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Sal shifted on the bed to look me in the eye. “Haven’t you ever wanted to see justice done upon those that harmed you?” she asked. “To be fairly compensated for what they took?”
I hugged my knees to my chest against the ache waking in my heart. “I just want my freedom,” I said.
“Or what passes for it in their world.” Her voice took on a bitter edge. “Assuming you make passage to the colonies safely, what will you do once you arrive?”
“I have money enough to survive for some time,” I said.
“And what of the ones who don’t? What of the ones like you who longed to be free but have been made mothers already? Who are bound to violent men, or servitude, or worse? The ones who, like us, would be in danger if their true nature was known. What of them?”
The fire in her words woke dormant coals long banked within me.
“What is it you would do?” I asked, already knowing the answer would matter more than it had a right to, given the brevity of our acquaintance.
“I would see them free, Kat.” Sal pushed a lock of hair away from my face and molded her hand to my jawline. “I would see them all free. And I would have your help.”
My heart began to speed within my chest. “What would I have to do?”
Sal laced her fingers with mine and brought them to her lips. “You’d have to trust me.”
Even stranger than her saying this was realizing that I already did.
I squeezed her hand and brought it to my heart. “We ride at dawn.”
Only we didn’t.
We were woken from the most restful sleep of my life by a tap at the door. Squinting through the early dawn light, I recognized the elf Sal had called Bernie standing in the hallway in a rumpled nightcap. He whispered something to Sal that made her face go long. There was much more whispered argument, and then finally, she nodded and shut the door.
“They bring us some shortbread to go with the mess they put on my head?” I mumbled sleepily.
Sal was silent until she sat down on the bed beside me. My stomach shrank into a small, cold ball when I saw the expression on her face.
“It’s your brother,” she said. “They said a red-haired witch has got him and is holding him prisoner in the woods.”
As I launched myself out of bed, my brain unleashed a string of curses that was fairly impressive for that early in the day.
Hadn’t I warned him? Hadn’t I tried telling him this one would be no different?
I felt around for my underthings, or rather, Sal’s underthings that I had absolutely no intention of returning. “He’s going to get himself bloody killed.”
“You don’t mean to go help him?” Sal asked.
“Of course I do.” I yanked my chemise over my head, grimacing a little at the scent of horse and road dust. Nothing for it at the moment.
“Is he also not one of the most powerful werewolves in all of Scotland?” Sal asked.
“In all the world, probably,” I said. “But that’s not the point. Mark won’t use those powers against her.”
Sal scrubbed a hand over her sleep-creased face. “Not even if she means to harm him?”
“Not even if she means to use his skull as a serving bowl.”
Sal helped me into my traveling dress before pulling on her trews. “You realize this will mean you’ll miss your ship.”
Your ship.
That these words should hurt me even more than the idea of my brother within a witch’s grasp surprised me.
Had she changed her mind during the night?
