Page 60

She started slicing. “No, not him. It was a criminal.”

The kitchen went very quiet.

“Technically.”

Annie made a small strangled sound that might have been laughter.

Olivia looked up. “He was always very nice to me.”

Iseabail returned to her stocking. “I think I would like Boston.”

The door opened before Olivia had to explain anything else.

Her hand twitched toward the knife and it landed with a thunk in the door a few inches next to Jamie’s head as he stepped inside carrying the empty cloth from Mairi’s bannocks.

Sorcha said dryly, “did the nice criminal teach ye to throw a knife as well?”

Olivia shrugged.

Jamie’s gaze went from the knife in the door to Olivia to Annie, then back to the knife as he freed it and gave it back to her.

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” Olivia said.

Morag began explaining. By then, the merchant had become larger, meaner, and considerably closer to death than Olivia remembered. Jamie looked directly at her. “Did ye put a knife to his throat?”

“I did.”

He studied her for a moment. “Are ye hurt?”

“No.”

His gaze shifted to Annie.

“I’m fine,” she assured him.

Only then did the tension leave his shoulders. Olivia expected questions next, possibly disapproval. Instead Jamie looked at the knife once more, then at her, and the corner of his mouth rose.

“Remind me not to enter a room unannounced or I might find yer wee knife in my shoulder.”

The women laughed as Morag returned to the girdle. Olivia reached for the bannock at exactly the wrong moment, brushing one fingertip against the hot iron.

“Damned swaggering bucket of pig slop.”

Silence dropped over the room.

Jamie closed his eyes, shoulders shaking.

Olivia put the burned finger into her mouth and found Morag, Sorcha, and Iseabail staring at her with considerably more interest than they’d shown when she first arrived.

“What?”

Morag lowered the turner. “Say that again.”

“No.” She shook her head.

“Come on.”