A soft knock startled her. She jumped up, half expecting Evan, but when she opened the door, it was only the innkeeper’s wife, carrying a wooden bowl of steaming water. “For washing,” the woman said shortly, giving Ruby a quick once-over before bustling away. Evan might have told the innkeeper and his wife that the two of them were married, but the wife, at least, didn’t seem convinced and didn’t bother to hide her disapproval.
That was another thing she had to get used to. Back home, nobody cared whether you were married or not. It was nobody else’s business who you shared a room with and why. But here there seemed to be a different set of standards—archaic by Ruby’s estimation—and getting her head around this new set of rules was taking some effort.
Why had sheeverthought this trip was a good idea? Oh, what she wouldn’t give to roll time back to this morning! She’d give herself a damn-good talking to, give up all these silly ideas of time-travel, and book herself in for a pamper day at some expensive spa that she couldn’t afford.
With a sigh, she stared at the bowl of hot water. Her reflection wavered in the ripples—her hair tangled from the salt wind, her face streaked with grime. She looked nothing like the composed woman who, only weeks ago, had been preparing for her wedding.
Biting her lip, she pulled the chair close and dipped her hands into the warmth. She splashed her face, sighing at the small comfort, and then carefully worked the tangles out of her hair with her fingers. She tried to imagine what Evan would say if he saw her now—probably something sarcastic.
“Ugh,” she muttered. “Why am I eventhinkingabout him?”
The sounds of the inn echoed up from below. Boots thudded across floorboards, men shouted to one another, mugs slammed against tables. Laughter rose, sharp and raucous, followed by the crash of something breaking.
Ruby flinched. It didn’t feel safe here. Every voice seemed too loud, every laugh edged with menace. She listened hard, half-convinced that someone might burst through the door at any moment.
They didn’t, but that didn’t make her feel any safer.
Ruby sat on the bed, wrapping the blanket closer around herself. She was determined to stay awake, determined not to be caught unawares as she’d been in the harbor. But the warmth of the blanket, the lingering comfort of the wash, and the steady rhythm of the noise below gradually lulled her.
Her eyelids grew heavy. She fought it, blinking hard, shifting restlessly on the straw-stuffed mattress. She would stay awake. Shewould.
Her chin sank onto her chest, and the noise of the inn faded into dreams.
THE NIGHT AIR WAS THICKwith the smell of salt and smoke, and every sound sharpened Evan’s nerves. He took another swig from the bottle of whisky he’d pilfered, and carried on walking.
As he prowled through the muddy streets, laughter spilled from doors, boots scraped on cobblestones, and here and there the splash of water against moored hulls reminded him that escape was always close—if he needed it.
He moved with the same lazy swagger he always did, though his eyes darted to every shadow, lingering a moment on every face, hoping not to see the spark of recognition in anyone’s gaze. If word had somehow reached this place ahead of him, it meant he wasn’t safe.
It meant Ruby wasn’t safe.
Ruby. Thoughts of her rattled him more than blades at his throat or debts left unpaid. She had a way of cutting right through him with those sharp words and sharper eyes, as if she saw the rot underneath.
He scowled, pulling his hood up as he skirted the wharves and lingered by a group of sailors who’d just come in, listening to their conversation. They were discussing today’s catch. No mention of a hunted man and his female companion. Good.
He moved on, memories surfacing of all the other times he’d loitered in places like this. Smuggling, tricking merchants out of coin, running bribes to militia—aye, he’d done it all and worse. It was the life he’d found himself living, but it hadn’t always been like that. Once, he’d been proud of his name, proud to be a Campbell. The blood in his veins meant something.
Until it didn’t.
He paused, leaning on the wall of a small warehouse. Faces he hadn’t thought about in years rose in his mind. His parents. His brothers. The life he’d left behind. With a growl, he shoved the memories aside, but they left a raw sting behind, one that no amount of whisky or swagger could ease.
He made a circuit of White Rock, finding himself back at the waterfront, and paused by the edge of the quay, letting the night breeze strike his face, cold and bracing. Somewhere behind him, the sound of a door slamming carried on the air, followed by rough laughter.
He spat into the dirt, scowled, and turned back toward the inn. Once there, he slipped through the common room like a shadow and hurried up the stairs to the sleeping quarters. He eased the door open with care, the hinges complaining in a low groan. He slipped inside, shutting it behind him with a quiet click, then stood a moment in the dimness. The single candle Ruby had left burning guttered low, throwing a thin light across the cramped little room.
His gaze fell to the bed where she lay curled on her side, chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep. The sight caught him off guard. He’d half expected her to be pacing like a caged cat, waiting to pounce on him the second he returned. Her hair had fallen loose, glinting where the flame caught it.
He shook his head. The lass hadn’t even locked the bloody door. Anyone could’ve wandered in. Her carelessness pricked at something in him, something that was more than just irritation. It took a moment to place the feeling. Protectiveness?
He tugged off his cloak and draped it over her. It was only then that Ruby stirred, her eyes flickering open. Her eyes found him at once, sharp despite the fog of sleep.
“Where have you been?” she demanded, sitting up. Then her nose wrinkled, and her forehead creased in a scowl. “You stink of booze.”
Evan let out a low laugh, though it sounded harsher than he intended. “That, lass, is the scent of honest toil.”
Ruby didn’t soften at his attempt at humor. She hugged her arms tighter around herself, the blanket and cloak slipping fromher shoulder. “You could’ve told me you’d be gone so long. I thought—” She stopped herself, clamping her mouth shut.
He caught the unspoken words all the same.Thought you’d abandoned me.For a moment he wanted to snap, to remind her he owed her nothing. But then he noticed the weariness lining her face, and the words died on his tongue.
