Page 55 of Heir of Uncertain Magic

They slipped into his inherited rickety boat—which might be due for repair sometime soon—and sailed their way to Blaugdone. The sun had not yet set, so the lighthouses were still dark. The water was calm, and they made good time, pulling ashore in less than twenty minutes. Merritt stepped out first, then offered a hand to Hulda. With no witnesses around, she clasped it with a smile, then pinched her lips as her underskirt caught on something by her bench.

“I’ll get it.” Merritt bent over the boat and tugged the fabric off a wide splinter, Hulda keeping her balance with a hand on his shoulder. He then clasped his hands around her waist and lifted her from the boat, eliciting a delightful shriek in response. He did not comment on the pinkening of her cheeks, and she did not chide him, so he merely offered his arm and escorted her to the house.

“Do you find all those layers necessary?” Not only were they catching on old boat benches, but she’d taken up a handful of them to keep them out of the reeds, for the worn path still wasn’t wide enough to accommodate two people walking side by side.

“They do well in the cold,” she said.

“So do trousers.”

She frowned at him. “I’ll be sure to inform the local ton of your brilliant observation. Women will be donning breeches by June.”

He smiled. “And men, corsets.”

“Why on God’s good earth would a man wear a corset?”

Merritt shrugged. “I suppose for the same reason a woman wears one.”

She considered that a second before saying, “That’s nonsense.”

“My point exactly. I—”

Hhhhhhheeeeeeeeeee,the wind whispered. No, not the wind, the reeds. He stopped in his tracks, a shiver coursing up his spine like someone had traced it with an icicle.

Hulda’s hand touched his shoulder blade. “Merritt?”

Owein barked from the house, and Merritt’s stomach tightened.

“Hurry” was all he said before grabbing her hand and taking off toward the house. Owein’s barking didn’t stop, only grew louder. Had he seen him coming? Too many things whirled through his mind for him to make sense of any one of them.

He released Hulda’s hand at the porch and flew into the house. “Owein?”

Owein barked from upstairs. Merritt took the steps two at a time and found his chef and the terrier standing outside the library.

I caught a man!Owein shouted.

Baptiste wore a dark expression. “There is a stranger in the house. Owein has locked him in.”

“Stranger?” Should he get his gun?

“Who?” Hulda asked.

Baptiste shrugged.

Merritt lurched for the doorknob—Owein had done something to the door, in addition to carving a little peephole in it, because it stuck, but it gave way when Merritt forced his shoulder into it.

The first thing he noticed was the darkness—the window was gone. Owein pushed between his legs, and the far walls split, the glass windows and evening sunlight reemerging.

And sure enough, there was a disheveled man off center in the room, his foot and ankle swallowed by the floorboards. He wore a garish orange suit coat and held a bag of something on his lap. He didn’t even bother looking up when Merritt entered.

Hulda gasped. “Mr.Baillie?”

Merritt had recognized him instantly, but something about hearing his name, in Hulda’s voice, no less, filled him with rage. Like Baillie’s name was a lit match. Now another fire burned inside him, choking smoke seeping into his limbs. His fingers twitched. Fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. His vision tinted red.

“What the hell are you doing in my house.” It was a question, or it should have been, but it sounded more like a threat.

Mr.Baillie’s shoulders hunched. “I can explain.”

Baptiste pushed through. “He was planting these.”

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