Amber (Jewel Trilogy, Book 3) (14 page)

Warm and tender, his kiss was both a silent apology for the harsh words and a promise for their future. His tongue traced her lips, then plunged inside. None too solid already, her knees turned to pudding as his mouth demanded a response she seemed helpless to deny him.

When he broke off, her breath came loud and ragged. "Yes," she whispered.

"Yes, what,
leannan
?" His smile caught her off guard.

"Yes, I mean, no, I...won't come here again."

"Thank you." He nodded solemnly and kissed her again, a light brush of the lips that left her wanting more.

She leaned closer.

"Hell, lassie, you tempt a man to go back on his word." He raised his brows suggestively. "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."

"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.

"I'll be damned." 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 huffed. "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,
leannan
." 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. "What 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 melting a man'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 take her lips in a slow kiss.

She leaned against him, sighing into his mouth.

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
again?"

"I'm betting on it." He scooped up the coins and stuffed them into his surcoat pocket. "And I'm not a losing man."

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 heady waves.

His gaze drifted over to Kendra, her hair bright in the midday sun. A grass stain on her knee 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. 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 between them, he 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 Puritan." 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 worthless 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 beautiful 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 atypical interests, but he couldn't allow her to go spreading this idea around, risking the chance the perpetrators might hear and 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. "I think you'll find me more forgiving than most. The only thing I won't stand for is infidelity, and I've nothing to worry about on that account, have I?"

Yet. Someday soon he would initiate her into the joys of physical love...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 men expect fidelity only from their mistresses."

Most men hadn't found their betrothed wife in bed with another man. "You will learn,
leannan
, that I am not like most men."

She shot him an arch look. "And what if I'm not like most women? 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 to play cards. 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 just 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.

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 pensive, 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. "After all these years, I still recognize her hand." He blinked, then suddenly thrust the letter at Kendra. "Here. You read it."

She almost 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 Scottish word that had slipped into his careful English speech.

"Read it, please." He slumped down in the chair and took a long sip of spirits, 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 writing is beautiful," she said.

He said nothing.

She took a deep breath. "'My dear Patrick Iain,'" she read. "'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.'"