behind and around them stood
a solid phalanx of male Cynsters. There was no doubt of their connection—their
faces, seen all together, held the same unyielding planes, their features the
same autocratic cast. They numbered six, not counting Simon and Charles, both
set apart, one by age, the other by character. Between the six, hair color
varied, from Devil's black to light chestnut; eye color, too, differed. Nothing
else did.
There was enormous strength in the group facing
her—powerful, masculine, it emanated from them. Devil was their leader yet they
were a group of individuals, each contributing to the whole. Elsewhere about
the grave, grief was amorphous. The grief of Tolly's male cousins held purpose,
melding into a cohesive force, directed, focused.
Focused on Tolly's grave.
Honoria narrowed her eyes. People were still shifting,
finding places in the crowd; both Amelia and Amanda were tense. Honoria leaned
forward and whispered: "Tell me the names of your older male
cousins."
The twins glanced at her, then across the grave. Amelia
spoke first. "Vane's next to Devil, but you know him."
"That can't be his real name."
"His real name's
Spencer
," Amanda
whispered. "But don't
ever
call him that."
"The one behind Devil is Richard—he's called
Scandal. He's Devil's brother."
"And the one behind Vane is his younger brother,
Harry. They call him Demon."
"Demon Harry?"
"That's right." Amanda nodded. "The one
next to Vane is Gabriel."
"His real name's Rupert—he's Uncle Martin's
eldest son."
"And I suppose the one behind Gabriel is
Lucifer?" Honoria asked. "His brother?"
"That's right—he's really Alasdair."
Straightening, Honoria spent one minute wondering how
they'd come by their pseudonyms—one question she was not about to ask the
twins. She looked across the grave at those six male faces, and saw them
clearly. No force on earth would stop them bringing Tolly's murderer to
justice.
Being Cynsters, they could be counted on to avenge
Tolly's death. Also being Cynsters, they would ensure their womenfolk, their
elders and juniors—all those they considered in their care—were not disturbed
or touched by such violence. Death and vengeance was their province, the home
fires for the rest.
Which was all very well,
but
…
The last prayer was said; earth struck the coffin.
Tolly's mother sagged in her sisters-in-law's arms; her husband hurried to her
side. Amelia and Amanda tugged at Honoria's hands. Reluctantly, she turned from
the grave—from the tableau on its opposite side.
Charles and the older Cynsters had left, but Simon,
Devil, and the five others remained, their gazes still locked on the coffin.
Just before she turned, Honoria saw Simon look up, into Devil's face, a
question in his wide eyes. She saw Devil's response, the tightening of his hand
on Simon's shoulder, the quiet promise he bent his head to give.
She had no doubt of the substance of that promise.
In company with the twins, Honoria crossed the lawns,
musing on her situation. She would send for her brother Michael tomorrow, but
he would take some days to reach her. Those days could be useful.
She needed to see justice done; she had a duty to
avenge innocence—that was doubtless why Tolly's face haunted her. Impossible to
send adult Cynster males to avenge innocence; their vengeance would be fueled
by their warriors' reasons—the defending of their family, their clan.
She
would be the defender of innocence—she had a role to play, too.
She'd been looking for excitement, for adventure and
intrigue—fate had landed her here. Far be it from her to argue.
The wake was a crush. Many of the bucks and bloods who
had come up from London stayed for the final scene. In half an hour, Honoria
had been introduced to more dangerous blades than she'd thought to meet in a
lifetime. Luckily, her inclusion within the family group had sent a clear
message; she was not troubled by any of the visitors.
The twins again took to their instruments; the
a solid phalanx of male Cynsters. There was no doubt of their connection—their
faces, seen all together, held the same unyielding planes, their features the
same autocratic cast. They numbered six, not counting Simon and Charles, both
set apart, one by age, the other by character. Between the six, hair color
varied, from Devil's black to light chestnut; eye color, too, differed. Nothing
else did.
There was enormous strength in the group facing
her—powerful, masculine, it emanated from them. Devil was their leader yet they
were a group of individuals, each contributing to the whole. Elsewhere about
the grave, grief was amorphous. The grief of Tolly's male cousins held purpose,
melding into a cohesive force, directed, focused.
Focused on Tolly's grave.
Honoria narrowed her eyes. People were still shifting,
finding places in the crowd; both Amelia and Amanda were tense. Honoria leaned
forward and whispered: "Tell me the names of your older male
cousins."
The twins glanced at her, then across the grave. Amelia
spoke first. "Vane's next to Devil, but you know him."
"That can't be his real name."
"His real name's
Spencer
," Amanda
whispered. "But don't
ever
call him that."
"The one behind Devil is Richard—he's called
Scandal. He's Devil's brother."
"And the one behind Vane is his younger brother,
Harry. They call him Demon."
"Demon Harry?"
"That's right." Amanda nodded. "The one
next to Vane is Gabriel."
"His real name's Rupert—he's Uncle Martin's
eldest son."
"And I suppose the one behind Gabriel is
Lucifer?" Honoria asked. "His brother?"
"That's right—he's really Alasdair."
Straightening, Honoria spent one minute wondering how
they'd come by their pseudonyms—one question she was not about to ask the
twins. She looked across the grave at those six male faces, and saw them
clearly. No force on earth would stop them bringing Tolly's murderer to
justice.
Being Cynsters, they could be counted on to avenge
Tolly's death. Also being Cynsters, they would ensure their womenfolk, their
elders and juniors—all those they considered in their care—were not disturbed
or touched by such violence. Death and vengeance was their province, the home
fires for the rest.
Which was all very well,
but
…
The last prayer was said; earth struck the coffin.
Tolly's mother sagged in her sisters-in-law's arms; her husband hurried to her
side. Amelia and Amanda tugged at Honoria's hands. Reluctantly, she turned from
the grave—from the tableau on its opposite side.
Charles and the older Cynsters had left, but Simon,
Devil, and the five others remained, their gazes still locked on the coffin.
Just before she turned, Honoria saw Simon look up, into Devil's face, a
question in his wide eyes. She saw Devil's response, the tightening of his hand
on Simon's shoulder, the quiet promise he bent his head to give.
She had no doubt of the substance of that promise.
In company with the twins, Honoria crossed the lawns,
musing on her situation. She would send for her brother Michael tomorrow, but
he would take some days to reach her. Those days could be useful.
She needed to see justice done; she had a duty to
avenge innocence—that was doubtless why Tolly's face haunted her. Impossible to
send adult Cynster males to avenge innocence; their vengeance would be fueled
by their warriors' reasons—the defending of their family, their clan.
She
would be the defender of innocence—she had a role to play, too.
She'd been looking for excitement, for adventure and
intrigue—fate had landed her here. Far be it from her to argue.
The wake was a crush. Many of the bucks and bloods who
had come up from London stayed for the final scene. In half an hour, Honoria
had been introduced to more dangerous blades than she'd thought to meet in a
lifetime. Luckily, her inclusion within the family group had sent a clear
message; she was not troubled by any of the visitors.
The twins again took to their instruments; the
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