Page 25 of The Swindler’s Daughter

I chewed on my lip as I absorbed the story. “How long did this go on?” I asked.

“A few more weeks, though I noticed the amount of food my mother brought started to increase.”

I smiled at that. “She was helping you.”

He nodded. “Eventually my mother took matters into her own hands. She invited Isabel to stay with us for a time. We fed her well, allowed her a chance to clean up and get her strength back. Then my mother helped her to find a position in the village, working in a tailor’s shop.”

“And you remained friends?”

He nodded. “I was her only friend for several years, certainly the only one she trusted.” His eyes took on a faraway look and he fell silent.

“I didn’t mean to pry,” I said, wondering if I should apologize for asking him question after question about such a tender topic.

His brow furrowed. “It’s actually a relief to speak of her.” There was surprise in his voice. “I haven’t done much of that.” He sniffed, but no tears escaped his eyes.

“Why not?” I asked gently.

He thought it over before responding. “I’m not certain. I think I just wanted to keep her for myself.”

It was a beautiful thought and it made my heart squeeze with wanting. What would it be like to have someone who wanted to keep me for themselves? Such a love was difficult to imagine.

“So,” he said, “my wife was the one who convinced me that thievery was not always a bad thing.”

“Because she stole one handful of dried meats?” That didn’t seem to make sense.

“No. Because she made it her business to fight for anyone she saw who was desperate and in need. And sometimes that meant bending the rules”—he nodded his head to one side—“or bending the law.”

I didn’t respond, because while I didn’t agree with him, it was hard for me to fully disagree either. I had been that girl—the one who stole when the aching hunger became too much—the one who had needed someone to see me and help. I suppose I could have told him as much, but that wasn’t who I was anymore. I’d endeavored to move beyond that life, and sinking back into the justifications I’d used as a child wouldn’t help the here and now.

I looked over at him, but he was looking ahead, calm and serene. The strong features of his face made my throat feel tight, and I started to wish he would look at me just so I could see if his eyes were as strikingly blue as I remembered.

Laws, I was being ridiculous. He still mourned his dead wife. It was pointless to think he would look at me with any serious intent.

So I changed the subject. “Do you think you’ll ever manage to win the festival competition?” I asked.

His step stuttered and his eyes caught mine. Yes. Just as blue as I’d thought. “You mean for archery?” he asked.

“No, I mean for knot tying,” I teased, trying to distract myself from…all of him. “Yes, for archery. What else would I be talking about? I’m certain you have no chance at winning anything else.”

He blustered for a moment. “I’ll have you know I’m very good with knots.”

“Now you’re just boasting.”

He raised one eyebrow at me. “I hardly think that defending myself against a disparaging remark qualifies as boasting.”

“Are you avoiding the original question?” I asked with a tilt of my head.

He snorted. “I can’t even remember what it was.”

“The competition,” I reminded him. “Are you going to win it this year?”

“Yes.”

The way he said it—simple as that: Yes. No hesitation. No timidity. No arrogance, even.

“Easy as that?” I asked. “Just yes?”

“Shall I feign doubt?” The confidence that rolled off of him drew me in even more. Laws, there was nothing quite so attractive as a confident man.