Heart of Iron

Eleven

The air along the southern docks was redolent with perfume. It couldn’t quite disguise the earthy flavor of the Thames, slightly riper now that it was summer. Here and there, ladies bought scented pomander bags to their noses and some had even stitched them into their fans.

Metaljackets lined the platform that had been erected along the docks, each standing at strict attention, the blue illumination in their eye slits dulled to a neutral glow. Gaslight flickered over their burnished gold breastplates; the Imperial squadron was comprised of only two hundred automatons, but they were impressive. Used mainly for ceremonial purposes, circular throwing blades attached to their arms made them highly dangerous as well.

Nervousness raced along Lena’s skin. The enthusiasm of the crowd was contagious, but Lena couldn’t quite summon a smile. Most of the Echelon was in attendance, dressed in glittering jewels and bright silks. Any one of them could have been the blue blood in the tower.

A hand pressed against her spine, a cool whisper brushing across her ear. “Relax. He’s not going to attempt anything here. Not if he wants to keep breathing, anyway.” Leo stepped up beside her, his hand warm on the curve of her back.

Colchester. She’d almost forgotten about him.

“I know. Not here. Not in public view, anyway.” She glanced to the side. “You’ve heard nothing of…of Will?”

It had been three days. Leo had had Will’s wardrobe delivered, but he’d only sent her a note saying that he was busy with something. Their words the other day had touched a nerve. For both of them. Lena had busied herself with the transformational clockwork, trying not to think of him.

Easier said than done. It didn’t matter that she was only dealing with the internal cogs and gears at this stage; sooner or later she would begin to solder the iron sheeting of the exterior into place, forming the roughened physique of her clockwork warrior. Even in clockwork—the one place she’d always been able to switch off her busy mind and simply put together the puzzle pieces—she couldn’t escape him.

“He’ll be here.” A statement, not a question. Leo’s dark gaze raked the crowd of gaudily dressed blue bloods. “I’ll have to join the Council when the Scandinavians arrive. But I won’t leave you unattended.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Leo searched her gaze. Then nodded. “Stay here. I’ll keep an eye on you from the platform.”

Above the river, the sky suddenly exploded. Gasps flavored the air and people cheered.

A pinwheel of whirling pinks and blues tore through the velvety sky, punctuated by the scream of rockets. An orange fireball bloomed, destroying Lena’s night vision.

“Here they come,” Leo murmured. “I’d best be off.”

As Lena blinked, a hint of a dark outline showed on the river. It glided across the oily waters, as sleek and sure as a serpent. The laughter and cheering died to a hushed whisper as the dragon-ship appeared. The only sound was the whine of the fireworks launching.

Almost two hundred feet long, it faintly resembled the longboats of its ancestors. A sinuous serpent head served as a figurehead, and enormous canvas wings were tucked in tight against its sides. The metal hull gleamed with gold paint, and jeweled shields lined the sides, each gem sparkling in the gaslight.

Two others flanked it, their helium envelopes deflated and stowed away. They could be used both in the air and on water, and were dangerous on each. Tall warriors lined the decks, clad in dark blue regimentals with gold military frogging down the chest, and helmets with tall black feathers. The gaslight on the docks glittered off the amber shine of their eyes.

“Look at them,” a woman whispered nearby. “How barbaric.”

“I am looking,” another woman murmured behind her fan and they both laughed.

Fireworks exploded with frenetic enthusiasm. The sky was washed with gold and blue and pink. Lena couldn’t help herself. She looked up, her gaze torn from the silent ships on the river.

She felt his gaze long before she saw him.

A tingle on her skin.

The faint, earthy anticipation of her body recognizing danger—even as it thrilled at it.

Will.

Breath catching, her fingers tightening on the fan, she looked down. Blind spots danced in her vision but she hunted for him. The crowd didn’t matter. Nor the approaching ships. Not even Colchester.

She’d been in a state of agitation all day, unable to settle. Unable to do more than toy with her food or read a paragraph of the Times. His words kept playing through her mind. Then we’ll see if your words are worth anythin’.

Lena shivered. She could feel him watching her.

Murmurs started behind her. The crowd shifting. A prickle at the back of her neck. As she turned, fanning at herself in agitation, the crowd parted, skirts swishing out of the way like the Red Sea. For a moment she couldn’t see him. Only a man dressed in crisp black, who stepped into the wake of the crowd with arrogant disdain, striding as if he belonged there.

