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of his belly. He lifted the red-blond locks at his nape and hissed when his fingers found the egg-sized knob.
    “You’re quite the bowwoman,” he said, meeting her gaze in the mirror.
    “My father wouldna teach me to use a sword. He said women have no use for them.”
    A ruddy brow rose. Had he heard something in her reply? Long ago, she’d learned to remove all emotion when she spoke of her father. She would have to take extra care around this man.
    He crossed his arms. “Would you care to tell me why I’m here?”
    She shifted. Anything she told him might be repeated to Sir Alan. He looked as if he’d managed to get himself under control, but who could judge such a thing? He didn’t seem like the men she knew in the borderlands. He didn’t seem like the men she knew anywhere.
    “My life’s been taken from me,” he said. “I think I deserve an answer.”
    “You have been called here by magic, and I—”
    “Whose? Yours?”
    “No. I had nothing to do with it.”
    He eyed her skeptically.
    “Undine is half naiad—water fairy,” she added, seeing his confusion. “Or so she says. Without a doubt, though, she is a fortune-teller and potion-maker. ’Twas her magic that brought you here. Not mine.” Abby thought of the long columns of household expenses and the dwindling gold in the Kerr accounts. “Were I possessed of magic, I would not have wasted it on you.”
    “And how will I—?”
    “I cannot think about that now,” she said. “I am about to receive a guest whose needs take precedence. For the present, you will have to wait here. Perhaps you can practice swinging your wee sword.”
    He gave her a cool look. “I know how to use a sword.”
    “A wooden one.”
    “I know how to use a steel one too.”
    “I am most glad to hear it. I’ll have someone bring you something to eat.”
    “Rosston is expecting me at supper. Willna my absence appear strange?”
    He was right, dammit. “I’ll tell him you’re unwell.”
    The man rocked on his heels for a moment, then threw his balled-up shirt on the bed. “No. I don’t think so. I want to come.”
    She drew herself up to full height. “Perhaps you’d prefer to be locked into your room?”
    “Perhaps you’d prefer to have me tell Rosston your clan is on the verge of losing everything.”
    He’d overheard what she’d said to Undine! What else had he heard? She considered calling for her guards. She also considered punching him in the nose. Neither, however, seemed calculated to reduce Sir Alan’s anxiety about investing.
    A dangerous incaution simmered in the man’s eyes, and she could almost hear him shouting, “She’s lying, Sir Alan! ’Tis the canal or the poorhouse for the Kerrs!” as her guards dragged him away. What choice did she have, short of having guards posted at his door? Even then she’d still have to worry about what he’d say to them.
    “As you wish,” she said. “But only under these conditions: You are to limit your conversation partners to me and Undine. Under no circumstances are you to speak to Rosston or Sir Alan. And you are not to mention the circumstances of your unfortunate arrival to anyone. We will see to your problems tomorrow, but for now I expect you to do as I say, when I say it. Do you understand?”
    A drop of blood fell from his elbow to the rug.
    She let out an aggrieved exhalation. “I’ll have some towels and bandages brought to you. Until then, if you could manage to keep your blood off my rugs, I’d appreciate it. Do you understand?”
    “Is Rosston your husband?”
    The question startled her. “No.”
    “Does he want to be?”
    “I don’t know. Perhaps.”
    The man kept his unblinking gaze on her.
    “Aye,” she admitted, annoyed. “If you must know. Though it hardly matters.”
    “To you? Or to him?” He picked up his shirt. “Or to me?”
    “To any of us,” she said, refusing to consider what he might have meant by the last. “I have no time to tend to you like a bairn in