An Unexpected Pleasure (The Mad Morelands #4)(108)
Frank hesitated for another moment, then nodded. “You’re right. It’s the best way. I will untie the men and wake them up if I can, and we’ll join you.”
“I just hope they haven’t been drugged.”
Together, they twisted and pulled, managing to get the cloak off the limp body of Lady Scarle. Over in the corner, the men were stirring, and one of them let out a groan. Megan glanced over and saw that Theo was blinking, his face dazed. The knot in her chest loosened some more, but she did not let herself go to him, however much she wanted to. She had to get back into that room as soon as possible, before the group of worshippers began to wonder what had happened to Lady Scarle.
Frank helped Megan pull on the heavy cloak and tie it in place, then settled the headdress on her. “You are a mite shorter, but that’s good. It will let this heathenish feather robe hide your shoes.”
“There. That’s good.” Megan slid her arms through the slits in the cloak and picked up the bowl of noxious-looking liquid.
Was this the brew that they would drink to induce hallucinations and the proper cooperative spirit? she wondered. Or was it a poison that Coffey intended to administer to her niece? Whatever the man intended, she was going to stop him first.
With a last nod to her father, she picked up the tray and left the room. Behind her, Frank hastened over to finish untying the captives.
Megan glided down the hall, trying to imagine how an acolyte in such a religion would walk. Solemnly, she thought, to match the gravity of the occasion. With pride, of course. She would be proud that she was the woman chosen by Coffey. And, if she was Lady Helena Scarle, she would love having every eye in the place on her, so she would milk every last bit of drama from the moment that she could.
She reached the opened doors into the altar room. Her eyes went first to the altar on which the child lay. She was still stretched out, motionless, and there was no sign of blood on her. Megan let out a sigh of relief. She had thought that there would be no sacrifice until Lady Scarle got back, but she had not been absolutely sure.
The high priest stood behind the altar, his arms spread out, his hands placed on the little girl’s head and ankles. When he saw Megan pause at the threshold of the door, he broke into a loud chant, raising his arms and lifting his eyes to the heavens. Megan lifted her tray higher and strode toward the altar.
She wished she had some idea what she was supposed to do. The more time she could buy her father and the other men, the better. She reached the altar and stopped beside the priest. She kept her face turned down, thinking that surely this was the way Coffey would expect to be approached. It would also serve to keep him from looking into her eyes and seeing that they were not the vivid blue of Lady Scarle’s.
He turned to her, reaching out and taking the bowl from the tray. He said something she did not understand. Megan hoped she was not supposed to answer. He turned back to face the audience and, lifting the bowl over his head, began to declaim.
“Hear us, oh, Inti, god of the sun. We are your children. We are chosen to carry on your blood. Your life. Come to us, and show us the way. Accept this, our sacrifice, the purest of the pure. Bring us the gift of your immortality. And make us your own.”
He brought the bowl down to his lips and drank from it. Megan realized that next he would probably turn to her to offer her the drink and then to his followers. She was not about to drink the foul-smelling stuff, whatever it was, so she had to act now.
Grasping the metal tray on one side with both hands, she stepped forward, lifting her arms, and brought it down with all her strength on the back of Coffey’s head. There was a satisfying clang, and Coffey crumpled, the bowl falling from his hands and hitting the altar, then rolling off onto the floor beyond.
There was a gasp of horror from the people before her, and in that instant, Theo, her father and the other men burst in.
Megan didn’t spare a glance for them as they poured into the room. She leaped forward and shoved Coffey’s sprawled form off Caya, then started to work on the straps that held the child bound to the altar.
The room rang with the sound of flying fists and shouts as the occupants reacted to the sudden appearance of the band of men. Megan ignored the sounds of the fighting, concentrating solely on setting her niece free.
Her fingers fumbled at the knots, but she managed to undo the strap around the girl’s chest, and she moved on to the cord around Caya’s legs. That, too, gave way after much tugging, and Megan bent to scoop the girl up in her arms.
At that moment an arm went hard around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides, and the cold blade of a knife was pressed against her throat. The hard plates of the high priest’s costume bit into her back.
“Halt!” Coffey’s voice roared out. “Cease, or she is dead!”
Megan had been so intent on freeing Caya that she had not noticed that Coffey had regained consciousness. Silently cursing her carelessness, she looked out over the room. The fighting had stopped, and everyone was standing still, staring at her and Coffey.
Theo took an involuntary step forward, and Coffey pressed the knife more tightly to her throat. Megan could feel a thin trickle of blood run down her throat. The movement stopped Theo in his tracks, still several feet away from them.
“Let her go, Julian,” Theo ordered, his voice tight. “You have not hurt anyone yet. You can still get away with it. But if you kill her, you will go to jail, and nothing, no one, will be able to save you. You will be hanged by the neck ’til you’re dead. I am told ’tis a long, slow way to die. Not exactly your style.”