“Of course I care!” She couldn’t remember ever having been more frightened in her life. “I saw him pull the pistol. He could have had a knife, too.”
“He did.” He drew a long, lethal blade from the man’s coat and dropped both to the grass, moving closer. “But I can handle myself, aye? So long as you don’t show up and interfere.”
“I didn’t—”
“Your very presence broke my concentration. And had he seen you up here…do you imagine he’d be put off by a pack of lasses?”
“Were it lasses with guns, I’d hope so!” she shot back.
Blinking, he reached a hand to help her rise. She was surprised to find her knees trembling.
His gaze searched hers. “Do not ever, ever do that again,” he said very quietly. He moved closer, so close his breath whispered over her face. “You could have got me killed.”
Tears sprang to her eyes.
“Never.” She saw a muscle twitch in his jaw. “You understand, aye? Never.”
“I’m sorry!” Her arms came up and wrapped around his neck, of their own volition, it seemed. She buried her face in his shoulder, chagrined at her tears. For what? A husband she barely knew, never mind that they were married? A husband who kept secrets and mistresses? Who lied to her?
None of it made any sense.
“Hush, it’s all right.” His own arms stole around her and held her tight. “No harm done.” He kissed her hair. “You care, aye?”
“I don’t want you to do it again, Trick. But the children—they depend on you…”
His grip tightened. “I’ve yet to be hurt—”
“You’ve been lucky. And luck can change.”
“Not luck.” He pulled back and fixed her with a calculated grin. “Talent.”
Having seen that talent demonstrated, she had to offer him a shaky smile.
“Maybe just a few more times,” he said, “and then—”
“There will be enough to invest. And you can stop?”
“Something like that,” he murmured.
His eyes searched hers, their amber depths holding her hostage. Summer sun glinted off the roughness on his unshaven cheeks. Her breath caught as his mouth came down on hers.
Slow and gentle, the kiss was a silent apology for his harsh words. None too solid already, her knees turned to pudding. His patience with her, his kindness—even just his nearness—ate away at her resistance day by day. How much longer could she hold out? Did she still want to?
When he broke off, her breath came quick and ragged. “No,” she whispered.
“No, what, leannan?” His smile caught her off guard.
“No, I mean, yes, I…won’t come here again.”
“Thank you.” He nodded solemnly and kissed her again, a short, teasing graze that left her wanting more. She curled a hand around his neck, and he froze, his extraordinary amber eyes widening.
“Losh, you’ll make me go back on my word.” He raised a suggestive brow. “Unless you’ve changed your mind?”
“N-no.” She took a step back, nearly tumbling down the hill.
He caught her, laughing. “Let’s get you out of here.”
“Are you finished?”
“It would seem so,” he said wryly, gathering the hats. He tossed them onto the canvas spread nearby. “Come to the cottage, and we’ll see what we got.”
TWENTY-ONE
“NOT VERY much.” Kendra frowned at the few coins spread on the cottage’s dining table.
Trick laughed. “A greedy thief, are you? It’s mostly gold, not silver.”
“True.” She lifted one. “How about in his coat? Anything there?”
He dug into the pockets, felt the collar, the seams, the hem… “Ah.”
“Was he hiding something?”
With a quick flick of his knife, he slit the stitches. One by one, more bright gold coins dropped to the table with satisfying little clunks.
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Clink.
“There it is.” Trick scooped up the latest addition. He walked to the window, held it to the light, bit into it. “Eureka,” he said softly, then rushed back to the table and opened the rest of the hem, flicking the coins to the surface.
Clunk. Clunk. Clink. Clunk. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clunk. Clink.
“They’re larger denominations,” Kendra pointed out.
“Aye.”
Clink. Clunk. Clink. Clink. Clunk.
“Good?”
“Nay.” He pulled the last one from the ragged hem, then sorted them swiftly on the tabletop. “They’re counterfeit.”
“Counterfeit?” she said with a huff. “Why, that’s criminal!”
He pinned her with a pointed look.
“Oh…” Heat rushed to her cheeks.
He moved to her and took her chin. “You’re not guilty,” he said.
“You’re not, either,” she countered loyally. “They’re Roundhead scum. They deserve it, and it’s for a good cause.”
“The end justifies the means?” Trick walked to the stone fireplace. “I think not.” He reached up, sank his fingers into a crack in the mortar, and coaxed out a small key. “Now, can you tell me what the man looked like? Whatever you remember.”
“What he looked like?” Kendra watched as he opened the desk’s top drawer and slipped the key into a hidden lock. The bottom drawer—the one she’d been unable to open—sprang free. “He was shorter than you, by a good six inches, I’d say.” She shut her eyes, trying to remember. “Thin, pale, pale eyes I think, too, although I was at a distance.” She opened her eyes as Trick pulled a sheet of paper from the top drawer.
“Hair?” A bottle of ink and a quill came out next.
“His hat covered most of it, but his hair was brown, wasn’t it? Gray-brown.”
“Just as I remember.” He scribbled it all down. “His clothing?”
“Gray, all gray. Plain—well, he was a Puritan. Nothing to distinguish him there. Oh, his shoes had very ugly dull buckles. Square. Pewter, I’m guessing.” She frowned as he wrote. “Why does this matter?”
“Wait.” He held up a hand, still writing. “Any scars?”
“Too far to see.”
“I think he had a healing cut on his chin. And a wart alongside his nose.” The quill scratched some more. “There,” he said, ending with a flourish. “Job well done. You really are quite observant.” He shoved the page into the bottom drawer and slammed it closed.
“Trick?”
“Aye?” He returned to the