She glanced past the elegant cut of his coat, buttoned strictly up the left side of his breast. And then her gaze shot back to him, her eyes widening.

Oh, my God…

Lena actually stopped breathing.

She’d never seen him in anything other than a loose shirt and coat. The sight of him dressed for the evening was utterly devastating. The stark black of his coat drew attention to the dusky gold of his skin, and his hair—the beautiful amber locks that her fingers always itched to touch—was gone.

The fan stopped moving, the ghostly tips of its feathers dancing over her breasts. Will stepped out of the shadows, gaslight highlighting the stark bones of his cheeks and brow, the burnished bronze of his eyes locked on her with an intensity no bystander could mistake for anything other than interest. Pure, predatory interest.

He had to stop looking at her like that.

Lena turned away with a jerk, frantically sucking in a breath. If they saw the intensity of his gaze, her reputation would be ruined.

Which was exactly how he predicted she’d react.

Her shoulders slumped. He’d practically dared her to deny her association with him. And though mockery had laced his tone, there’d been a hint of hurt in his eyes.

As if he knew he’d never be good enough.

Head bowed, she turned toward him, aware of the malicious eyes watching them. If only he wasn’t standing there silently, waiting for her to make the decision either to cut him or to forever forsake any chance of joining this glittering world.

But how could the Echelon ever accept him if she didn’t?

Will offered her his arm, as smoothly as if they’d practiced it a thousand times and not mere dozens. There was a devilish gleam in his eyes. A dare. “Shall we?”

Despite her gloves, she could feel the unnatural heat of his body through his sleeve as she accepted. Murmurs started as they strolled toward the platform and the smile on Lena’s lips died.

“I’m not supposed to be up there,” she whispered. Above her, fireworks blazed to life, the shrill scream of the rockets stealing her words.

Will leaned closer. Now that he was in profile, she could see that his hair had been gathered back into a tight queue, the velvet strands of the ribbon brushing against his nape.

“I thought you cut your hair,” she blurted.

“You sound relieved. Thought me hair were unfashionable.”

Not even a hint that he was as stricken as she. Lena ground her teeth together. “It is.”

“Then I’ll cut it.”

At her shocked look, a smile curled at his lips. Her gaze locked onto it. Dangerous. The little tick of her heartbeat fluttered in warning.

“All of it.” He smoothed a hand over his scalp. “Annoys me anyway.”

“Do what you want,” she lied, “I don’t care.”

The smile he gave her was answer enough.

“Here we go,” he said, staring up at the platform. There was no sign of the prince consort or the queen, but all seven of the Council waited.

Will took a deep breath and for the first time, Lena realized he was nervous. She squeezed his arm. “Have you never met others of your kind before?”

“Never.” His gaze swept over the river, lingering on the naval officers that lined the deck of the dragon-ship. “Spent most of me life in that cage, then trapped in Whitechapel by the price on me head.”

Something tightened in her chest. Lena slid her hand into his, hiding it against her skirts. All eyes were on the river. She squeezed his fingers and he looked down, considering it for a moment before he squeezed back.

“Truce,” she whispered. “Just for tonight?”

“Truce,” he agreed.

A breeze stirred her hair as they climbed the stairs, bringing with it the rich, cinnamon scent of Lady Aramina’s perfume. Lena stepped into place beside the duchess and tugged her hand from Will’s.

Beneath the noise of the fireworks and the murmur of the crowd grew a strange, throbbing hum. A froth of water churned a hundred yards behind the last dragon-ship, and the sleek dark head of something surfaced.

“What is that?” she asked.

“A kraken submergible,” the duchess replied, her brandy-colored eyes intently watching the wave. “The stealthy killer of the Scandinavian naval forces. It’s the only thing that’s ever brought down one of our Dreadnoughts.”

Surprised that the woman had answered, Lena dared ask more, “I thought the Dreadnoughts were invincible?”

“You cannot fight what you cannot see,” the duchess replied. “And it’s only in the last minute that you can feel the throb of their propellers coming. Caught alone, even a Dreadnought can be sunk by their steel tentacles.”

The throb echoed through the air, almost humming against Lena’s skin. She could only imagine the force needed to create such a disturbance.

“They don’t usually venture so far from their waters, however,” Aramina mused. “They must be trying to impress us.”

