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“You don’t have to forgive me,” she said. “If you’d rather I stayed at Mairi’s, I’ve enough money to pay for a room.”

“I didna ask ye to leave.”

“I know. I just don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you because you’ve been kind to me.”

He rose, carried the untouched cup of tea to the hearth, and set it on the stone beside the kettle.

“I think ye’ve a remarkable talent for telling me only the parts of a story ye fancy. I also think ye came to us frightened and alone, and that I’ve never seen ye behave with anything but courage when another person needed help. Those things can all be true, whether ye’re from Boston now or some impossible future.”

Olivia blinked hard and looked down, swiping at her cheeks, unable for the moment to answer him.

“And I think,” he added, with considerably less humor, “that I’ll need time to know what to make of it.”

He glanced toward the dark stair, then at the little candle on the mantel.

“Ye’ll need a light to get upstairs. One of the steps has come loose again, and I’d rather not have ye break yer neck after all the trouble we’ve taken to keep ye in one piece.”

She stood, unsure whether to thank him, apologize again, or tell him that she cared for him more than was sensible. In the end she took the candle he offered, because none of the other things were hers to ask for tonight.

At the doorway, she turned back. Jamie had remained by the hearth, his face half in shadow as he watched the flames catch along a new piece of peat.

“Jamie, I’m glad I told you. Even if you never believe the part about the future, I couldn’t bear having you trust a woman who kept lying to you.”

“Good night, Olivia.” His voice was gentle, but he didn’t come closer. “I’ll see ye in the morning.”

It wasn’t forgiveness, and it certainly wasn’t a declaration of love. But he hadn’t sent her away, and he’d made certain she had a candle for the dark.

Olivia carried it carefully through the passage, listening to the familiar sounds of Dunarraidh settling around her, while downstairs a man who had every reason to be angry with her stayed beside the fire.

Chapter 23

Jamie

Jamie had always considered himself a reasonably talented smuggler until Olivia came along and began offering suggestions.

Three days after her confession, he watched her standing at the edge of the lower quay with her new russet gown tucked clear of the mud, the blue, green, and black checked shawl secured beneath her cloak, and a smile that ought to have made every customs man within ten miles suspicious.

She’d spent the ride describing how men revealed themselves over a game of cards, and she’d been proved right when a merchant with a red nose and an expensive hat started boasting to a companion about the patrol at the coastal road.

Jamie had brought her because he needed a second pair of eyes, and because leaving her at Dunarraidh after the conversation beside the hearth would have looked far too much like a punishment. They’d been careful with each other since that night. She’d answered every question he’d asked, though she’d sobbed when she told him how her parents had died while traveling abroad and how her grandmother had brought her home to Boston. He’d taken her hand and she’d let him hold it. Beyond that, neither of them had been certain where to step.

Olivia’s attention shifted toward the customs house, where Andrew Robertson stood half inside the doorway speaking to a clerk. She recognized him immediately, and judging by the way his gaze settled upon her, the recognition was mutual.

“There’s our friend from the harbor,” she murmured.

Jamie followed her glance and felt his amusement fade. Robertson had stopped listening to the clerk and was watching Olivia with the unmistakable interest of a man who’d spent several days trying to discover how a troublesome American woman had helped a boatload of smugglers escape him.

“Aye, and he’ll no’ have forgotten ye. He was in command the night we got Finlay away from him, and I’ve no doubt he remembers every face that helped make a fool of him.”

“He nearly crippled Finlay. I’m not losing sleep over his pride.”

“I’ve no argument with ye there, lass. But Robertson’s cleverer than I like, and he’ll be watching to see whom ye speak to.”

“Then we’d better give him something uninteresting to watch.”

Jamie turned toward her. “That expression on yer face suggests ye’re already considering some mischief.”

“It’s a perfectly innocent expression.”