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pressed to reach Whitehall, I can see the humor in the situation.”
    Ran forced a grudging smile to his lips. He felt like a hungry wolf trying to grin, expecting her certain and sudden fear. Her eyes gleamed with mirth and she seemed oblivious as ever to the dark undercurrents swirling beneath his surface. To distract them both, he returned his attentions to the amulet she gripped in her other hand.
    “A most curious item you have there, Mistress Tanner,” he said.
    She hesitated for some reason. “Aye, I suppose ’tis. A family heirloom, you might say.” She made no offer to display the objet d’art further, but rather closed her fingers about it as if trying to shield it from his gaze. “I fear my jewelry was scattered when the coach overturned.”
    Her attempt at changing the subject was obvious, but Ran let it pass. He nodded and turned toward the wrecked vehicle, quickly surmising it was not worth the effort of trying to upright it again.
    The coach was a casualty of Gil’s mischief, though fortunately nothing else was. Had Mistress Tanner or her driver been killed, the day would have ended very soberly indeed.
    Ran’s gaze drifted back to his little brother. Thus far Gil had escaped confrontation, though his posture clearly showed he anticipated the lecture to come. Hugo was still off tending the coachman, and Ran took the opportunity for a word aside with his sibling. In fact, he strode right over and stood before the youth until Gilbert could no longer stare at the ground, sky, or upended coach in an effort to avoid Ran’s piercing stare.
    “Gil, what the hell provoked this rash act?” he demanded, keeping his voice low enough so Meredith Tanner could not overhear their exchange. He read defiance in the violet-blue eyes that finally met his and felt anger lick at him again. It was not the sort of icy anger he felt toward the woman and what she represented, but rather outrage tinged with uncertainty.
    Ran was never certain how to handle Gilbert. His confidence was undermined by the fact his little brother was so vastly different in nature and outlook than himself. Gil delighted in mischief, in laughter, in life itself. Scolding did little good because he was oft shattered by the slightest criticism. His mischievous nature bore no trace of malice, and Ran was unused to understanding much of anything save vengeance or his own quiet despair.
    Gil shrugged, though he was not foolish enough to push his big brother much further. “I just wanted to get out and see the world a bit.”
    “A bit? Is that what you call up and disappearing in the middle of the night on a foolish lark to the godforsaken wilds of Wales.”
    “Oh, Hugo and I didn’t come directly south,” Gilbert corrected him promptly. “We went roundabout, by way of Glasgow.”
    Ran’s fists clenched at his sides, merely to prevent him from grabbing Gil and throttling him senseless. Which was worse, he wondered, a lad who lived in his head playing at the dangerous game of a dashing highwayman, or a feather-headed court bawd with neither the brains nor the simple instinct to realize she had contracted herself a matrimonial union with the deadliest snake this side of the border? He wasn’t entirely sure which one deserved the harsher lecture. In any case, lectures were Darra’s specialty, not his.
    “However you came to be here, ’tis pointless,” Ran said abruptly. Gilbert looked subdued, or momentarily contrite; a glance aside at Meredith Tanner revealed her looking on, at an obvious loss but appearing no less determined to see justice done.
    The proper thing to do, the chivalrous course of action, would be to escort Mistress Tanner to London posthaste, or see her safely settled in a nearby inn whilst he or Gilbert or Hugo rode ahead with a message to the queen. It was the ultimate irony, Ran mused, flicking an assessing gaze over the young woman’s proud posture, handling Sir Jasper’s betrothed with kid gloves whilst his own wife had