Archer walked over to where Briar was digging in her saddlebags and muttering under her breath about malachite, azurite, and ochre.
“Are you ready?”
“I think so.” She pulled a jar of black paint from the bottom of a saddlebag and tucked it into her bulging canvas satchel. Her movements were jerky, betraying her nerves. “The mountain is bigger than I expected. I hope I have enough paint.”
“I have faith in your powers of destruction.”
She sighed. “I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Please do.” Archer paused, gathering his thoughts. “I know you aren’t always fond of your power. I’m sorry I dragged you away from your cottage and made you use it.”
“That life was doomed anyway,” Briar said briskly, still fiddling with her satchel. “Besides, you need me.”
“I do. Maybe more than you think.”
Briar looked up to meet his gaze. Archer remembered when he first saw her peering out of that maple tree by Winton’s house, owlish and devastating. He brushed a frizzy curl back from her forehead, his hand lingering on her cheek. She watched him with a careful stillness. He couldn’t tell if she was about to lean toward him or pull away. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was about to do either.
He wanted to kiss her. Of course he did. He’d wanted to kiss her every minute since she’d first fallen out of that tree and into his life, but his work wasn’t done. Kissing Briar would complicate everything that had to happen after they completed their mission. He accepted that. It wouldn’t be fair.
Still, his hand lingered on her face. She blinked, her eyelashes fluttering against his skin. Her sweetbriar lips parted. His pulse accelerated, beating like a drum. It may not be fair, but he was going to do it anyway.
Just as Archer was about to throw away every last scrap of caution and lean in, something large thudded into the back of his legs. He pitched forward, nearly knocking Briar down. They grabbed each other instinctively to keep their balance.
The large thing that had rammed into him had a big wrinkly head and sun-dappled gray fur. He leapt up on his back legs and began slobbering all over Archer’s face.
“Sheriff! It’s about time you showed up. You almost missed all the fun.”
The dog continued to enthusiastically—and wetly—greet his master. Then he dropped back to all fours and regarded Briar with bright black eyes. She looked at him uncertainly, as if afraid she’d offended him by spiriting his master across the river without him. Before she could say anything, Sheriff leapt on top of her and proceeded to greet her as vigorously as he had greeted Archer himself.
“Okay, okay, she missed you too,” Archer said, patting his old friend on his meaty shoulders and avoiding Briar’s eyes so he wouldn’t be drawn in again. It was better that way. “We have work to do. You reckon you can keep an eye on the horses for us?”
Sheriff whined his acquiescence.
“Good. Then I think it’s time we follow up all this talk with a bit of action.”
No sooner had he said it than trumpets blared through the woods loud enough to shake the leaves from their branches. Lew dashed up moments later, breathing heavily. He had twigs in his red hair, and bits of bark clung to his beard.
“A whole caravan of riders,” Lew said, “coming up the canyon road.”
Archer was already reaching for his bow. “More reinforcements?”
“Could be,” Lew said. “They’re still far off. Most are soldiers, but there’s a fancy carriage too.”
“Show me.”
Lew led the way, and soon Archer was back on the ridge, though farther from the wych elms and the stone door than before. Two dozen armed and liveried fighting men were riding up the road, surrounding a carriage bearing a familiar sigil, one Archer had looked at with mixed feelings for most of his life. A man sat inside the carriage, his profile visible through the open window.
Rage bubbled up in Archer’s gut, a familiar torrent of emotion that had gotten him in a great deal of trouble the last time he’d seen that man. That man was the reason Archer was there, the reason Mae and her child were in danger. He was why Archer’s life wasn’t truly his own, why he couldn’t kiss Briar without feeling guilty, why he had committed himself to their mission and everything that had to happen afterward.
“Today is going to be more exciting than we thought,” Archer said, fighting to keep his voice calm. “It looks like Lord Larke himself is here.”
Lord Jasper Larke, Archer’s father.
Chapter 20
“Change of plans.”
Briar looked up to see Archer marching back to where she waited with the others by the broken statue. His jaw was clenched, his dark eyebrows drawn low. The breezy bravado he’d displayed moments ago had disappeared.
“Lord Larke is coming up the canyon road with two dozen retainers. He’ll reach Narrowmar in twenty minutes.”
“He’ll want to see Mae at once,” Jemma said. “We were counting on her being alone.”
Archer nodded grimly. “We can’t wait until he leaves. He could stay until after the baby is born and take it with him when he goes.”
“So we’re too late?” Nat asked.
“Not yet,” Archer said. “But we can’t wait until suppertime like we planned. Esteban?”
“Yes?”
“What do you say we attack the caravan right now, before Lord Larke has a chance to reach the front gates?”
“Archer,” Jemma began.
“It’ll get their eyes on us, same as we planned.”
Esteban studied Archer intently. “Just to be clear, instead of pretending to sing my way through the side of the mountain, you now want me to attack
