have a headache, Diana? Are you having trouble breathing? Does your shoulder pain you?”
I nodded, the bile rising.
“You said she was anxious, Phoebe?”
“Of course Diana was anxious,” Ysabeau retorted. She dumped the contents of her purse onto the seat and held it under my chin. I couldn’t imagine throwing up into a Chanel bag, but at this point anything was possible. “She was preparing to do battle with Benjamin!”
“Anxiety is a symptom of some condition I can’t pronounce. Diana had leaflets about it in New Haven.