He bent down and brushed his lips over hers. She didn’t have time to close her eyes and lean into him before he straightened, ending the kiss.
“Our destination lies ahead,” he said. “And we cannot be late.”
He walked on, and she matched his stride, until the tumbling of swift-moving water sounded ahead. The forest parted to reveal a river, some thirty feet in width, moving busily through the woods. Trees lined its banks, but Jessica’s attention fixed on the dilapidated water mill hunched beside the river. The three-story wooden structure boasted most of its roof and walls, but the undershot water wheel lurched off its axel and partially lay in the river, which rushed over its timbers. Other than these sounds, there was a deep stillness of a place undisturbed.
As they approached, a group of birds inside the mill wheeled into the air, bursting through a hole in the ceiling with a collective cry.
From inside the mill, a voice clipped, “State your business or enjoy the taste of silver-coated buckshot for your luncheon.”
A salt-and-pepper head poked out from the open doorway, the thick, wavy strands held back in a haphazard bun. Spectacles gleamed.
“And cost yourself good business?” Tej snorted. “You’d sooner sleep in a horse trough, Quentin.”
“A horse trough wouldn’t be the roughest place I’ve lain my head.” The shadows within shifted, and the person inside the mill beckoned. “Come in, then, so we can do this properly.”
Ezra tied off the horse, and then Jessica walked carefully beside him, Tej, and Rhys as they approached the mill. “You led me to believe that Quentin was a man.”
“We didn’t correct your assumption that she was,” Rhys pointed out.
“Little difference.”
They crossed the mill’s threshold. Though the floor still existed, great swaths of it had been overtaken by grass and leafy growth, and sparrows fluttered overhead where they flew from beam to beam. Holes in the floor gave glimpses of rodent-eaten sacks that at one time held wheat to be ground. On the second story was the millstone, motionless now in its casing, and the shaft that would have once transported the ground grain to the storage chest lurched to one side, sifting only dust into a pile on the floor.
Quentin wore a serviceable bodice of rugged cloth, and her skirts were short enough for her sturdy, worn boots to be visible.
Behind her spectacles, she eyed Jessica warily. “Unusual for you boys to bring a new piece to a transaction.”
“The piece can be addressed directly,” Jessica snapped. “And she possesses a name. Jessica.”
There was a hint of humor and admiration in Quentin’s green-blue gaze. “Are you part of the gang, Jessica?”
“I’m not part of anything.”
“Bit of a risk, though, innit?” Quentin glanced at Ezra. “Bonny as she is, can Jessica be trusted?”
“She warned me when I was at risk of being shot,” Ezra said. “I would have been bleeding into my fur on the Essex road without her stepping in. Saved my wolf hide.”
Jessica’s brows climbed. Whoever this Quentin woman was, Ezra and the others had enough faith in her to entrust her with the secret of their lycanthropy.
“Is that all you saved?” Quentin asked her with a sly smile. Her gaze flicked up and down Jessica in an arch assessment.
“I don’t see how that’s any of your fucking business,” came Jessica’s reply.
The woman’s smile broadened into a grin. “A firebrand, this Miss Jessica. And if you lot brought her here, then I’m going to take it as a testament to her character. Shall we get to it, boys?”
Quentin snapped her fingers, and Tej brought forward the wooden box taken from Mowbray last night. He presented it to the woman. She tried to open the container, then smirked when it wouldn’t.
“As if a lock of such middling quality provides anything but the most minor of inconveniences.”
She reached into a pocket in her skirts and produced a small leather case. From the case, she pulled out two slim brass rods. Jessica had been amongst the rougher crowds in London. She knew lock picks when they were in play.
As Tej held the box steady for her, Quentin inserted the picks into the brass lock. The woman manipulated them with deft, steady hands. Less than a minute later, there was a gratifying snick, and Quentin straightened. She pocketed her picks.
With a smile of anticipation, Quentin opened the box. She let out a hum of appreciation as she reached into the velvet-lined container.
When she pulled out a necklace of dazzling diamonds with a heavy tear-shaped emerald pendant, Ezra and the men beamed at each other, pleased.
An exclamation of astonishment leapt from Jessica’s lips. She’d known that a wealthy baronet such as Sir Harold Mowbray might be in possession of exceptional jewels, but she’d no notion that her former employer owned gems like this. They had to be worth hundreds, nay, thousands of pounds.