“They’ve succeeded,” Lena replied, looking at the awed faces in the crowd as the domed metal and glass head of the submergible surged through the water to present itself.

The first dragon-ship docked. Two of the ship’s crews wore the blue regimentals of the Swedish military, with gold tasseled epaulets. Every one of them was as tall as Will. They moved with a militant efficiency and stood sharply to attention as a trio of officers appeared on the foredeck.

The final ship trailed with disdainful ease into the docks, edging just a little away from the Swedish vessels. Scarred and grizzled sailors manned the rails, glaring at the crowd. Thick wolf pelts trailed over their shoulders and most of them were heavily bearded.

The Norwegian clans.

Behind her the sound of metal boots rang on the cobbles. A carriage wheeled into the square, gleaming with mother-of-pearl inlay, coming to a halt directly before the platform. The Imperial metaljackets created a path, ceremonial rifles slung over their armor-plated shoulders.

The prince consort leaped out in all his elegant glory and the crowd cheered.

Lena didn’t know where to look. The world was a conflagration of color as the fireworks went mad. The prince consort opened the carriage door and handed the petite human queen out onto the quay. Behind them the Scandinavians were lining up, an enormous man in a scarlet coat leading them. He stood inches above Will even, and the chiseled contours of his cheeks were softened only by a full mouth.

Will flinched beside her at each explosion above, his nostrils flaring. Of course. This was all so new to him.

She tugged at his sleeve. “I assume that man is the leader of the Swedish delegation. Count Stefan Hallestrøm of Skåld. They call him the War Hammer. Even the Norwegian clans step lightly around him and they’re not afraid of anything.”

Lazy amber eyes considered her. He was relaxing, which was precisely what she’d intended.

“The Norwegians are…tricky,” she replied. “Officially, the Storting was disbanded and they bend knee to the Swedish Court now. In the capital, most have adapted to the new ways; however, in the old country they’re rather more traditional.” She eyed the band of Norwegians scowling on the docks. “The man in front is Magnus Ragnarsson, the Fenrir of the Raven Clan. He might wear an eye patch and be older than you and me combined, but he’s considered crafty and his men are murderously loyal. To his right is his son, Eric.” Her eyes widened slightly. She’d heard reports he was handsome, but as the blond warrior smiled, half the ladies in attendance stopped breathing. Fans fluttered like an entire swarm of butterflies. “Don’t be fooled by his charm. You don’t rise through clan ranks without killing someone along the way. The higher they stand, the more blood they’ve shed. And he’s slated to take over his father’s role one day.”

Silence greeted this statement. She looked up and found Will watching her through dangerously narrowed eyes. “What?”

“I don’t think I need be concerned ’bout his charm.”

Heat rose through her throat and cheeks. She fanned herself rapidly. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You sighed.”

“I did not.”

“It seems you have a dangerous weakness for verwulfen men.”

“I assure you I do not.” Still, she couldn’t stop her curious gaze from sliding back to the golden figure on the docks, with his silver-leaf chain mail and the heavy ax at his belt. She’d once accused Will of being a barbarian, but here was one in the flesh.

A Norse god at the least.

A fanfare sounded and the ranks of Norwegians parted to allow someone through. The verwulfen had won the battle; everyone was craning their necks to see who deserved such a fanfare.

A young woman stepped through the clans.

“Oh,” Lena murmured.

A hush fell over the crowd. It was well-deserved. Not only was the woman tall and shapely, with a well-formed bosom, but she had the kind of face that could stun a ballroom to silence. A cascade of loose blond waves fell to her waist and a gold circlet sat upon her brow. She wore nothing more than a simple white dress, with a rakish wolf skin thrown over one shoulder, yet she had no need of more. Gold and gems would only have gone unnoticed in the wake of her pillowy lips and glorious bone structure.

“Jaysus.” Will arched a brow.

A hot little spark burned inside her gut. Lena stepped on his foot and put all her miniscule weight into it. “Shut your mouth before you choke on something,” she snapped. “She’s not that pretty.”

Aware that he was still watching her, she looked around. The heat of his gaze lingered on her skin and she found herself fanning rather more rapidly.

“You’re jealous? I thought this were only a game?”

The fan slowed. She looked up into the burning intensity of his gaze. The words were lightly said, but the look on his face was anything but. “I’m not. Look at her all you want. I don’t care. But my intention is to make you appear somewhat more than a gaping rookery-bred bumpkin, is it not? You want to impress them?”

