Although he made no comment to Martin on the disastrous fate of his project, the valet had no doubt that things had gone awry, but carefully concealed his delight. His employer had obviously spent the night in his clothes, and from the pallor of his face it seemed likely that he had not slept overmuch, and that his recent wound was paining him. “Bring me the brandy!” Tackar snapped as he sank into an overstuffed chair in his bed chamber, his dressing gown wrapped loosely about him. “Right away, sir. Will you be wishing dinner in your room?” It was the closest Martin could come to commenting on his employer’s disheveled condition. Tackar froze him with a glare. “Certainly. I have no intention of dressing again for your amusement.” Left alone, he considered once again the expeditiousness of his capture and what it signified. During the uncomfortable night he had spent, it had occurred to him that he had been expected. Since he had divulged his plans to no one, including his valet and his brother, for fear of being in their power or suffering from their carelessness, he had realized that the giant who had taken him had been waiting for such an event.
