by Lauren Royal
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 mantel and reached to replace the key.
“Will you stop doing this? For me?”
He whirled to face her. “I cannot promise that, Kendra.”
“We’ll find another way to support the orphans. I’ll ask my brothers—”
“I cannot stop.” Coming closer, he put his hands on her shoulders. “Soon, but not yet.”
“It frightens me.” Her voice came out a whisper.
“You do have a way of wrenching one’s heart.” He tilted her chin to meet her eyes. “I’ll be careful,” he said softly.
“Promise?”
“Cross my heart.”
She smiled faintly and touched him lightly on the chest. “This one?”
“That one exactly.” He placed his hand over hers and bent to meet her lips.
She leaned against him, sighing into the kiss.
When he finally pulled back, it was with a chuckle. Playfully he tugged on her hand, pulling her toward the corridor. “Shall we try the bed again, do you think?”
She stood her ground. “Not on your life. You think your kisses are good enough to tempt me to try that?”
“I’m betting on it.” He scooped up the coins and stuffed them into his surcoat pocket. “And I’m not a losing man.”
TWENTY-TWO
THEY RODE across the downs, taking a leisurely route to enjoy the warm day. Trick felt better than he had in months. Odds were he had enough information now—he would send a message to the contact the king had provided, meet with the man, and hopefully be done.
Premature though it might be, relief flowed through him in powerful waves.
His gaze drifted over to Kendra, her hair bright in the midday sun. A blade of grass stuck to her dress brought a smile to his lips. Though she was a challenge, he found it impossible to stay angry with her. She was the helpmate he’d never thought to have, and he loved that she felt so protective of him. As soon as word came that his mission was complete, they could start anew.
Their marriage was suspended on a fragile web, but without this secret coming between them, they could begin to spin it stronger.
“Trick?”
“Hmm?”
“Why did you want a description of that man?”
He shrugged uncomfortably, suddenly questioning the wisdom of allowing her to have seen him do that. But he’d always made his notes immediately, while the vision was still fresh in his mind.
“To send to the authorities,” he said in an offhand manner. “Anonymously, of course, so they can identify the blackguard without my being involved.”
“Why do you suppose he’s counterfeiting?”
“To get rich, I imagine.”
“I imagine there’s another reason. Something tied in with his being a Roundhead.” Her eyes unfocused, she stared right through him, clearly lost in contemplation. “I don’t think he’s acting alone,” she said.
“What makes you say that?”
“He didn’t seem bright enough.”
Not as bright as she was, Trick thought, that was for sure.
“I’m thinking he’s part of a bigger operation,” she continued, “and if the members are Puritans, perhaps in league with some other Parliamentarians, they might be acting against the king’s interests. Passing worthles
s currency in an attempt to undermine the economy and the people’s confidence in the monarchy. A plot to regain the power they once had, the power that died along with Cromwell.”
She stole his breath. Both the strength of her reasoning and the fact that she’d hit it on the mark—the very suspicions that Charles had put forth and Trick was attempting to prove. He’d never considered that his pretty young wife might understand the intricate linkage of economics and political power.
But it was dangerous, this line of reasoning. Kendra might have a sharp head and aligning interests, but he couldn’t risk her spreading this idea around, allowing the perpetrators to discover someone was on to them.
“Maybe,” he said lightly, keeping his face and tone nonchalant. “But I expect he’s just trying to get rich.”
She studied him, her hands tightening on Pandora’s reins. “How easily you dismiss my ideas. Are you still angry that I followed you earlier?”
“Nay,” he said, relieved to be on a different subject. “No harm was done.” They turned up Amberley’s drive, the trees on either side throwing cool shadows across the pathway. “You’d have to do much worse to incur my long-term wrath. Infidelity, for instance—though I’ve nothing to worry about on that account, have I?”
Yet. In the near future, he hoped, she’d overcome her fear of physical intimacy…and then maybe he’d have something to worry about.
“Infidelity?” A challenge in her voice, Kendra jostled Pandora closer to Chaucer’s side. “Most gentlemen expect fidelity only from their mistresses.”
Most gentlemen hadn’t found their betrothed in bed with someone else. Trick sighed, pushing away those old memories. “You will learn that I am not like most gentlemen.”
She shot him an arch look. “And what if I’m not like most ladies? What if I expect the same fidelity from you?”
“Turning the tables, are you?” He risked leaning from the saddle to chuck her under the chin. “You surely know how to try a man’s patience.”
Her green eyes flashed. “That was no sort of answer.”
“I wouldn’t ask something of you if I weren’t willing to offer it myself.”
Her expression said louder than words that she didn’t believe him. But she dropped the topic, her gaze drifting to Amberley’s impressive facade. “My brother Ford will want to go up the tower and see how the clock works.”
“He already has.”
Her pretty brow creased in a puzzled frown.
“The house parties, remember? He seems much taken with clocks. Stayed up there half an afternoon, while we twiddled our thumbs waiting for him. Here we are.” Trick slid to the gravel and handed his reins to a groom. With a gentle hand at her back, he urged Kendra up the steps of Amberley House.
“Dinner,” he said as Compton opened the door. “I’m fair starving. And then—”
“A letter, your grace.” The butler proffered a silver tray. “It arrived while you were out.”
Frowning, Trick snatched it up. Wrinkled and grubby, it looked as though it had traveled quite a distance. “Thank you, Compton. We’ll take it to the study. Let us know when dinner is ready.”
“Certainly.” Compton’s jowls wobbled with the nod of his head. He took himself off to the kitchens, and Trick ushered Kendra into the study, tossing the letter on the marquetry table that sat between two leather chairs.
