Instead he reached for his cane, got himself to his feet, and then bent to get out the entrance.

“It weren’t our fault,” Mrs. Sordido yelped, the moment he exited. Buller still gripped her arm.

“I assume you have no guests in the inn,” Piers stated.

“No,” she said, half panting. “Not at the moment, but—”

“I’m taking over your inn. You and your husband will have to get out.”

“Where’s the duke’s carriage?” Buller said suddenly. “I don’t see where you stabled his horses, either.”

There was a second of silence, then Sordido said, “We sent them on to the duke, of course. In London.”

Buller grabbed Mrs. Sordido’s arm again. But there must have been something in Piers’s eyes that was more frightening than the threat of force. She quailed and said, “Behind the inn, in the shed.”

“No, they’re not,” Sordido said, blustering. “We—”

“You stole the carriage,” Piers stated. “You stole the horses. You likely stole my wife’s clothing.”

“You never said as how she was your wife!” Sordido put in.

“She’s mine. You stole her clothing, and the money they had with them, and I’m fairly sure that you killed the Duke of Windemere’s coachman.”

“We didn’t,” Sordido said, panting. “We’d nothing to do with it.”

“He died from what ailed him,” his wife said, the words tumbling out now. “They came late at night, and he went to bed above the stables, but the next morning, he was in a high fever, all hot, mumbling and coughing. He never really came out of it.”

Piers looked at her.

“He didn’t!” she repeated shrilly. “He raved of this and that, but we couldn’t stand by his bedside every minute of the day. Besides, she was sick, and the smith was down with it too, and his wife. We had our hands full, trying to get the doctor from the next village over to visit. And then the minister came through, and said as how the sick ones had to be isolated.” She lost steam.

“He died,” Sordido added. “He died quick-like. But she didn’t. So we had to put her somewhere.”

“You and your husband, get out,” Piers said. “If you’re on the premises in an hour, I’ll have you put in the dungeons in my castle. They are marginally worse than where you put my wife.”

Her mouth gaped open. “You’re—no, you’re not!” With a fierce wrench, she freed her arm from Buller’s hand. “You can’t come in here and just do as you wish with a person’s property! That’s my inn, my and Sordido’s. We bought it free and clear for fifty pounds, and we’re not going—Sordido!”

“If you leave the inn now, I won’t haul you up before the magistrate.”

“You can’t do that!” she said shrilly. “Sordido, say something! We did no more than our duty with that woman. Out of the goodness of our hearts.”

“You have no heart,” Piers stated. “What you do have is one hour to gather your possessions and get out. I don’t want you within ten miles of my castle. I don’t want you in Wales at all. If you’re not out of here in an hour, I’ll have you deported to the colonies.”

Mrs. Sordido was obviously the power behind the throne, as it were. She had her fists on her hips now. “You can’t!” she screamed. “It’s our property, free and clear. We paid for it.”

“If you’re out of the inn in one hour, I won’t prosecute. If you’re not, I’ll have you before the magistrate by morning light.”

“We can’t,” Sordido said, starting to whine. “It’s coming on night, and what would we do for money? I put everything into this inn, every tuppence I had.”

But Piers was done with the conversation. “Buller, I need you to carry my—to carry Linnet into the inn. One hour,” he snapped at Mrs. Sordido. “In case you’re wondering whether my word carries weight with the magistrate, I just saved his daughter from dying of scarlatina.”

“I did what I could out of pure Christian mercy,” Mrs. Sordido cried.

Piers held up his hand. “She is at the point of death. I am telling you to leave out of pure Christian mercy. Because if she dies . . .”

Mrs. Sordido backed up, scrabbling her apron in her hands. “Sordido!” she cried, turning to run. “Hurry, man, hurry!”

“Carry Linnet into the inn,” Piers said, turning to Buller. “I’ll go ahead and find an acceptable bed. Then give those fools a few guineas and a chit for fifty pounds, and take the carriage straight back to the castle. You can get a few hours of sleep and return in the morning. We need help.”

Buller nodded, and went to the chicken coop, stooping to enter. Piers turned and made off across the yard toward the inn.

He could hear Mrs. Sordido shouting at her husband as she racketed around upstairs.

He made his way directly to the best bedchamber. “Them’s my sheets,” Mrs. Sordido said, appearing in the doorway. “You said as how we could keep our things.”

The guinea spun through the air, and she caught it neatly. “And what of the kitchen?” she demanded. “I expect you’d need a pot or two, and I’ve a full larder already set in for the winter.”

He doubted that, but he threw her a couple more. Then: “Get out.”

She ran.

At least the bed linens were clean, and reasonably soft. He pulled back the covers, opened the curtains, and threw open the windows as he heard the sound of Buller coming slowly up the stairs.

Together they laid her on the bed.

“God almighty,” Buller whispered. “What did they do to her? I’ve never smelt anything like it. And her face . . .”

Piers glanced at her ravaged face and skin. “That’s the scarlatina, not the chicken coop. I need water, Buller, lots of it. A pail right away, and several pots on the stove set to boil. And the satchel from the carriage. Once you see those louts off the premises, you need to go back to the castle and fetch help. We’ll be all right without you in the meantime.”

“You’ll be all right?” Buller whispered. His eyes were fixed on Linnet. “I wouldn’t know it was her. I never seen anything like it. She was the prettiest little thing . . .”

“Go,” Piers said, jerking his head. He waited until he heard the man’s footsteps start down the stairs, and then he ripped off the shameful excuse for a nightgown Linnet was wearing. It was ragged and torn; clearly the Sordidos had taken all her clothes when they consigned her to the coop. He threw it in the corner.

Still she didn’t move, her neck and head utterly limp as Piers pulled her filthy hair away from her face, piling it on top of the pillow. So he began talking to her, a slow, steady conversation, telling her exactly what he was doing as he checked her ears, checked her throat, her blackened tongue, her skin. He found signs of leeches at her throat and let fall a curse word that interrupted his soothing monologue.

Buller’s heavy feet sounded on the stairs again, so Piers went to the door. “I need you to bring clean mattresses from the castle, at least two. I’m going to ruin this one, getting her cooled off and clean, and I think there’s a fair chance of vermin in any bed on the premises.”