James Rose shrugged. “Effie gives the orders;I follow them.”
Lucan nodded with a sage expression. Leave it to a young man to find fault with a plan and yet offer no other solution. So he was surprised when James spoke again.
“I do find it unlikely that the bloke will simply be waiting on you to apprehend him in the same manner you did last time—in some village or on a fishing skiff. He’s no idiot; he knows what’s at stake for him should he step foot onto English soil again.”
“Waiting on us, perhaps not,” Lucan allowed. “But he’s on his own. No resources, no compatriots.”
“Much like the first time he escaped.”
Lucan nodded. “True.”
The youth was silent for a moment. “We’ll be wasting our time in Glasgow,” he muttered. And then James Rose kicked at his horse’s sides and pulled ahead of Lucan, leaving him in the sparkling, coldlight of dawn.
Lucan shook his head. The hotheadedness of youth. He remembered it well. A young man seeking always action, often at the expense of planning. That had been Lucan once, long ago. Had he not been in faraway France with Iris to look after, there was no telling how he could have ruined his own chances at recovering Castle Dare. Thomas Annesley was no longer an impetuous young man.
Lucan frowned. This current thread of thought was somehow now unsettling to him, like a tiny sliver just under his skin that he could feel snagging at his touch but unable to make out with his eyes to remove. But he had no time to worry at it as Kit Katey’s ambling mount filled the spot recently vacated by the sullen James Rose.
“Good morning,” Lucan said.
She smiled shyly at him and ducked her head in way of greeting. It was the most interaction Lucan had had with the girl, and he had to admit that he was more than a bit curious as to the exotic beauty’s secrets.
“We’ve not been properly introduced,” Lucan tried.
“I know who you are,” Kit Katey replied right away in her lilting accent. “Sir Lucan Montague, of the Most Noble Order of the Garter of King Henry. You are English. You have a sister. You own a land that you cannot claim, and a hold that is no more.”
A surprised smile spread across Lucan’s face. “Ah, you have proved me wrong. And so now I find myself at adisadvantage.”
“How so?”
“I only know you as Kit Katey,” he explained. “Is that because of your affection forsmall felines?”
“My name was Qi QiangTing,” she said.
“Was?”
“When I was rescued. But it is difficult for English to pronounce.” She paused. “I do like kittens, though.”
Lucan took a bold tact. “Who rescued you?”
“Effie is correct—you ask many questions.”
“You needn’t answer them if you don’t wish.”
“I know that.” Her eyes flashed at him, and Lucan realized that the girl wasn’t shy—she was sly. She was careful. His mind went at once to the children in the cave stables.
“Gorman rescued me,” she continued. “I was Adolphus Paget’s…companion for many years.”
“But you’re just a child,”Lucan blurted.
“I am ascore and two.”
Lucan was shocked—he thought the girl no more thanten and three.
“My village was in the path of an attack from enemies in the north against the emperor. I was taken hostage and sold to a band of Mongol traders. They brought me to Constantinople where an English merchant bought me for trade in London.”
Lucan knew he was staring at the girl—woman, he corrected himself—but he couldn’t help it. The way she spoke of her captivity was so matter-of-fact and Lucan—no innocent, himself—felt heat creep up his neck.
“You knew Gorman at Elsmire Tower,”he stammered.
