Page 67 of The Swindler’s Daughter

Gretchen harrumphed and stomped over to where John pointed. “I don’t understand why I can’t sleep where I want.”

“Because you’re a young lady and he’s almost a man.”

“He’s like a brother. Don’t be gross.”

John raised his eyes to the heavens in exasperation. Ansel stared at the ground. I buried my face in my skirts, smothering my laughter.

“No wonder Mama is always exasperated with you,” John muttered as he lay on his back, his arms crossed over his chest.

Looking over at Rowan, I saw him pinching his lips together, laughter in his eyes.

I leaned close so only he could hear. “It’s going to surprise her one day when she realizes she’s fallen for him.”

“You think she will?” he asked.

I nodded my head. “There will probably be a beau or two for her, but they won’t be able to live up to the devotion that Ansel has shown her.”

“He’s smitten,” he observed.

“Yes, and he’s only recently realized it. He has no idea what to do about it though.”

“No one knows what to do with young love.”

We kept our heads bent together, talking of our success, the next steps, our families, our lives. We realized some time later that we were the only ones still awake. Everyone else had fallen asleep while we were distracted by our conversation.

But now we did notice. And with all the others asleep around us, Rowan and I were very much alone in the forest. I leaned back on my hands and looked up through the leaves, finding the stars that filled the space between, trying to decide what I should do next.

What I wanted to do was snuggle into Rowan’s arms and have him kiss me until my hands tingled. But I didn’t know if that was what I should do.

“Do you regret it?” His quiet query sounded beside me.

I looked over at him. “Regret what?”

“Any of this? Stealing? Running? Being here with me?”

I reached over, running two fingers through the golden-blond hair just behind his ear. “No,” I said. “I don’t regret any of it.”

He caught my hand in his. “Then why do you look so solemn?” he asked, bringing my hand to his mouth and brushing his lips back and forth over my fingertips.

My heart swelled all the way into my throat and it took me several attempts to speak. “I was trying to decide if I should kiss you.”

That made him pause, and he pulled his lips from my hands, threading his fingers through mine instead. “And what have you decided?”

“I don’t know if I have a choice.”

“You always have a choice.”

I shook my head. “My heart disagrees,” I said as I moved toward him, pressing my lips to his.

The backs of his fingers brushed my cheek before his fingertips sank into my hair, sending a chill down my spine.

The feeling of safety I always had with Rowan fell over me. Odd, considering the obvious danger we’d all put ourselves in and the uncertainty of the future. But it was there in his arms—undeniable.

16

I woke the next morning with the comfortable weight of Rowan’s arm on my stomach.

The sounds of shuffling and movement coming from the other parts of the camp made me pry my eyes open. The sky was only barely lightening, the sun not having broken above the horizon, but some of the others were already stirring. Someone had kept the fire going during the night and despite the chilly temperature, I was warm under the double weight of both my cloak and Rowan’s. He and I had fallen asleep, curled up on the ground facing each other and talking into the early hours of the morning. I rested my hand on top of Rowan’s, where it lay on my middle, then slowly eased out from under it. He groaned and rolled to his other side.