Or…” He smoothed his thumb over hers. “Maybe—”
“Irish.” The giant’s voice was no more than a rumble.
“Yes, my friend?” Connelly looked as happy as a puppy. As merry as a songbird.
Their gazes met like sunlight on steel.
“Mayhap your new whip has arrived at Master Balmick’s.”
“I only ordered it a few days past.”
“But you insist on going there each day regardless.”
“I am certain I can miss one—” he began, but McBain interrupted.
“Might you be prepared to mend that wall?”
A moment of understanding seemed to stream between them. Connelly remained absolutely still for an instant, then grinned, dropped her hand, and backed away. “My lady,” he said, and bowed. “It has been a rare pleasure meeting the lass who can—”
McBain cleared his throat. The sound rumbled like thunder in the morning air.
Connelly laughed out loud. “Until next we meet,” he said, and grinned as he disappeared into the house.
Faye’s heart beat like a drum in her chest. The enemy had been reduced to one now. But for the life of her she couldn’t decide if that made matters better or worse.
She clenched her empty hand and dredged up every molecule of courage she ever hoped to possess. “I wished to apologize.”
He said nothing.
She was holding her breath but managed to force out a few more syllables. “Usually I’m…”… safely hidden away in Lavender House. “…as mild as Mullen.”
His brows lowered even farther.
“Surely you’ve heard the term,” she said, mimicking Rennet.
“Aye,” he said. His tone was devilishly low, frightening in its intensity.
“I didn’t mean—” she began, but words failed her, so she thrust the package at him, pushing her arm out to its full length. “Here.”
He didn’t reach for the package, didn’t move at all, but remained exactly as he was, like a burly predator planning his attack.
Her hands were beginning to tremble. She steadied them and lifted her chin. “Please. Take it.”
He did so finally, slowly, engulfing it with his hand.
“It’s a gift.”
He raised his gaze to her.
She tried to think of something clever to say, but his steady, quicksilver eyes had driven every potential witticism clean out of her head.
He shifted his weight. “I’ve not received a gift from an adversary before.”
“An adversary!” she said, and almost bolted, but he motioned languidly toward his eye.
“Oh.” She contained a wince. “I just…” It looked so horribly painful, so hideously raw. “Sometimes I become a bit skittish in social circumstances.”
Silence pulsed around them, broken by naught but the distant sound of a baying dog.
“Skittish,” he said finally.
“Yes.”
“Were that all me Tommies were so capricious.”
She blinked.
His expression didn’t change in the least, but there was something in his haunting silver eyes. Something that almost spoke of humor. “Surely we would rout our enemies in a matter of minutes.”
The world went quiet, focused, cleared. And she realized suddenly that he almost seemed…uncertain. Yet he stared at her, as solemn as a dirge, not moving closer, not retreating.
She cleared her throat and lowered her eyes. “You should open your gift.”
Silence again. She tried a tentative glance. He was gazing contemplatively at the package in his hand.
“Might it contain a wee warrior even smaller than yourself?”
She scowled. “No.”
He tilted his head the slightest degree. “Are you familiar with black powder?”
“Do you think I mean to harm you?” she asked.
“For reasons entirely unclear to one such as meself, the possibility did cross me mind,” he said. Despite herself, Faye felt her lips twitch the slightest degree, but she had learned better long ago than to be charmed. Learned, ached, paid.
“Here,” she said, and, reaching out, took the package back. Their fingers brushed. And with that quick exchange came a flash of errant feelings that tingled through her