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Ainsley sat up straighter, waiting.

“This morn I was drawing up an indenture for, well, never mind that. A ship’s captain came into the shop to tell me of a couple that matched the description I’d circulated.”

“A ship’s captain? Do ye mean they have been seen by the docks? When?”

“Aye, early this morn. They booked passage with him to France for Freya’s Day.”

Now wanting to hope her cousin might truly still be alive when that hope had been dashed at the saddler’s shop, she asked, “The woman’s limp—”

McGreghere’s eyes lit at her mention of it. As the serving girl placed the oat cake and mug of ale in front of him, he slipped a coin into her hand. She curtsied and scurried away.

“She had both the limp and . . .” McGreghere smiled even more broadly. So broadly, in fact, that even she was tempted to emulate it. “When they had negotiated passage, she bid the man to come. Led him away from the docks.”

“I dinnae understand.”

“When she bid him to do so, the woman called the man Ian.”

Ainsley’s hand froze above her oat cake. “We didnae share their names for fear of retribution against them.”

“Aye, my lady. I know it to be true. Which is how I knew, when the captain gave that bit of information to me, we found our couple at last.”

Surely this was them. A couple who looked like Marta and Ian, the woman with a limp. And a man whose name was also Ian?

“’Tis them,” she said, more to herself than McGreghere.

But he nodded anyway, hearing her. As he ate, clearly pleased to be able to pass this information to her, McGreghere did not seem to notice that Ainsley was no longer smiling. Her hand fell away. She was no longer hungry.

They were alive for certain. And though she could not be more pleased to learn this to be so, it also meant she and Tor were closer than ever to their annulment.

“Ye do no’ seem as pleased by the news as I might expect.”

Her head snapped up. “Oh, I am very pleased,” she said. “That Ian and Marta are well, and together. It pleases me very much.”

McGreghere’s intelligent eyes remained trained on her. “I’ve known yer husband’s family for many years,” he said finally. “If ye’ve a question, Lady Ainsley, I would very much be pleased to answer it.”

He was keen indeed.

“I suppose it must seem that I do. Have a question.”

“I’ve learned, in this position, to understand those bits my clients do no’ say, along with those they do reveal. At times, those pieces of information tell me more than the words that are spoken.”

If Tor wished to reveal their true relationship to McGreghere, he’d have done so. And yet, Ainsley had no one to speak to. No siblings, nor friends. No maid, nor even a cat now.

“Do ye have any coin?” he asked.

“I do.”

“Give it to me. Any amount will do.”

“Sir?”

“Go on. Even a farthing if ye have one.”

She had that, and more. Still confused, she took out the coin and slipped it across the table.

“’Tis my pleasure to take ye as a client. Which means, of course, I am obliged by law no’ to speak of any of our conversation to another.”

Ainsley did smile then. “I’ve hired ye then, have I?”