Page 37 of Gilded Locks

Nervous energy quivered in his chest. That first night in the woods, the way Grace had slunk toward him, the coy expression he’d seen when she’d been a mere foot away from him… Both body and mind relived that heady, dazed moment.

And the next night. He’d allowed himself to let down his guard. He felt her hand on his arm even now. For years he’d wished to win her over, and it had required only a few minutes of anonymity to earn him a closeness he’d longed for.

But her approach had been a ploy, a mask far more effective than the green leather he’d been wearing. He ran his hands over his face. Grace had been so close to removing his mask. It could have been disastrous.

Jonathan’s warning echoed in his head.Never tell Grace that you know.

He shook his head. He’d been foolish, falling prey to illogical dreams instead of focusing on what was important: he must convince her to take up the rebellion.

Clearly, he wasn’t cut out for this. Grace hadn’t held back from pointing out his inadequacies.

How could he possibly change her mind? A niggling fear in the pit of his stomach taunted him. The warning he’d finally given Grace in his last letter may have come too late. Then again, even if it hadn’t, Grace may not believe him to have noble intentions, just like Jonathan had warned.

If she didn’t believe him, what then?

He’d hovered around the mayor and sheriff, trying to glean information. The men didn’t see him as a threat, so he’d gathered tidbits of their plan, but nothing substantial. He only knew it would be a few days before they made a move.

He plopped down on his bed, but his foot continued to tap.

There wasn’t time. The one thing he and Grace agreed on was that the safety of the people and the town were at stake. Qualified or not, he couldn’t stop now. And if he couldn’t convince her to work with him, then he couldn’t tell her his plans before he acted.

Chapter 11

Grace was going mad.

Three days. It was nearly three days since she’d talked with the Rogue, and her nerves buzzed so frantically she could hardly think.

Your family’s name is in the whispers.

Your family’s name is in the whispers.

Your family’s name is in the whispers.

The thought ran on repeat in her mind. She hadn’t breathed at a normal pace since reading that letter.

It wasn’t simply a matter of desire; the prolonged panic had rendered it a need. She needed to know what the Rogue had meant. She must have more information so she could counter the threat.

Curse her parents’ attentive care—they’d noticed the distracted way she’d stumbled down the rows of wheat andabout the shed, eyes flicking left and right at the speed of an arrow, watching for some unknown danger.

She’d broached the topic of a threat to their family one night after dinner, despite the fact that it meant she’d have to admit she’d known for days that James had taken up the disguise of the Rogue, and that she hadn’t managed to convince him to stop. She couldn’t justify waiting any longer with such risk hanging over them all. But she’d made the mistake of starting by saying that Garrick following her had put their whole family in great peril. Her parents had shut down the conversation. They’d heard this worry already and wouldn’t take it seriously.

Worse still, they’d decided Grace needed watching. They’d checked on her three times after she retired to her room. By the time she slipped into Sherwood Forest, the Rogue was nowhere to be found. She considered leaving her letter, but she wanted to confront the rebel in person. Gone was her patience for secrets. Forget the fun of unmasking him; she would tell him she knew he was James and demand every word of the whispers he’d heard.

Only, the next night, after keeping herself focused during the day through sheer willpower so her parents wouldn’t hover about her, she’d spied Garrick slipping through Craftsman Ridge. She’d had no choice but to turn around and return home. She couldn’t lead him to the maple grove and the Rogue.

That would be the perfect place for the sheriff to deliver on the threat he’d whispered in her ear two years ago.

Even masters slip and nick a pretty neck now and then.

Now, as she walked beside her parents and brother toward the harvest celebration, she ran one hand up and down her goose-bumped neck as she searched the night, watching for both friend and foe. With tonights opening of the harvest, she wouldn’t be able to get to the maple grove until late again. James shouldunderstand her tardiness today, at least. If he even showed up after she’d missed two nights.

She scanned her surroundings with jittery intensity.

The full moon bathed the fields in milky light. Golden wheat shimmered, and the green stalks of corn stood like a barrier, tall and thick— a perfect place for a threat to hide.

A flick of movement sent lightning streaking up her spine, and she froze. Then Russell leapt from the stalks of wheat, growling, hands extended like bear claws.

Grace responded with muscle memory, swiping her arm around and over her brother’s arm, twisting to hold it behind his back.

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