Page 99 of Gilded Locks

Could there be a simple solution?

It wasn’t as if there weren’t places to hide out here in the fields to change.

A laugh escaped. Had he been that bold? If he changed in a shed, then dashed across the fields, he could have been seen. Of course, he might have made his way into the forest as a patrolman and exited as the Rogue.

But what about the night of the Rogue’s first appearance. She’d seen Garrick in the square, then entered the woods and found the Rogue hiding in the trees. Why would he change into the Rogue outfit when he’d already escaped and unmasked?

Grace ran through the night in her mind. She’d snuck to James’s house, talked with Alaina, then stole along the side of the cottage to look at the square where she’d seen… a head of dark curls!

That was it. She hadn’t seen him, really, just seen the curls. Her heart soared!

Over and over she’d made this mistake, and never thought to consider when else she might have confused the two men for each other.

She might not have seen Garrick with the patrol that night after all! It could have been James. Which meant…

Another giggle filled her and bubbled out.

That clever, stubborn, secret-keeping Rogue.

Energy was growing in her;, wilted hope was revitalizing.

Blind. She’d been blind. Not anymore.

For the first time, Grace thought she understood just what the Rogue had risked, and his reasons for continuing to keep secrets, even from her.

Actions. Choices. They spoke loudly. They showed a person’s character. She was tired of sitting around, tired of waiting for someone else to choose to change.

She knew what she wanted and what she was willing to risk.

It was just a matter of where she could find him. That Rogue.

The sound of carriage wheels and horse hooves against the road had Grace shifting to see around her armful of wheat. She cursed.

There, extravagant and gaudy, rolled the tax carriage.

The driver pulled on the reins, commanding the horses to yield and stop. It had come from the Klossner home. The mayor didn’t trust the citizens to store all of their crop in the storage barn and ordered Mr. Durr, as tax collector, to walk through homes, decide what looked new or expensive, and search for hidden stores.

Inevitably, Mr. Durr found some supposed item or coinage that he was sure was a deception, and demanded immediate payment of taxes for the items to avoid jailing.

The tax collector opened the carriage door and paraded down the step to the ground. In his hands, he carried a roll of parchment, ink, and a quill. A jangling pouch secured to his waist swung heavily against his leg.

“Here we go,” Grace muttered. But then she smiled. She didn’t have to make it easy for the mayor’s minion.

She watched Mr. Durr approach and timed her own movement toward the barn door. Just as he was about to enter, Grace ran straight into him.

“Oof,” she said. “What was that?”

“You idiot, watch your step!” Mr. Durr’s nasal cries elicited a few chuckles. “Simpletons, all of you,” he grumbled.

“Who’s that? Who did I hit?” Grace asked, turning to side-eye the man. “Oh! Pardon me. Just a simpleton hard at work here.” Then she sauntered into the barn and deposited the wheat in the section reserved for her family’s crop. The tax collector entered after her.

Looking for the Rogue would have to wait until the evening. It was time to make a bit of trouble for the mayor.

Brushing her hands and dress as free of wheat as she could in a few seconds, Grace strolled over to where Mr. Durr stood surveying the Tucker and Klossner crops next to a table brought in specifically for him to place his ink upon. The crop yield was emptied from the barrels, counted on the dusty floor, and returned to their bins, a processes which did not seem appealing to the proud man.

He started with a single barrel of corn.

“What is that—thirty, forty, fifty barrels?” she said as close to the tax collector’s ear as she could manage without leaning over his shoulder.

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