Chapter 18
Theophilus de Piaget stood in the great hall after sunrise and contemplated things that intrigued him.
He watched his aunt and uncle mourn the death of their daughter. He listened to an interesting tale about Robin having dug a grave for her during the night—which he had threatened to do the evening before—because he feared that what she had was contagious and might infect the entire keep. Both Robin and Anne looked grief-stricken enough for that to have been the case.
Theo looked about him at the household, most of whom wept openly. He watched his cousins and brothers who were equally as devastated. For himself, he felt as if someone had cut his heart out of his chest. He loved Mary easily as much as he loved his own sisters. She had been his best mate save his brother, and he had happily remained near her at Artane when he surely could have gone home with his parents.
He could hardly bear the thought of life without her.
He imagined that, in spite of the quickness and secret nature of their courtship, Zachary Smith felt the same way.
He watched his uncle finish his speech to his household, then retreat with his wife upstairs where they could grieve in private. His brothers and cousins also left the great hall to find a place to shed their tears in private. The servants left as well, to go about their duties with heavy hearts.
But Theophilus de Piaget only stood in the shadows and contemplated things that intrigued him.
Because he had eavesdropped on his uncle when he and Zachary had been discussing how to counteract the poison Mary had ingested.
He had also been at that very strange spot in the ground the night before and he’d seen Zachary take Mary in his arms and disappear with her.
It was strange.
Very strange, indeed.