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The ruins were very near the edge of the village, a run-down medieval castle used by the local family before they built the more modern Eastbourne Hall. There was the memory of a moat circling the bailey, walls that used to encompass a courtyard, stables, work buildings. And then another small hill and a wall with an empty window soaring to a point and the remains of the tower. Stairs marched up the side, half worn away and open to the air. Ivy had claimed everything in between.

Bram was already halfway up the tower, sure-footed and determined. Clara picked her way carefully and cautiously. One didn’t become a different person overnight, after all. And she had no intention of becoming an idiot.

When she caught up with him, Bram’s boots were planted firmly, the wind tugging at his dark hair and his coat. His narrowed gaze swept the waves of grass, the undulation of the hills, like that of any good captain. “Stay close to the wall,” he said tightly. “It’s not particularly safe up here.”

“Do you see him?” Clara asked. The wind was colder up here and made her eyes water.

Bram rubbed his beard, the only sign of his frustration. “He took the road headed to Fitcher, I imagine. It’s the closest town proper. Even were I to magically secure a horse in the next five minutes, he’ll lose himself there.”

“You did not recognize him?”

“No. He wore a scarf over his face. He has red hair, though, I think.”

“That’s something.”

“Not nearly enough to go on.”

“I suppose not. So what now?”

“Now I get you back to the Hall. And I’m still angry that you came out here alone and, worse yet, did not stay put when I told you to hide.”

“I had my geese.”

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “You should not be enjoying this.”

“I’ve never really been on an adventure.”

“Your feet are wet. March is not a good month for an adventure.”

“They will dry.”

Another sidelong glance. “Where did you learn that trick with the geese?”

“They were already cross. I just directed them a little.” The sun was warm on her hair, and she realized she must have lost her bonnet somewhere between the geese and the tower and had not noticed.

She hated bonnets. And she’d never dared be without one. Freckles, sun spots. Wrinkles.

She decided she might like a freckle or two. Maybe a dozen.

The fichu she had added to her dress was too warm under the sun, and she took it off. Miss Vinegar without her fichu. She’d already formed an army of geese—what did one more transgression matter?

Bram watched her, throat bobbing as he swallowed. Had she shocked him? A man who was just assaulted by a stranger interrupted by a bunch of homicidal geese was surely made of sterner stuff. Unless he had been injured?

She stopped, frowning at him.

He stopped too, frowning back. “What?”

“That man tried to stab you.” She sounded outraged even to her own ears. Everything had happened so fast that she hadn’t really had the time to process.

Bram just shrugged, as if that sort of thing happened all of the time. The thought made a hard, cold seed take root in her belly. She didn’t like it. She didn’t like it one bit. She yanked his coat open. It was very unseemly of her.

Miss Vinegar would have a case of the vapors.

Bram only raised one eyebrow. The one with the tiny, faded scar running through it. Someone else had tried to stab him, maybe. Or one of those large splinters he’d mentioned had caught him.

She did not care for that either.

“Did he hurt you?”