Whilst she wanted to alienate them.

Her grip on the fan tightened as the bite of guilt filled her. “Don’t stare at me,” she whispered.

“You’re still the most beautiful woman I ever clapped eyes on.”

A pitter-patter in her chest. “You shouldn’t say such things.”

He shrugged. As if it meant nothing to him.

Whilst it meant the world to her.

A thousand meaningless compliments had tumbled from blue blood lips over her time at court. Words meant to charm and seduce. But Will never said anything he didn’t mean. Something in her chest warmed.

Then she deflated. If he knew she intended to destroy the treaty, he’d be furious. There would be no more smiles her way, no more compliments. Will would hate her. Lena’s fingers curled around the fan, a rash of heat springing into her eyes. She looked away swiftly, swallowing hard. He could never know. Winning the Scandinavian’s support was not as important as Charlie’s life.

“You know a great deal about ’em,” Will said, as the prince consort stepped forward and nodded at the Swedish ambassador. The formal words of greeting were exchanged, along with rather a lot of edged smiles and shaken hands.

The ambassador bowed before the queen, the curve of his back deeper than what he’d offered the prince consort. He had to know who truly ruled Britain; this was an insult, one of the first of many, no doubt.

Perhaps her task would not be so difficult after all?

“I was curious.” And she’d needed to know who her targets would be. Again an uneasy churn of guilt turned her stomach.

“This Magnus,” he murmured. “He’s in charge of the Norwegians?”

She wouldn’t deny him the information she’d spent hours gossiping to achieve. “There are only five remaining clans left in Norway. Magnus rules one, but for this delegation he speaks with their voices. The true source of power in Norway is Valdemar Einarsson, the jarl of all the clans.” Another stolen glance at the young woman bowing to the queen. “She must be his daughter, the Lady Astrid.”

“What happens once they all finish bowin’ and scrapin’?”

“We retire to the Ivory Tower and the welcoming ball begins.”

A slight hint of unease in his eyes.

“Yes, Will. Dancing,” she said, relishing the moment. “Now we see if you’ve retained any of my lessons.”

***

Light glittered. The official state ballroom walls bore mirror after mirror, the edges scrolled with gilt and interspersed with elegant paintings. Will paused at the top of the red carpeted stairs as his name and Lena’s were announced.

Hundreds of faces turned his way. Blue bloods, verwulfen, and human alike. A brief scan of the crowd revealed the Norwegians gathered in the corner, expressions wary and considering. The Fenrir locked gazes with him, his black eye patch distinctly out of odds here in this gleaming paradise. Fur bristled on his shoulders and his iron-gray beard spoke of the weight of years. Will felt as if he’d been weighed and measured by that single eye.

Not a man he’d like to cross.

“Come,” Lena whispered, tugging at his sleeve.

Why the devil had he agreed to this? Feeling hunted, he stalked down the stairs beside her.

The next hour was a whirl of teeth-grinding social niceties and false smiles as Lena introduced him to members of the Echelon. Hard looks slapped his back and he saw more than a few blue bloods exchange glances. The looks were easy enough to interpret. What the hell was he doing here? What game was the Council up to?

Lights. Music. Laughter. So bright and glittering, dozens of gaslit chandeliers casting heat across the room. Nostrils flaring, he intercepted a glass of champagne from a drone’s tray and handed it to Lena. She served as his only anchor in this world he didn’t understand and didn’t want to.

It suited her. She laughed and tapped her friends on the shoulders with her folded fan, constantly keeping him involved in the conversation when he’d prefer to have just stood at her shoulder and scowled. This entire evening was effortless for her. Even the blue bloods danced to her tune, kept in place with a coquettish smile and a drawled witticism.

He wanted to smash them in the face for each smile they earned.

“I need air,” he growled in her ear.

“Not yet.” She took one look at his face and nodded thoughtfully. “Come. Dance with me.”

Only for her would he endure such torture.

Taking her by the hand, he led her onto the dance floor and dragged her into his arms. Lena’s eyes widened as his hand slid over the small of her back, his thighs brushing against her skirts. But she didn’t dare chastise him out loud for holding her too closely.

The music swept them up and Will twirled her in his arms, concentrating hard on counting the steps. It should have looked ridiculous—he was enormous against her delicate stature—but Lena had a grace about her that made it somehow work. It was like holding a spinning top in his hands. She floated, each movement lithe and elegant, with a slight hint of the coquette. If he faltered, she encouraged him with a lowered-lash smile that made all of the steps rush out of his mind.

