They were meeting in secret in Percy’s personal suite of rooms. Archibald Campbell, second earl of Argyll, made no attempt to hide his dissatisfaction. He rose from the wooden armchair and limped across the room. Dressed in a green-and-blue kilt and green jacket, he wore a bonnet with the three plumes of a clan chief. When he reached the fireplace, he turned and scowled ferociously. “What in God’s name was your idiot cousin thinking?” Argyll demanded. “If he’d succeeded in murdering Kinrath in the gladiator arena, our plan would have been a complete disaster!” Percy held up his hand in an attempt to placate the angry Scot. “I’ve sent explicit orders to Elliot, warning him not to try such a stupid trick again.” “Why in the hell did he attempt to kill Kinrath in the first place?” Percy sighed. “My cousin fancies himself in love with the dowager countess of Walsingham. We’ve both known her since we were children. Elliot has wanted to marry Francine since she was fourteen.
