"And did you?"
"Yes."
"And didn't tell Parks?" she guessed. "Why ever not?"
He sighed.
Her brows knitted. "Will, why not?" she demanded more insistently.
"Because I'm not so sure I want them to be used in the way they're planning."
"But if they fall into the wrong hands—"
"Or the right ones?" he asked, his look one of challenge.
Vevina's mouth dropped open. "What are you saying, Will?"
"That perhaps Emmett wasn't so wrong in 1803. That now is the time to overthrow the British and win our freedom."
She gasped. "Parks may be your best friend, but he's regular Army. He'll hang you from the highest tree if he even suspects—"
Will sat up straight and leaned forward. "You've seen the people here, downtrodden and treated like doormats by people like Fitzsimmons and the Teagues. Decent people like the Lynches not even allowed to own their own land except by dint of one of their cousins turning Protestant and laying claim to the estate and permitting them to live on sufferance. It's wrong. You know it is," he argued passionately, his aquamarine eyes alight with a new fervor she had never seen before.
"I do know. And all of us in this house would agree with you. But armed rebellion, Will? It's madness. You have too much to risk. You're married now. This is not just your fate, but Elizabeth's. You're no use to her hanging from a gibbet!"
He sighed. "I'm not saying I would do anything with the muskets other than tell them I never found them. I'm tired of fighting and death. But I've opposed tyranny for far too long to accept it meekly when it's right on my own doorstep."
"I understand that. But if the French were to invade?"
"I would give them up in a minute," he promised her. "But the men at Horse Guards want us to use them to invade France."
She started forward to the edge of her chair. "What are you talking about?"
"They think the French are still planning to invade."
"But Napoleon is-"
"Planning to escape from Elba. It stands to reason. A man like that? He was lucky he wasn't assassinated by his own generals. He was an intelligent man. If he came out of the war with his life, he would have contingency plans. I'm telling you, Vevina, he will be back," Will said, his eyes shining.
"It would be madness—"
"He's mad for power."
Vevina shook her head. "But who would follow him, after all he did?"
"People just as power-hungry as he is."
"Will, I think you're letting your fears get the better of you—"
He shook his head. "I'm telling you, Sister, the war isn't over yet. Napoleon may be on Elba now, but that's not so far from Corsica and Italy."
"So what's the plan? That the French come here and we do what?"
"Fight and kill them, and then take their uniforms and invade ourselves."
She sat back in her chair, winded.
Will settled himself in the bed more comfortably, still clinging to his wife's hand. She appeared to be sleeping peacefully, her face more lovely than ever in his eyes.
"Where are our troops now?" Vevina asked quietly.
"Quartered throughout the south in twos and threes."
She shot him a furious look. "Did you not tell them what will happen to Ardmore and all of the surrounding countryside while they're mustering those troops? And did you not think to warn me and Stewart before our children were slaughtered?"
"We'll get word of the plot long before then. We have a man on the inside," he reassured her.
She shook her head. "What if they discover he's a spy? Or word doesn't get here in time?"
"You've trusted him with your life before."
"Oh, no. Not Vincent?" she said with a sigh.
"No," he admitted. "Andre Olivier."
"But he helped clean out that nest of spies who tried to kill Wellington at the masked ball two years ago. Not to mention all of the service he has seen since. They'll know who he is for sure!" Vevina argued, before getting to her feet to pace in front of the window.
"We also have another couple of agents they don't know about."
"From whom?"
"Jason."
Vevina shook her head. "He's dead! You told me so yourself. You were commander at Cuidad Roderigo for long enough to try to liaise with him on the spy ring. We were at Badajoz waiting for him for some time, until we pushed on to Salamanca, but he never re-appeared."
"He's not dead."
"That's not possible. His home, his family, the dead body—"