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The arrow’s tip retracted from my neck with a creak I recognized as a bow losing tension.
“I don’t have a cock.”
Moonlight silvered cheekbones that could cut diamond as the face emerged from the shadows. A strong jaw, but not a masculine one. Dark brows, but not woolly. Not a chin cleft, but a single sunken dimple. Despite being cut short, the glossy feathers of inky hair revealed fine temples and a smooth brow.
No. Not a man.
A woman capable of frightening them.
“What do you want with me?”
“With you? Nothing. From you? Cooperation.”
“Considering I could have summoned an entire pack of ravening wolves to my side by now, you can consider this cooperation,” I said.
“Nice try, my lady.” The flicker of a grin curled one corner of her lips. “Your pack can’t stand you. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be slipping away from your own brother.”
My stomach somersaulted within my rib cage. “Who are you?”
The pointed tip of the arrow delicately brushed the underside of my jugular. “Someone who could kill you but is choosing not to.”
“My eternal thanks,” I drawled. “Should I throw my petticoat at you now? Or wait until we’re in better light?”
Her mouth came near enough to my ear for me to feel her words. “You’re not wearing a petticoat. You prefer to ride bareback and the fabric bunches.”
Sand filled my throat. The longer I listened to that voice, the more I felt it winding itself around the base of my spine like a ribbon around a maypole. “Okay, now I definitely need to know who you are.”
“In good time,” she said. “You booked passage on the Adventure, correct?”
“How do you know that?”
“Anyone with half a wit in the pub would know it, the way you were flashing that letter around.”
Whether the shock had worn off enough for me to recover my senses, or it finally occurred to me to notice details, I caught the subtle rubied glow of her coat. Cut not as a cloak, like mine, but fitted to her lean torso and hips. Generous hoods were the sole similarity.
“You’re one of The Order,” I said, several facts clicking into place.
Always spoken in hushed and reverent tones, the elite, highly-secretive, and mysterious organization of women had always intrigued me. Wearing blood-red cloaks and carrying baskets of gear suited to their covert purposes, they quietly wove the warp and weft of history.
I knew this because my mother had been part of it.
As witnessed by the crimson cloak she had given to me before her passing.
“Bold of you to wear this,” my would-be abductress said. “Considering what your mother did.”
“Determine her own destiny?”
“Betray her vows.”
My heart dropped into my guts with a sickening splat. The oily stew I’d choked down mostly out of desperation began climbing the walls of my stomach.
She knew.
“We’ll discuss that later,” she said as if drinking in my thoughts. “For now, we need to ride.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’ve a coach to catch.”
“No, you don’t.”
