One look into his eyes was enough to confirm that he now understood why she’d wanted to know wither he’d been bound.
She raised her brows at him. “You must have ridden like the wind.”
“I did, as it happens.” His accents were clipped, his jaw tight; he clearly recalled telling her he didn’t want her visiting Mother Gibbs alone. His fingers locked about her elbow, he turned and walked beside her along the harbor wall.
Refusing even to acknowledge his very male irritation at her intransigence, she looked ahead. “What did you learn?”
After a tense moment, he conceded. “There wasn’t much to learn in Lostwithiel—no one around who could name any local lads Granville may have called friend. As for Tywardreath, the fraternity there knew of him only by repute—he’d never run with them.”
“If he hadn’t gone as far west as Tywardreath, it’s unlikely he’d have gone farther.”
“So I think. With all the gangs about the estuary to choose from, and the Fowey crews are some of the best, why venture to more distant territory?”
They turned away from the harbor to climb back to the High Street.
“Incidentally, I’m not amused.”
“How did you know I was there?”
“I stopped to chat to the head ostler at the Pelican and saw your mare. The rest was easy.” His gaze lifted to her face. “So what did you learn?”
She told him.
Charles listened, inwardly conceding that Mother Gibbs was an excellent source—an inspired choice on Penny’s part, much as he disapproved of the connection. “So Nicholas is definitely setting himself up as Granville’s replacement, specifically putting it about that any contact looking for Granville should now be referred to him.”
“That must mean he’s expecting someone to make contact.” Penny looked at him. “But why would that be? The war’s over. There’s nothing, surely, that the French would pay to learn—is there?”
“Nothing military. But Nicholas is Foreign Office, and they’re involved in trade pacts and so on.” After a moment, he added, “I’ll ask Dalziel.”
Twisting her elbow from his grip, Penny closed her hand over his wrist and halted. She lifted her eyes to his. “Is there any way you can ask without mentioning names?”
He held her gaze for a moment, then turned his hand and caught hers. Confessed. “I’ve already told Dalziel about Nicholas, but believe me, Dalziel’s no threat to you. I trusted him with my life for thirteen years—no danger to you or your family will come through him.”
When she just looked at him, her gray eyes momentarily blank, inward-looking, he squeezed her hand. He wished he could read her mind as well as he could most women’s, then made a plea he wasn’t sure it was wise to make. “Trust me.”
She refocused, stared at him for a moment longer, then nodded. “All right.” Turning, she slid her hand back on his arm.
They continued on, while he grappled with his reaction.
All right. Just like that, without further questions, she trusted his decision, one involving her family’s honor, no less. He steered her back to the Pelican, buoyed and touched by her accepting his word on a matter so profoundly important to her with so little reservation.
Reaching the Pelican, they retrieved their horses; once more side by side, they rode back to the Abbey.
Cassius and Brutus came lolloping up as they walked out of the stables. The hounds gamboled about them, pushing shaggy heads under their hands for pats. Penny laughed and complied. Charles looked across at her.
“Come for a walk—it’s too early for dinner, and these two need a run.”
The hounds had understood enough; they circled, barked encouragingly.
She smiled. “All right.”
They followed the dogs east to the long sweep of the ramparts. Steps led up to the broad grassed walk atop the sloping mound; they climbed them side by side. In companionable silence, they walked along, drinking in the wide views over the lush green fields to the silvery blue estuary and farther, to where the waves of the Channel glittered on the horizon, gilded by the sun.
The breeze was brisk, tugging wisps of her hair from her chignon, rakishly ruffling Charles’s black curls. The hounds bounded up and down the slopes, ranging out, noses to the ground, then circling back to check on them before ambling off once more.
Charles scanned the fields as they walked along. “What was it like around here during the war?” He gestured with one hand, encompassing all before them. “Did anything change?”
She understood what he was asking; she shook her head. “Not fundamentally. There was more activity in the estuary—naval ships and the like putting in, and our local privateers were especially active. There was always talk of the recent engagements whenever one went into village or town, and no dinner party was complete without a full listing of all the latest exploits.