squeezed her hand and then pulled free of her grip. Being grabbed, hung onto, constricted his movement, and even in a musty house it left him uneasy. âYes, I think I do,â he returned, and cleared his throat. âIf you like, Iâll leave Kelgrove here to help you remove your things from this mildewed house.â It should be him, he knew, but for the devilâs sake, he needed some air before he choked on the injustice of it all. Because he hadnât put this right for her. That credit went entirely to luck, to a simple stroke of fate. And however little he needed it, however much heâd complained about it over the past days, to his sister this dukedom and what it represented made all the difference in the world. Damn him for not realizing that sooner.
âNo, thank you,â she replied. âI shall relish doing this on my own.â She sketched a shallow curtsy. âOr perhaps I shall hire someone to assist me.â Unexpectedly she rose up onto her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. âI hold you to your word, Gabriel. You will come see me before you return to your wars. And you will be careful in the meantime. Your Grace.â She chuckled. âMy goodness. Youâre a duke!â
With Kelgrove on his heels, Gabriel left the room, stepped around the nosy maid, and headed back out to the street. Yes, he had a title. And it was just as well that Marjorie could benefit from it, because he didnât know how to do so. Not without losing who he was. A soldier who believed for a moment that he was entitled to somethingâsafety, luxury, privilegeâwas a dead soldier.
Â
Chapter Two
Fiona leaned her elbows on the railing of the graying, weather-worn fence. âWhat say we put in to buy a pint fer whoever finds Brianâs cow?â she suggested.
The very large man standing a few feet from her snorted. âIâm nae paying a penny to find Brian Maxwellâs damned cow. Itâs the third time this month the redâs gone missing.â
The farmer in question folded his arms across his chest. âI told ye, I gave her a fine pile of hay last night. She was in the pen with the other two when I turned in.â
âWhen ye left fer the tavern, you mean,â Fiona broke in. âI spoke with Abraham Dinwoddie, and he said ye drank half the beer in the tavern last night.â
Sheâd never understood how someone could own three cows and only be able to keep track of two of them. It wasnât as if Brian Maxwell had an entire herd wandering the wilds. Two fields of wheat, three cows, a pair of hogs, and some chickens seemed fairly reasonable for a man, his wife, and their fourteen-year-old son to manage.
âI didnae!â the farmer protested. âI had but two beers, and then Tormod came in and I had to buy him a pint, and he had to buy me a pint.â He leaned around her to point a finger at the broad-shouldered blacksmith. âYe tell her, Tormod MacDorry.â
âI may have had a drink or two with ye, but I didnae lose track of my forge, ye lout. And Iâve two horses to shoe this morning, with nae time to spare hunting doon yer blasted cow.â
The other four men present grumbled their agreement. Aye, they all had other things to do today, herself included. But if they left to go back to their tasks, finding the red heifer would be up to her and Brian. And Fiona doubted Brian could find his own two hands once he had a pint in him. She tucked her cold fingers into her coat pockets, and found a piece of leather that had peeled off an old pair of reins.
âIâll tell ye what, lads,â she said, pulling it free and holding the scrap up so they could see it. âI meant to send this to Inverness to have it set into a locket, but Iâll give it to the one of ye who finds that cow.â
âYeâd give us what?â Tormod asked, furrowing his brow. âScrap leather?â
âThis here is off the
Volume 2 The Harry Bosch Novels