TWENTY-THREE
KENDRA SAT while Trick poured himself a shot of whisky. He dropped onto the other chair and threw back a gulp. Setting the glass on the table between them, he lifted the letter.
Kendra watched him worry the seal with his long fingers. “Open it,” she suggested.
“Not just yet.” He turned it over and stared at his name written on the back.
“What is it?” Wondering why he seemed so odd, she hitched herself forward and frowned at the parchment. “Do you know who it’s from?”
He looked up at her, his face set in unfamiliar lines. Not teasing, not angry, not thoughtful, not seductive—not any emotion she’d seen there before. Not even evasive—another all-too-common mood she was learning to distinguish.
“It’s from my mother,” he said softly. “I’d barely learned how to write myself when I left her, but all these years later, I still recognize her hand.” He blinked, then suddenly thrust the letter at Kendra. “Here. You read it.”
She nearly dropped it, but caught it in time. “No,” she protested. “It’s addressed to you.”
“I’ll listen. Then I willnae hear her voice, but yours.”
Her heart ached at the pain in his tone, at the telltale Scots word that had slipped into his careful English speech.
“Read it, please.” He slumped down in the chair and took a long sip of whisky, then leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
She smoothed the parchment against her skirt and slipped a fingernail under the seal. When it lifted off with a little snapping sound, Trick winced.
“Go ahead,” he said huskily.
The paper crackled as she opened it and held it to catch the light from the window. “Her handwriting is beautiful,” she said.
He said nothing.
She took a deep breath. “‘My dear Patrick Iain,’” she read aloud. “‘My heart is heavy with sorrow for all the years we’ve been apart. Now I am dying, and it is my fondest wish to gaze upon your beloved face once more. Though I know you’re a man grown, my bonnie lad you’ll always be. Come to me, Patrick, come make an old woman smile as she greets the next world. With all the love in my heart, Mam.’”
Silence. Kendra took one long breath, two…three.
Trick opened his eyes and sipped slowly from his glass.
“Can I go with you?” she asked.
“Where?” He shifted to face her. “You don’t think I’ll go to her, do you?”
“You must!”
“She cannot ignore me for eighteen years and then expect me to jump to her command.”
“She’s dying, Trick.”
He shrugged.
“You must make your peace. It’s your only chance.”
“I don’t care to give her the satisfaction.”
“It’s your own satisfaction at stake here. If you fail to go now, you’ll always wonder. Always. Go to her and find your answers, before it’s too late. Close your heart if you must, but go. Say good-bye.”
He drained the glass and rolled it between his palms. “You think yourself wise for your years.”
“I didn’t get to know my parents.” The letter crackled as she folded it and set it on the table. “In my dreams, awake and sleeping, I’ve accused them of leaving me and I’ve told them I loved them. I’ve been angry at them, and sad. But I was too young when they died, so face-to-face, I never got to tell them anything.”
He took a deep breath, and the crystal stilled between his hands.
“Go, Trick. Now. Tonight.” She’d have to postpone the children’s party, but so be it. “I’ll come with you.”
“No,” he said slowly. “I’ll go alone. Tomorrow.”
TWENTY-FOUR
AFTER SUPPER, Kendra found herself mounted on Pandora, heading toward the cottage for the second time that day.
She slanted a glance at Trick riding beside her. She’d tried halfheartedly to talk him into taking her along to Scotland, knowing he was absolutely set against it.
Well, perhaps it would be a relief to be free from him for a while. Free to catch up on her sleep. Free from those kisses that made her lose her head. Free to think about whether she wanted to let Trick go past kissing, because she wasn’t sure whether to believe what Cait had told her or what he had said.
You should know it will hurt…
But not much, and only the first time…
Still, part of her was reluctant to see him go, so she’d clung to him like a sticky bun all the afternoon, while he completed the tasks that stood in the way of his leaving.
The full moon reflected off the cottage windows as they approached. “I had
no idea of the extent of your responsibilities,” she said through a yawn.
“I just want to drop off some papers.”
Her eyes felt gritty. “And after that?”
Trick slid from Chaucer and reached to help her down. “I still have much to do before I can sleep.”
She tethered Pandora and followed him inside. “You’re pushing yourself.” She closed the door and leaned against it, watching while he lit a single candle. “I know you must be worried for your mother—”
“I’m not particularly worried.” Finished, he felt for the key above the fireplace.
“She’s dying.”
He shot her a look as he unlocked the desk. “You said yourself her writing is beautiful. A woman on her deathbed would have a shaky hand, or dictate to someone else.” He pulled a sheaf of papers from his surcoat and slid them into the bottom drawer.
“Perhaps she did dictate it.”
“It was her own hand—I’d bet my life on that. Aye, she’s up to something.” He shut the drawer and relocked it. “I’ll play along with her game, just in case I’m wrong, but she’s a conniving—”
“You cannot know that, Trick. Not after all these years.”
“Time will tell which of us is right. But I won’t live in hope that she’s changed.” He shoved the key back between the stones and began to blow out the flame, then suddenly stopped. “Blast it, I forgot the hats and pipes. I wonder what else I’m forgetting? Wait here—I’ll be back.” He set the candle on the mantel, and before she knew it, the door had slammed behind him.
She stood still for a moment in guilty indecision before walking slowly to the fireplace. Teetering on her toes, she reached for the key, finding Trick had placed it too high for her reach. She dragged the desk chair close, climbed atop it, and nudged the key from its hiding place.
Jumping down, she rushed to the window. Moonlight illuminated the grounds. Trick was nowhere in sight. Seconds later she had the bottom drawer open and was pawing through its contents.
On top were the notes he’d just dropped off and those he’d concealed there earlier today. Not to keep them from her, obviously—he’d made no secret of the drawer. Surely he wouldn’t care if she looked.