Catching the Wind(12)

“Of course not, but he thinks what I’m asking of you is a threat.” His gaze wandered back toward the bay. “In the Middle Ages, knights used to wear heavy sheets of armor, but no matter how strong the armor, it couldn’t always keep them alive.”

Perhaps it was the long flight or her lack of sleep, but she didn’t understand why Mr. Knight was talking about the Middle Ages. Was he comparing Lucas to an armored knight? Or was his proposition one that would threaten her life?

“Centuries ago, the Germans figured out the weak places in plate armor. You can’t spear through an iron plate, but there are ways to go around it.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Knight, but what does this have to do with Lucas?”

“The man has spent the past seven years of his life trying to protect me.” Another sip of tea. “He thinks what I’m asking of you will pierce my weakest spot.”

She leaned forward in her seat. “What exactly are you asking me to do?”

On the shelf beside him was a simple wooden chest, not much bigger than a cigar box. He opened the lid, and she could see a toy figure of some sort nestled within a sheet of white. He lifted the toy gingerly from its bed of cloth and held it out to her as if it were a treasure, flecked with gold.

It was a wood carving of a girl, painted rather exquisitely at one time perhaps, but the yellow strands of her hair were chipped and her gown had faded into an indeterminate color. Quenby turned it over, searching for some sort of marking.

“What is this?” she asked.

His voice was sad when he answered. “It’s a princess. Princess Adler. But you should always address a princess as Your Royal Highness.”

She tucked Princess Adler back into the cloth. “I’m sure she was a good toy,” she said placidly, knowing her words sounded lame. What exactly did one say about a toy far past its prime?

He picked up the princess and cradled her in his stiff hands. “Toys aren’t real, Miss Vaughn.”

“I am fully aware of that.”

“But the girls who play with them are. Eventually these girls grow up into women.”

“I still don’t understand . . .”

“I’ve read a lot about you in the past month, ever since your article comparing the Kindertransport with the thousands of refugee children now coming into England. You have a passion to help lost children.”

“I have a passion for stories, Mr. Knight. Preferably ones with happy endings.”

“Because your own story wasn’t so happy . . .”

Her gaze flicked up to meet his eyes. “You don’t know anything about me or my story.”

He tucked the princess back into her bed, then reached for a manila file folder beside the box. Opening it, he began to read. “You like classic British literature and your favorite color is cornflower blue except after a long season of rain—then you prefer pinks and yellows. Your last boyfriend, Brandon Wallace, was an accountant and—” he glanced up—“not a very good one, I might add.”

She bristled. Not even Chandler knew about her relationship with Brandon.

“In your free time, you enjoy piecing together jigsaw puzzles, running when you’re stressed, and like you’ve already noted, you’re passionate about unearthing stories, including your latest one about the Ricker family.”

She looked across the table, trying to glimpse his notes. “How did you find all that information?”

He returned to the file. “Your mother was originally from England, but she moved with her mother to the United States when she was twelve. Your father was half-German, but unfortunately he died when you were four, and then your mother left when you were seven. After your mother disappeared, you moved to your grandmother Vaughn’s house near Nashville, and she liked reading the German fairy tales to you. Sadly, she died the week after you left for college.”

Quenby stood up quickly, her nerves bristling. “You’ve certainly done your homework.”

He closed the folder. “Our lives are like the jigsaw puzzles you like to put together. All the pieces are out there, but we have to frame it before we complete the inside.”

Her heart raced as she stepped back from the table. “Did you hire someone to investigate me?”

He tapped on the file folder. “Just like you, Miss Vaughn, I always do my research.”

“Lucas said I was supposed to be investigating something for you!” Her voice escalated, but she didn’t care. It seemed these men were playing some sort of game around her, using her as a pawn.

Pawns, everyone knew, were disposable. Especially to knights.

“Please sit back down,” he said politely. “I’m not trying to insult you, nor will I share the information about your life with anyone, including Lucas.”

She eyed the chair but didn’t sit. “What do you want from me?”

“I want to tell you a story.”

“Just a story?”

He began to look tired. “You can decide what you want to do with the information.”

“Will it include what you know about the Ricker family?”

“I haven’t investigated the Ricker family,” he said. “But our interests seem to intersect at Breydon Court.”

She slowly, begrudgingly, eased back into the chair. “I don’t want to talk about my mother again.”