Free Traitor's Blood (Civil War Chronicles) by Michael Arnold

Parliament’s man.’
    His companion tried to speak, but a broad finger came to press against her lips. Kesley shook his head. ‘I am sorry, my sweet. Even I do not know his identity.’
    ‘And where is it kept, this ruby? Please tell me, John, I should love to know.’ He frowned at her and she kissed him hungrily on the lips. ‘You are so clever, my love. So clever and so strong.’
    ‘I . . . I cannot,’ Kesley said, licking his lips slowly. ‘I would love to, for you would know just how close we are to changing the course of this war, but I must remain silent.’
    Lisette Gaillard did not press him. Her heart soared, nevertheless. She had found it.
    ‘So take heart,’ Kesley was saying. ‘And keep faith, for God has given us a great jewel. It is hard and cold and it gleams like the sun. And with it we will buy ourselves an army greater than King Charles could have imagined.’
    Lisette leaned close. ‘And you shall defeat the king?’
    Kesley nodded. ‘Oh yes, my love. As God is my witness. We shall defeat the king and, when the war is over, I will make you my bride.’ When Lisette smiled, he bent low to kiss her tenderly. ‘Now,’ he said, turning towards the remainder of his kit, that was piled in a heap at the foot of the bed, ‘I must beg your leave, Melisande. We have a consignment of muskets due tonight. Every single weapon aids our cause, does it not?’
    Silence.
    ‘Does it not?’ he repeated, straightening up.
    Lisette’s knife was at his throat before he could turn, pressed uncomfortably at the Adam’s apple, easing a bead of crimson from the skin.
    ‘
Our
cause?’ she said coldly. ‘I hate your cause, sir.’
    Kesley swallowed hard, wincing as his throat moved beneath the blade, and the blood escaped down his neck and bloomed like rose petals in the white linen of his torn collar. ‘Forgive me, madam,’ he whispered, the confidence drained from his voice. ‘What is my offence?’
    Lisette Gaillard’s mouth twisted in disgust. ‘The very sight of you offends me, sir.’
    Kesley glanced down at the weapon, then at the arm that held it. She knew he was weighing up his chances of escape. But her knife was poised to kill. The grip was strong. The arm was steady.
    ‘Who are you?’
    ‘I am a viper, and I will bite you,’ she said, her beautiful blue eyes narrowing.
    ‘I . . . I do not—’ Kesley stammered, panicking now, for he sensed no weakness. Only cruel triumph.
    ‘I am vengeance.’
    The wind bit like a whip, ice-cold breath stinging Lisette’s eyes. She hunched lower, dipping her hooded head. It was barely light, but enough of the sun’s weak rays pushed past the heavy clouds for her to be sure that day was breaking and the roads would finally be clear of the bandits that infested the darkest hours. It was still not safe. A woman travelling alone across land crawling with soldiers could not feel at ease. But Lisette was strong, and she had her purpose.
    As she reached the stables and coaxed out the horse she had saddled in the inky depths of the night before, Lisette considered the danger she was facing. It was worth the risk.
    The road was clear and the horse swift. Lisette hunkered down close to the beast’s muscular neck, the acrid scent of sweat and hay that wafted from its chestnut mane making her think of the tavern again, and of that dark room where a man who prided himself on his virility had collapsed before her, bleating secrets in a vain attempt to save his throat being cut like a sheep’s. She thought of the blood that pulsed warm from John Kesley’s throat. She saw the life fade from his eyes. He was not the first man she had killed. The act was committed for her mistress and her God, and that was enough.
    John Kesley had not died well, and that gave her no pleasure. However, she had needed the information more than she needed to salve her conscience. Lisette’s knife had moved and he had given her what she needed.
    She had time to make good her escape