Page 61 of The Swindler’s Daughter

Rowan stilled immediately, though his breathing was labored and his eyes kept cutting over to me, where I remained on the floor.

“So,” Reeve said with a slow curl of his mouth, “I seem to have caught a thief.”

Rowan looked down at the sword that rested so casually above his heart then back at the magistrate. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.”

“Oh, but I think you do.” He tilted his head to a chair that sat close by. “Sit.”

Rowan allowed himself to be pushed into the chair without any fight, though I could see his mind running frantically. He sat and after a glance at me, he turned back to Reeve. “What’s the girl doing here? I’ve never seen her before.”

Reeve threw his head back and laughed. “Now that…that is entertaining.” He sheathed his sword and dragged a chair over, placing it directly in front of Rowan before sitting in it and resting his forearms on his knees. “Do you want to know what gave you away?” He asked with a smile and a little jump of his eyebrows. “Hmm? Do you?”

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“It was your flirting,” Reeve said in a loud whisper, a grin sliding into place.

Rowan just blinked.

Reeve sat back in his chair, looking so satisfied with himself. “You know, if the two of you hadn’t been mooning over one another, I might not have realized. We had very little to go on,” he said as if he were telling a good story in a tavern. “But the one detail that both of my men were clear on was that there was a girl there.” He stood abruptly and walked over to me where I sat on the ground. Crouching down so he was at eye level, he picked up a handful of my hair.

I wanted to cringe away from his touch but I was stuck, my legs curled under me to my left and my right hand pressing into the rough weeds and grasses that the tent had been set down upon.

Reeve bounced my curls on his hand, almost like he was weighing them. “A girl with curly, bright-red hair.” He shrugged and stood, turning away from me.

I cut my eyes over to Rowan, who was obviously seething, angry, and worried. He looked ready to burst from his chair and attack Reeve from behind, but the heavy hand of the constable sitting on his shoulder kept him in his seat.

Reeve continued. “It wasn’t much to go on—a red-haired girl—especially since I wasn’t nearly as interested in catching a little lookout as I was in catching the man who left this behind.” He turned to face us again, holding an arrow in his hand. “I was looking for an archer. And I was looking for a lass with red hair.” He held a hand out to each of us. “And look what I found.” He set the arrow down and pulled a flask from inside his vest, taking a swig before looking back at us. “So. What are your names?”

Neither of us said a word.

Reeve’s face turned ugly and he slammed his hand into the table that sat beside where he stood, the surface covered in carving tools and wood shavings. “Your names!” he demanded.

My mouth remained pinned shut. Somehow, giving my name would feel like an admission or like I was relinquishing my power. But I also recognized I might not be given a choice.

Just as Reeve was taking a step toward me, the constable spoke up from behind me. “I recognize her,” he said. “Spoke with her at market one day. She told me she worked for Sutton.”

“The Suttons, is it?” Reeve said, looking over at Rowan, at his defiant eyes and determined brow. Then he turned to me. “I see. The Suttons are gone. Their servants have a bit of freedom.” His words were conversational but he suddenly reached down and grabbed my arms, hauling me to my feet and shoving me into a chair, where he loomed over me, his hands gripping the spindles just behind my shoulders, caging me in. “When the cats are away, the mice will play.” His face was so close to mine that I held my breath. “I’ve always thought that saying was odd. After all…” He took hold of my chin, his fingers squeezing my cheeks. “There are plenty of predators willing to eat mice,” he growled in my face. “Now. Name.”

“Helen!” I lied, desperate to make him stop. And he did.

He immediately released my face and stepped back. “Ah, Helen. See, that wasn’t so hard.”

A commotion erupted outside. Voices shouting, a horse whinnying. Reeve and both his men looked toward the noise but didn’t seem inclined to move.

Then something slammed into the tent. It seemed like a scuffle was occurring just outside the door. Reeve drew his sword again, gesturing from his men to the door. “Go take care of that,” he shouted.

They were quick to obey, their shouts joining the others once they were outside. Reeve had his sword pointed at Rowan with one hand and pulled out his flask with the other, taking a swig.

He seemed unconcerned by my presence, for which I was grateful. If he underestimated me, then perhaps we had a chance. My eyes darted about, wondering if I could grab a chisel from the table before he noticed. Then the faint noise of canvas being sliced reached my ears, I kept very still, not wanting to draw Reeve’s attention in any way. Someone was cutting a hole in the back side of the tent, just behind me.

It occurred to me that the scuffle out front was likely a distraction orchestrated by our friends. For the first time since being pulled into the tent, I remembered that John had been with me—right up until I’d run to help Rowan, John had been there. My heart swelled with hope as I became certain that it was him who had gathered help and was trying to free us.

I redirected my mind to what needed to be done next. It was imperative that I be a help and not a hindrance. I wiggled my fingers and my toes, doing my best to unlock my muscles so that I would be ready to move when the time came.

Reeve put his flask away, looking annoyed. “Cursed festival rats,” he muttered under his breath then shouted toward the front of the tent, “Such dramatics!”

John burst through the hole behind me at that moment, charging toward Reeve with his staff. I moved toward the slit in the back wall, ready to help get the boys out when the time came and watching as Reeve’s sword rose to meet John’s weapon. Behind their fight, I saw Rowan push his feet into the ground, forcing his chair to topple backward and then doing a back roll to his feet. I couldn’t understand why until he reached for his bow and quiver, which leaned against a pile of furs behind him.

Rowan had an arrow nocked and aimed before my mind could even guess at what he was doing. Then he loosed the arrow and Reeve let out a cry of pain and fell to his knees, the arrow protruding from his thigh as he looked at it with horror contorting his face.