“Seeing how Quinn was so avid to buy an elegant gift for Jillian, I certainly wasn’t about to stop him. Grimm, I believe, went with them simply to avoid getting stuck alone with the lass,” Hatchard added dryly.

Kaley’s eyes sparkled, and she clapped her hands together. “A gift for Jillian. So it’s to be Jillian de Moncreiffe, is it? A fine name for a fine lass, I must say. And that would keep her nearby in the Lowlands.”

Hatchard returned his pensive gaze to the ribbon of road wending through the valley. He watched the last rider disappear around a bend and clucked his tongue. “I wouldn’t be so certain, Kaley,” he murmured.

“Whatever is that cryptic remark supposed to mean?” Kaley frowned.

“Just that in my estimation the lass has never had eyes for anyone but Grimm.”

“Grimm Roderick is the worst possible man for her!” Kaley exclaimed.

Hatchard turned a curious gaze on the voluptuous maid. “Now, why would you say that?”

Kaley’s hand flew to her throat, and she fanned herself. “There are men women desire and there are men women marry. Roderick is not the kind of man a woman marries.”

“Why not?” Hatchard asked, bewildered.

“He’s dangerous,” Kaley breathed. “Positively dangerous to the lass.”

“You think he might harm her in some way?” Hatchard tensed, prepared to do battle if such was the case.

“Without even meaning to, Remmy.” Kaley sighed.

“They’ve gone where? And for how long did you say?” Jillian’s brow puckered with indignation.

“To the city of Durrkesh, milady,” Hatchard replied. “I should suppose they’ll be gone just shy of a sennight.”

Jillian smoothed the folds of her gown irritably. “I wore a dress this morning, Kaley—a pretty one,” she complained. “I was even going to ride to the village wearing it instead of Da’s plaid, and you know how I hate riding in a dress.”

“You look lovely, indeed,” Kaley assured her.

“I look lovely for whom? All my suitors have abandoned me.”

Hatchard cleared his throat gruffly. “There wouldn’t have been one in particular you were hoping to impress, would there?”

Jillian turned on him accusingly. “Did my da put you up to spying on me, Hatchard? You’re probably sending him weekly reports! Well, boodle, I’ll tell you nothing.”

Hatchard had the grace to look abashed. “I’m not sending him reports. I was merely concerned for your welfare.”

“You can concern yourself with someone else’s. I’m old enough and I worry enough for both of us.”

“Jillian,” Kaley chided, “crabby does not become you. Hatchard is merely expressing his concern.”

“I feel like being crabby. Can’t I just do that for a change?” Jillian’s brow furrowed as she reflected a moment. “Wait a minute,” she said pensively. “Durrkesh, is it? They hold a splendid fair this time of year … the last time I went with Mama and Da, we stayed at a perfectly lovely little inn—the Black Boot, wasn’t it, Kaley?”

Kaley nodded. “When your brother Edmund was alive the two of you went to the city often.”

A shadow flitted across Jillian’s face.

Kaley winced. “I’m sorry, Jillian. I didn’t mean to bring that up.”

“I know.” Jillian drew a deep breath. “Kaley, start packing. I’ve a sudden urge to go a’fairing, and what better time than now? Hatchard, have the horses readied. I’m tired of sitting around letting life happen to me. It’s time I make my life happen.”

“This doesn’t bode well, Missus Twillow,” Hatchard told Kaley as Jillian strolled briskly off.

“A woman has as much right to cat about as a man. At least she’s catting after a husband. Now we just have to put our heads together and make certain she chooses the right one,” Kaley informed him loftily before sauntering after Jillian, twitching her plump hips in a manner that put Hatchard in mind of a long-forgotten, exceedingly bawdy ditty.

He blew out a gusty breath and headed off to the stables.

The Black Boot sagged alarmingly at the eaves, but fortunately the rooms Grimm had procured were on the third floor, not the top, which meant they should be reasonably safe from the deluge that had begun halfway through their trip.

Pausing outside the open door to the inn, Grimm fisted double handfuls of his shirt and squeezed it. Water gushed from between his hands and splattered loudly on the great stone slab outside the door.




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