Chapters (30)
- Prologue
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty One
- Chapter Twenty Two
- Chapter Twenty Three
- Chapter Twenty Four
- Chapter Twenty-Five
- Chapter Twenty Six
- Honour Bound
- About the Author
- Other titles by Helen Harper
I turned my back on the anxious cluster below and jogged up to the castle walls. At least their imposing height would provide me with some cover. While I reckoned the castle’s interior might be quiet enough for me to skulk through the corridors, the tower I was aiming for was hidden from view thanks to the curving edges of the castle walls to the right. I fancied a bit of exercise.
Using Lily’s directions, I skirted round until I was directly below Byron’s room. No doubt he’d still be down with the others at the grove. With any luck, he’d think I was a burnt-out corpse. I’d never get a better chance to sneak into his room than this.
Craning my neck up, I examined the stonework. It helped that the castle was old because there were plenty of footholds. Unfortunately a lot of the stone was worn and weathered; I’d have to be careful to avoid the smoother patches. I grinned at my foresight in bringing my toolkit and sprung up.
Despite my aching body, I was surprisingly fast. It was considerably easier scaling up this sort of surface than glass. I found several cracks wide enough to wedge my fingertips in. Only once was I forced to unclip my old ice-pick and jam it between two bricks to avoid sliding back down. All the same, Byron’s room was higher than our entry point at the bank had been, so I was sweating by the time I hooked my leg over his window ledge and pulled myself in.
I was surprised to see that Byron’s rooms were smaller than mine. They were very clean and tidy but there wasn’t room to swing a cat. Maybe it was some sort of show of humility. If he could be the Steward’s son and not demand the grandest suite in the castle, then other Clans couldn’t complain about him getting preferential treatment. No wonder he’d gone all out at the Astor Hotel. I bet he spent as little time here as possible. Byron probably lived in palatial luxury back on Moncrieffe lands.
Ignoring his lingering scent, I made a beeline for his bed and checked underneath the mattress and the frame. I found a chewed-up pen lid and little else. I stood up again and stepped over to the chair where a pile of folded clothing lay. Carefully examining each item, I discovered nothing interesting. Perhaps Byron was too clever to leave anything incriminating behind. It was annoying, however, that there weren’t even any jewels or money that I could nab. There wasn’t even a crappy safe to crack.