Page 41 of The Swindler’s Daughter

“Just everything I do? Everything I stand for?” he demanded.

“I never hid my feelings about what you do,” I argued. “And if you truly did consider me a friend, then you wouldn’t ask me to change myself.”

“I’m not asking that.”

“You are!” I insisted as the truth of my own words hit me. “I’ve told you over and over that thieving is wrong and I want no part of it, and you keep acting as if I’m in the wrong for believing it.”

“I didn’t—” He cut himself off, seeming to rein in his thoughts as he stared at the ground and let out a gusty breath. His brow furrowed and his mouth twisted to the side. The sounds of birds and my own breathing filled the air as he stood in thoughtful silence. He finally looked up at me again and there was apology in his eyes. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I pushed too hard.” He ran a hand over his eyes and down his face. “I’m sure of my path, Miri. And maybe that made me believe it was the right path for you too.”

I nodded my head, grateful and relieved that he seemed to understand. “I know what’s right for me better than you do, Rowan.”

His eyebrows jumped, my blunt words seeming to hit him with force. “Yes. You do.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek, lost in thought for a moment. “So then, as a friend…can you tell me why?”

“Why what?”

He lifted one shoulder. “You said you admire me, and that seems to include what I’m doing to help in the village, and yet…”

“I know it’s hypocritical,” I said, my words defensive.

“So explain it to me.” I could tell he was frustrated but trying to be patient.

I huffed, annoyed with myself and the mess of logic that had brought me to this point. But if he truly wanted to know, then I wanted to help him understand. “Approving of what you do, helping you—doing it myself—would be a betrayal of my brother and everything he has done for me.”

He squinted at me, perplexed. “We’re talking about Hunter now?” His frustration was back.

“Yes.”

“He’s the one dictating your actions?” He scoffed. “What happened to knowing for yourself what’s best for you? How did he earn such blind loyalty?”

I bristled. “Because he is the only person who has ever loved me!” I shouted, angry not only because I had to explain but because it was true in the first place. My mother had died when I was a baby. My father had seen me as a burden and a piece of merchandise. “And you—a man who has grown up with two parents and a continual sense of safety—do not get to lecture me about wanting to make my brother proud. He gave up everything! He did everything for me.” I took several heaving breaths, trying to calm down. “And if he had not, I would have been worse off than Isabel the day you met her.”

Silence rang between us and his anger seemed to dissipate as he looked at me with a focus I hadn’t seen in him before. “What do you mean?”

“Hunter and I…” I moved my jaw back and forth as I tried to rein in the emotions that welled up with the memories. “We left our father when I was ten.”

His eyes were soft and worried as he asked, “Why?”

I took a shallow breath in and slowly let it out as hot and cold sensations chased their way up my spine. “Because my brother refused to let my father sell me…to a man he met on the street.” There. I’d said it. The words had been quiet and bleak, but I’d said them.

He blanched, his eyes blinking as if the words I’d spoken refused to make their way into his mind.

I curled one shoulder forward as my mouth twisted to the side. “My father was always looking for the next scheme, the next moneymaker. As soon as he had a few coins in his pocket, he would spend them, so it was an endless cycle of desperation and not enough. Never enough.” My voice was tight and gravelly, but I was proud that it didn’t break.

Rowan shifted closer, reaching out to lace his fingers with mine. But he didn’t speak, just waited for my next words, his face painted with compassion.

“I thought I was doing my part to contribute,” I said, taking comfort from the feeling of his hand enveloping mine. “I thought I was an asset. But I also thought he cared about me. In some way, on some level, I believed that my father held some sort of affection for me. But it was all a lie. He never did. He never cared for anyone but himself.” I paused and swallowed, fighting against the lump in my throat and the pain in my chest. “I was a good little pickpocket, but I was also an expense. I took up food. I took up room in the wagon. I chattered too much.”

“You were a child!” Rowan’s fierce defense made my heart ache.

I shoved down the old, familiar hurt and shrugged. “That doesn’t matter to a man like my father.”

His face fell, the weight of my story dragging on him. He gave a little disbelieving shake of his head, the kind of gesture we all make when we don’t want to believe in the awfulness of humanity, yet we can’t deny it either. “You were just a child,” he repeated in a whisper.

“Yes.” I squeezed his hand, hoping he could understand. “And I had a big brother who loved me enough to build a new life for us. That’s what Hunter saved me from. And to throw that back in his face by returning to the dishonest life that he pried us away from would be the worst kind of insult and ingratitude I can imagine.”

His face was set in sympathy and he slowly nodded his head. “All right.” He reached up and trailed one finger along my jaw. “I understand.”

I swallowed and closed my eyes.