All of his thoughts, in fact.

“Stop counting,” she murmured, a small smile playing about her lips.

He glared at her, twirling her in a pirouette. From this angle, he could see straight down her dress at the soft swell of creamy flesh she displayed with far too much complacency. Pearls dripped into the deep vee of her gown, drawing his gaze lower. “I thought it were fashion for women searchin’ for a protector to leave their throats and neck bare?”

Lena glanced up, over her shoulder, as he guided her through a pirouette. “But I’m not.”

“Not what?”

There was a slight hesitation. “Searching for a protector.”

His fingers tightened in hers. It shouldn’t matter. She could never be his anyway. But the thought still flooded him with a fierce sense of satisfaction. Of possession.

His body curved around hers, drawing her back against his chest as he held her hands up. The movement thrust her chest forward and arched her neck. Each step of the assah had been designed to tempt, to show a blue blood a woman’s best features. Will had no desire for her blood, but the smooth slope of her neck and shoulder drew his gaze. He wanted to run his lips over her skin, to feel her tremble, to taste her as her skin pebbled and she gasped softly.

His cock roused. Dangerous thoughts. Especially here, in the middle of a ballroom. The swish of her bustle against his groin was a devastating itch, inciting him to harder lengths.

“You’re holding me too close,” she whispered.

The smile on her face was careless, as if she were not aware of the fact. A charade for anyone watching.

Her breath, however, told another story.

What was he doing? Will dragged in a thick breath and looked away. He spun her in a light circle and she came back into his arms, facing him this time. The look in her eyes devastated him.

Perhaps it had been the other afternoon? Daring her to accept him in public. Challenging her at her own games.

There was no point to this. She wasn’t his and never could be. But…it was so tempting to hold her, to torture himself with her nearness when he knew he could never have her.

Just this once.

“Will,” she whispered. “Stop it.”

He couldn’t let her go. Couldn’t put the proper distance between them. The music swept through him, a string-and-flute quartet with a slight Middle Eastern hum as exotic counterpoint. Each step came easily now. He wasn’t thinking so much. Just following her body through the steps of the sinuous dance. Predator to prey. But this time the prey held all the power, luring him in, drawing him closer.

He didn’t speak. And neither did she. Everything that needed to be said was spoken by the entwining of their bodies. Lena surrendered to the inevitable, her cheeks flushed with a becoming pink as she wilted into his touch.

And he claimed her as his; his fingers shackling her wrists as she turned, then sliding down her corseted hips, one hand firm across the small of her back as he drew her back into his embrace. He’d forgotten the steps by now. Created his own. Predator to prey, each movement a prophetic one.

The music trailed to a smoky halt. Clapping erupted and Will stilled, his arms tight around her hips. Lena looked up, her dazed expression fading away as she realized where they were. The pink of her cheeks deepened, her eyes darting past his shoulder.

Far too many interested eyes looked their way. Lena tugged at his grip. He held it for a moment, forcing her gaze to his, then let her go.

With a polite smile, she curtsied. “Thank you,” she murmured, knowing every word she now spoke would be heard. “For a wonderful dance.”

He bowed his head, a sign of respect he’d give to no other woman here. “I enjoyed it.”

A surprise in itself. But her presence had made an excruciating moment a delightful one. He found he wanted to keep going.

Any excuse to keep her in his arms…

Will looked away. He couldn’t afford to have thoughts like that. His gaze drifted over the Norwegians in the corner. The reason he was here. Something he shouldn’t forget.

“Every woman here wants to dance with you now,” Lena murmured.

“I only dance once.”

A slight smile. “I think if I asked you, you’d change your mind.”

“Are you askin’ me?”

Lena looked up from beneath her lashes. “I don’t think we should. If I dance with you again, we’re going to attract attention.”

“We already have.”

Lena considered the room. “I need to dance with someone else,” she replied. The light strains of music were starting up again, this time a more traditional dance. A waltz, he suspected.

He grabbed her wrist. “Not the assah.”

“No?”

“No.”

That dance was his.

Her smile bloomed, causing the breath to catch in his chest. “Not the assah then. Go. Find your Norwegians. I’ll stall the gossip you’re no doubt causing.” She gave a rueful twist of her lips. “You’re going to drive me to bedlam, you know that?”

