The Tenth Gift Read Online Free Page A

peering furtively through the crack in the parlor door. Male voices drifted out into the passageway, along with the sharp smell of small beer and a fug of smoke from the kitchen fire. In low tones, one of the lads said something Cat could not quite catch. The girls listened intently, straining for every word of the hushed conversation within. Grace squeezed Matty’s hand and the two girls exchanged a horrified glance. Cat grinned and tiptoed across the flagstones, laying a hand on Matty’s shoulder for balance so that she, too, could peer into the parlor. Matty made a high-pitched yelp like a rabbit taken by a fox.
    Jack Kellynch wrenched the door open. Small-boned and dark, he had the brown skin and bright eyes of the Spaniard his mother was reputed to be—taken, it was said, off a merchantman wrecked on the Manacles, along with a cargo of fortified wine, a chest of gold and silver plate, and bales of Orient silk bound for the old Queen. The silk and most of the plate had made its way to Her Majesty, butthe wine had most mysteriously vanished, along with the Spanish merchant’s daughter.
    “Well, now, Matty,” he said, giving her a hard look, “you should know no good comes to those who listen where they shouldn’t.”
    Matty flushed a powerful red and looked at her feet, unable to frame a sentence. For her part, Big Grace could only grip Matty’s arm, her eyes round and awed, her mouth hanging open. She was only thirteen, a touch simple, and tiny despite her familiar name.
    Cat strode forward. “What are you doing here, Jack Kellynch? Matty and Grace have reason, being honestly employed in this house, but you, as far as I know, are honestly employed by no man and have no business in our parlor at break of day.”
    Kellynch regarded her sardonically. “My business is my own and not something that should concern a Danish wench.”
    Cat tossed the tawny hair that had earned her this inaccurate insult and stepped past him into the parlor, ready to berate her cousin Robert for allowing such an invasion of ne’er-do-wells. In the smoky, fire-lit room beyond, however, were three figures: not only Robert Bolitho and Thomas Samuels, as she had expected, who sat at the table, but a third man standing in the shadowed corner, leaning against the wall. He wore a dusty traveling cloak, and his boots were muddy. It was only when he took a step forward and the lantern’s light fell upon him that she realized it was the master, Sir Arthur Harris himself, his expression grim.
    “These men are here at my invitation, Catherine, bringing me information.”
    Cat dropped a desperate curtsy, head spinning. “I beg your pardon, sir, I thought you were at the Mount—”
    “And that gives you license to appear half-dressed in company?”
    There was nothing she could say to that, so wisely she said nothing, dropping her regard just in time to catch Robert nudging a discarded hat to conceal an object that shone silver against the dark and pitted oak of the table.
    When she lifted her puzzled gaze to his face, Robert gave her afiercely eloquent look.
Go away
, the blue eyes blazed at her. For a moment she stood her ground; then, “Excuse me, sir,” she muttered, and fled the room.
    She felt Jack Kellynch’s eyes on her back, and worse, all the way up the stairs.
    “N OW, THEN , C ATHERINE ,” Margaret Harris said as firmly as she could, “my husband tells me you were indecorous this morning, appearing in full view of his companions in little more than a chemise. He has asked me to have a word with you. We want no scandal here at Kenegie, and I promised your mother that I would be as a mother to you in her stead.”
    Cat’s head came up at the mention of her mother. Her father, John, a militiaman for Sir Arthur in the garrison on St. Michael’s Mount, had been taken by the plague that swept through the region two years previously, leaving Jane Tregenna and her daughter without income. It was generally whispered that Mistress