Free The Crimson Lady by Mary Reed McCall

with the shadows of her need, twisting and blending in a disruptive swirl. But before he could react she spoke again, her words only adding to his dismay.
    “Draven’s attempts to take me back were unsuccessful, in part because he would not allow himself to appear weak among his cohorts by instigating an open search for me. But since I will likely be traveling back into hisarea of the stewes to gain information about your foster sister, it is only fair to tell you that if he realizes I have returned, he will almost certainly go to great lengths to…reacquire me.”
    “Why?” Braedan fairly growled, shaken by the urge that had filled him, the fierce desire to protect her from anything that might cause her hurt. With ruthless force he squashed the emotion, reminding himself that he wasn’t worthy to safeguard anyone—and that she was naught but a common woman and a thief…a tool in his quest for justice, nothing more. His voice was flat, his choice of words cruel, he knew, when he added, “My uncle has more wealth than a desert prince and cannot possibly covet the amount of coin your notable talents would provide, should you resume servicing men under his direction.”
    She flinched almost imperceptibly. But, thank the saints, the vulnerable look in her eyes slipped away, leaving in its wake raw pain, followed swiftly by something mocking and cold. After a long pause she answered, “You’re quite correct. It is not the coin that would prompt him, although he has always relished his wealth and sought to increase it, I can assure you. It is a far more personal reason, pertaining, as I have said, to his pride.”
    “He has more than enough of that to spare, I’ll grant you,” Braedan groused, struggling to tamp down the last embers of the burning sensation in his gut. “What would be his reason, then, pray tell?”
    “I escaped Lord Draven under cover of darkness those years ago,” Fiona answered quietly, “and your uncle is not a man used to losing his possessions against his will.”
    She had managed to shutter her feelings from him by then, favoring a cool expression of composure that was eerily reminiscent of the look she’d worn when she’d revealed herself to everyone as the Crimson Lady. But as she’d spoken, he noticed that she’d pulled from her sleeve whatever it was she’d been toying with on and off during their conversation; Braedan only just kept himself from jerking back on the pallet when he saw that it was the dagger she’d used against him in her shop, then later on the burly man belowstairs. She kept rolling the blade along her fingers, the palm’s-length edge curving wickedly and glinting in the streaks of sun from the window as she moved it.
    She noticed his reaction after a moment and gave a bitter laugh, flipping the dagger up and sliding it with effortless perfection back into the leather case he could just see now, strapped beneath her smock sleeve. “My apologies. I rarely unsheathe this without a purpose, but occasionally, when I am alone and cursed with some memory of Draven, it happens.”
    “It is of no matter,” he mumbled, “it was just unexpected.”
    She gave that cold smile again. “That was one of the reasons Draven commanded my mastery of the skill—for its ability to shock those for whom he ordered me to display it. It amused him, you see.” Nodding, she indicated the dressings across his chest and arms, her words biting at him this time as she said pointedly, “Though I suppose I needn’t tell you about your uncle’s perverse entertainments. It seems that you’ve experienced some of his talent in that area yourself, recently.”
    “These weren’t delivered by his hand.” Braedan glanced down at his bandaged wounds, clenching hisjaw at the painful memory of their infliction. “He set one of his lackwit men to the task, though he remained in the chamber as witness.”
    “How long were you in his control?”
    Braedan was caught for a moment by the