LITMIR.BIZ

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the seamstress. ‘I am just popping down to the market. Is it all right if I use your back door for a shortcut?’

      The woman looked a little startled. ‘If that is your wish.’

      ‘It is. Thank you. And, Mary, if Mr Gilvry should return before me, do keep him busy out here.’ She gave the seamstress a bright smile. ‘Please make sure the rear door remains unlocked.’

      Not waiting for a reply, or for the argument clearly forming on Mary’s tongue, she made her way to the back of the shop and slipped out into the filthy back alley, the kennels running with night slops and other matter. It would all find its way down to the sea eventually, but on a fine day like today it stank. Jenna tried to breathe as little as possible until she found herself out in the open and a few yards from the market square.

      Having very little time to spare, she ignored the hawkers and farmers and kept a lookout for a tinker’s stall. Ah, there, a colourful awning hung with pots and pans and a trestle piled with goods of every description. The stall owner’s gypsy heritage showed in his olive skin and dark flashing eyes. A gold earring glinted in one ear. He’d been the one who had brought Mr Hughes’s message to her before she left Mrs Blackstone’s house. He came out from behind his counter to greet her with a quick sly smile and a flourishing bow. ‘Lady Jenna. An honour to meet you again. What can I do for you today? A paper of pins, perhaps? A pot of rouge? Not that your pretty lips need enhancement.’

      His point was obvious. No sale, no message. And good for him, too. ‘I’ll take some ribbons, if you please.’ The gift would settle Mary’s feathers, hopefully.

      ‘How about a gift for a young man with hazel eyes?’

      Her heart stilled as she pictured Niall as if the gypsy had conjured him up. His strong jaw. The firm lips that had lingered on hers with such warmth and tenderness. And the determined set to his chin when he’d refused to take her riding this morning. She jerked back from the image.

      How could he know about Niall? And she certainly wasn’t buying him a gift. She shook her head. ‘Just the ribbons and the message.’

      He put a hand to his heart. ‘And there I was thinking you came for the pleasure of my company.’ His eyes darkened. ‘You are not the only one interested in people from Braemuir.’

      A suspicion crossed her mind. She looked around her, but saw no sign of a tall handsome Scot. ‘Who are you talking about?’

      He shrugged

      ‘A young man? Handsome in a rough kind of way.’

      He raised a black brow. ‘I can’t say I noticed his looks. Indeed, I hardly noticed him at all. I was busy with a customer at the time.’

      Why didn’t she believe him? But it couldn’t be Niall. He knew nothing of the message she had come to collect. And glad she was of that, or he would no doubt have told Lord Carrick about this, too.

      She pulled out a small pouch of coins. ‘How much for the ribbons and your services?’

      ‘A shilling, if you please, my lady.’

      No doubt Mr Hughes had also crossed his palm with silver, but she didn’t argue. The man needed to make a living. She dug out the requested coin and held it out. He slipped a folded piece of paper into her hand. ‘You have been sorely missed, Lady Jenna.’

      A pang twisted her heart. She should have returned home long before this, but Mrs Blackstone had been so kind to her, she’d felt obliged to see her through her long illness. She would never regret that decision, but she could only hope it was not too late for Braemuir. It could not be. She would not allow it. ‘I will be there very soon.’

      ‘Mr Hughes will be pleased.’

      She turned to leave and almost bumped her nose on the chest of a man standing right behind her.

      She stepped back. Looking up, she instantly recognised his face and gasped. It was one of the brutes who had accosted her on the road. To her right, a knife appeared as if by magic in the gipsy’s clever fingers. Oh, no. Was he in league with this thief?

      Wildly, she glanced around for help. The gypsy backed away, his gaze fixed not on the footpad or on her, but on something behind her. Weak at the knees, she glanced over her shoulder to see another large figure looming towards her. Her breath left her chest in a rush of relief. ‘Mr Gilvry.’

      ‘Lady Jenna,’ he said in disapproving tones. ‘What the blazes are you doing here?’

      Despite the anger in his tone, Jenna edged closer to his bulk, unconsciously seeking protection, while his gaze raked the footpad and a grim smile curved his lips. ‘So. We meet again. There is someone here who would like a word with you.’

      The man backed up a few steps, then turned and fled. The gypsy’s knife disappeared as if by magic.

      ‘Is this the man?’ An officer in scarlet stepped up smartly, glaring at the gypsy who immediately melted into the crowds.

      ‘Not him,’ Niall said. ‘Him.’ He pointed to the retreating ruffian’s back. ‘Quick, man, he is getting away.’

      The lieutenant gave Jenna a quick bow and hurried after his quarry.

      Niall took hold of her arm and swung her around to face him. ‘What is going on, Lady Jenna? Why are you not at the dressmaker’s as you promised?’

      A very real desire to have him put his arm around her and hold her close until her body stopped its cowardly tremble, took her by surprise. With difficulty, she forced herself to stand her ground and look him in the eye. ‘I did not promise to stay there. I promised to be there when you got back.’

      ‘Hair splitting.’ He glanced around, frowning. ‘Why were you meeting that criminal?’

      Shocked, still shaking inside, she stared at him open-mouthed. ‘I wasn’t. He must have seen me and decided to finish off what he started.’

      His eyes widened. He didn’t believe her. She could see it in his tight expression. His mistrust hurt. Not that she cared about his opinion, one way or the other. She didn’t dare. It would make her too vulnerable when she needed to be strong.

      ‘An odd coincidence that you should both be here at the same time.’

      He really didn’t trust her. She felt miserable and angry all at once. ‘Wick is a small place. Many people come to the market.’ Somehow, though, she didn’t feel as if this second meeting was by chance. Yet how could it be otherwise?

      His gaze was fixed on the note still clutched in her hand, suspicion rampant in his expression. ‘Then why are you here? And to whom are you writing?’ he asked.

      Dash it all, was she to have no privacy? ‘It is none of your business. You are not my guardian or my gaoler.’

      His mouth tightened. Disappointment filled his expression, as if he expected her to trust him when he did not trust her. ‘Unfortunately I am, until Lord Carrick returns.’ He stared at the letter and held out his hand.

      Unfortunately. What did he mean, unfortunately? That really hurt. ‘This is a private letter, addressed to me from a friend of my father’s. It came via the tinker at this stall.’

      Mr Gilvry’s lips thinned. ‘If it is all so innocent, why not simply send it by way of the post office?’

      Why was he being so starchy? Surely he wasn’t jealous of her letter from home? Not possible. He was simply doing his duty. So he thought. She drew herself up to her full height. Not very impressive beside him, but necessary to make her point. ‘Again, it is none of your business.’

      ‘It is, if the getting of it puts you in danger.’

      Did that mean he really was worried about her? Her heart gave a cheerful little skip. ‘How could I have guessed the man would be here and would risk an approach among so many people? Besides, I thought they must be far away by now, fearing the hue and cry.’

      An odd

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