Free Emerald (Jewel Trilogy, Book 2) by Lauren Royal

in London. If the Gothards had come to West Riding to speak with their brother—to get something from their brother—it made sense that now they'd head to see him in London instead. And of course Emerald would go after them.
    The man dabbed at his dripping nose. "London, yes. It's Thursday, no? The coach leaves for London at eight every Thursday."
    "Eight. Damn." She had a four-hour lead. But the public coach was slow as a condemned man mounting Tyburn gallows, and Chiron, Jason's silver gelding, had won his last three races in Sussex. If Emerald hadn't found a horse yet, he might be able to catch up to her. "How much do I owe for the room?"
    He slapped coins on the counter and ran upstairs to fetch his belongings, then headed back down to the stables. Blasted woman thought she could fool him, did she? The Gothard brothers were riding for London, and here she was, going after them at her first chance.
    She was Emerald MacCallum, all right, no matter the lies that tumbled from her enticing lips. And he had to keep an eye on her, lest she get to Geoffrey first—because she was bound to get herself killed in the process.
    She might have a reputation for tracking men—indeed, she'd done a credible job of it so far, tracing the brothers to here—but she'd never come up against the likes of Gothard before. The man was evil.
    And now she was injured, thanks to Jason. He owed it to her to follow her, watch over her. Protect her.
    Luckily, they seemed to be heading in the same direction.
    It would be no trouble.

    Jason caught up to Emerald's coach—at least he hoped it was her coach—in Doncaster. Passengers had disembarked. A few walked along Church Street or Greyfriars Road, stretching their legs while the horses were changed.
    Emerald was nowhere in sight.
    He tethered Chiron and poked his head into the coach's cabin, finding it empty. Neither was she inside the Greyfriars Inn, where other passengers were taking refreshment.
    Bloody hell, she must have hired a horse and left already.
    Frustrated, he paid for an ale and paced Church Street while drinking it. He decided he should be relieved—it would have been hell following a public coach. Too damned slow. Once he found her—assuming he could—it would be much better with her on horseback. He could follow surreptitiously and keep her safe, without worrying about the brothers getting too far ahead.
    Yes, it really was quite a relief. Anxious to get on the road after Emerald, he tilted his head back and drained the rest of the ale. And looked back down to see a woman across the street.
    A woman who looked rather like Emerald MacCallum.
    Instead of breeches, the woman wore a dark green skirt over a long-sleeved, high-necked shift, topped by a brown laced bodice that looked like it belonged in the previous century. She rounded a corner of the Church of St. George, disappearing from Jason's view. He took off after her.
    He hadn't caught sight of her face. But the sun had glinted off dark-blond hair woven into two plaits. He'd thought Emerald had plaited her hair last night only to hide it under her hat, but he could have been wrong in that assumption.
    Absurd hairstyle for a grown woman.
    There she was, standing by the double doors of the majestic medieval building. Stopping in a graveyard a safe distance away, he concealed himself behind a monument and watched.
    It was quite definitely Emerald. Evidently she only dressed like a man when her quarry was in range. Or maybe she hadn't found time yet to wash the blood off her shirt and mend the slash from his blade.
    Gazing up at the massive planked doors, she reached a finger to trace a section of their scrolled ironwork before her hand closed over the latch. But she stopped short of opening it. Instead she heaved a visible sigh and began wandering around the church, toward another graveyard that looked ancient compared to the one where Jason hid. Idly she bent down to pluck off part of a small plant and slipped it into her