It was no more than she was doing to him. Thank God he wasn’t the only one afflicted by this madness between them.

With one last smoky look over her shoulder, she sauntered into the crowd, crooking a finger at some young lordling in a yellow coat. He swallowed hard and darted to her side, offering a polite hand as he led her into the waltz.

Will turned and strode through the crowd, muttering his apologies as he pushed past. Too many people. The air was too stuffy. And a part of him didn’t want to watch her on someone else’s arm.

Finding a room with refreshments laid out, he tugged at the collar of his coat. Cool air stirred across his face, and the few people picking at the refreshment table realized who he was and darted back to the main ballroom. Which suited him perfectly.

Taking a plate, he piled it with sweetmeats and pastries and those little cakes Lena seemed to like. Soft footsteps shuffled the carpet behind him and he stilled, catching a hint of a pale shadow reflected in the cut crystal bowl in front of him.

Hadn’t taken them long.

Wondering who they’d sent, he turned, eyeing the stranger without surprise.

With a nervous smile for him, the Lady Astrid crossed the room to the refreshment table. Her white gown was cut to move with each step, creating a graceful, sinuous effect that no human woman could ever hope to emulate.

“You are William Carver,” she murmured, trailing her fingers over the tablecloth as she stalked toward him. A swift smile. Not so nervous now. If she ever had been. There’d been no hint of it in her scent. “We didn’t expect to find one of our own here.”

“Didn’t expect to be here meself,” he replied. There was no point in trying to play word games. He was who he was. No amount of polish could change his nature or make him comfortable with the games the blue bloods enjoyed.

Astrid gave him a sidelong look. “Why not?”

“This ain’t my world.”

She examined him as if he’d done something unexpected. “You’re Scottish, yes?”

“Originally. Were born on a crofter’s farm outside o’ Edinburgh.”

Easing closer, she let her arm brush against his. “How old were you when you received the gift?”

He glanced over her shoulder toward the ball. Through the arch he could just see the glittering skirts of Lena’s pink ball gown. Talking to some young pup who hung on her every word. Safe for the moment.

He turned his attention back to the woman in front of him. “I were five. And it weren’t no gift.”

He could barely recall the stranger who’d ridden in on the back of a cart one day, feverish and sweating, his arms raked with bloody scratches. They’d called for the physician, but the man had gone berserk, throwing men aside as if they weighed nothing. Will had been the only one left standing, staring at the stranger in virulent fear. He couldn’t remember what happened next. But they said it took five men to pull the stranger away from his throat.

Nobody expected him to live. The man had torn him apart like a nice, fat rabbit. But somehow his body reknit itself. By the time they realized why, it was too late. He was well into the first transition of the loupe.

“I see.” Her eyes softened in sympathy, but her scent was still hard. A lesson in that for him. Trust his nose and not his eyes. “How did you learn to control yourself? Were there others?”

“Me mam sold me to a travelin’ showman.” An old wound, healed and crusted over, but still scarred. “I were locked in a cage for ten years. If I tried to escape they whipped me until I went down.” He took a mouthful of champagne, the bitterness of it bubbling on his tongue. “I learned the hard way not to lose me temper.”

Astrid’s fingers went to the amulet around her neck and she toyed with it, a troubled look on her face. “How can you stand to be here? Around them? Knowing that their laws locked you away for years?”

“I’m simply doin’ a job.”

“An attempt to soften our favor? They do not know us well, do they?” Another brush against his sleeve. Her hand slid over his, gloves rustling. “So how much does this little task of yours cost them?” She took a deep breath, her breasts swelling. “What does it involve?”

He let her stroke his hand. She was beautiful, but she was no Lena. “I get you to sign the treaty.”

“And what do you get?”

“I get freedom.”

“Worth more than your weight in gold,” she murmured.

“For all the verwulfen in the Isles,” he added. “No more cages, no more pit-fightin’ or prices on our heads. Free men. And women.”

Unease prickled her scent. Despite the smile on her face, he’d pricked her conscience.

“A worthy cause.” Her finger stroked his knuckle, but her mind was miles away. She frowned. “You should come and meet my uncle. He may be interested in what you speak of.”

“Your uncle?”

“Magnus.”

Will considered it. Then nodded. He gestured to the plate. “Let me just take this to my companion, Lena.”