Page 52 of A Lady’s Guide to Witchcraft

Chapter Seventeen

Briar froze. “Keepers?”

“No, that arse from your tearoom.”

Briar willed her heart to unstick from her throat. “Charles? What is he doing here?”

“Don’t know. But I can fix that.” Ethan was grimly certain. Always.

The rain hissed across the surface of the sea. Wood creaked as the ship shifted. A kelpie screeched, and it prickled the hairs on Briar’s arms.

“Wait.” She caught his arm but turned her body so it would not be visible from the docks or the beach or the cliffside. She had no idea where Charles was lurking. If he was indeed lurking and not just out for a wander. In the rain. “You can’t just murder him.”

Ethan did not look remotely convinced. “I think you’ll find I can.”

“Well, you shouldn’t.”

A grunt was her only reply, as if he found her logic unsound. She did not know why Charles was out here during a storm. He did not enjoy wet hair. Or weather. Walking. Basically, being outside. Had he followed them? Had he seen Petal? It seemed impossible.

But not impossible enough.

“You’re reconsidering that murder option, aren’t you?” Ethan murmured, pleased.

“No.” Maybe. She sighed. Probably not. “I’m sure there’s another way. This could be just a coincidence.”

Ethan’s gaze did not waver. His hair was tousled and damp, rainwater running down the side of his scarred jaw. Witch glass gleamed behind him, twisted into a rainbow of colors inside a clear ball. Ropes lay coiled like giant snakes. There were cannons and barrels of gunpowder, swords and sabers and magical iron. A fierce, glowering woman in the crow’s nest, crossbow in hand. All of it so tempting. But ultimately not helpful.

“I can shoot him,” the woman called down.

“So can I,” Anais added from the quarterdeck. She sounded half bored. “It’s not even a challenge.”

“What do you want to do, little thorn?” Ethan asked Briar. He laughed softly at her expression. “Your choice.”

“There’s no good way to explain why I am on your ship.”

“I am considered handsome by some,” he said, mildly offended.

As if handsome was a word that suited. It was entirely too insipid. He was rugged and powerful, commanding. He was like a sword, gleaming and sharp and beautiful and dangerous.

Not the point.

“An Iron Crow as handsome as yourself would not spend a single minute with a spinster like me without some kind of ulterior motive. No one in their right mind would believe it.” She wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

Wanted to.

At any rate, he did not like that. There was thunder in the clench of his jaw, lightning in the narrowing of his eyes.

“If Charles has seen me, even accidentally, then he’ll have to believe he saved me,” she added with a great deal of distaste. “That I owe him.” Owed him her magic and her cottage and her gardens.

Ethan liked that even less. Lightning speared the sky, a glint of fire on the crossbow bolt at the top of the mast where he had once bound her, on his dragon, on witch glass and kelpie teeth and iron nails. “Like hell.”

Briar was not particularly enamored with the idea either. But she knew it would work.

And Petal was just below deck. There was too much at stake for Briar to be squeamish because of her pride. And, once again, not enough time to think of another plan. What if Charles went to the Keepers? “But he can’t want to tell anyone about being here,” she said. “He has to want to brag that he saved me from you, but not here specifically.”

“It would be much easier if you let me do this my way.”

She sighed. “I know.”