Free If You Dare by Kresley Cole Page A

against the invasion. Yes, Andorra was small, but its location was critical, as Pascal well knew. “Where’d you hear this?”
    Gavin scratched his neck. “From Otto.”
    â€œOtto, huh?” Court’s eyes narrowed. “Now why would he be contacting us?”
    Gavin hesitated, then said, “He’s . . . overextended again.”
    â€œHe usually is.” Which was why Court had broken from the Prussian’s company years ago and formed his own. “What’s it this time? Sixty against five hundred?” Otto kept his band winnowed down and repeatedly contracted for huge jobs. Great way to make a lot of coin. Sure way to get killed.
    â€œCould be that many,” Niall said absently as he returned the bottle and selected another. By the look on his face, this one was even more valuable. Not that Niall was such the wine expert, but he had an uncanny sense for money and could perceive value like a dog could scent a trail.
    â€œAnd he’s coming to us hat in hand?” Court didn’t like where this was going. Some of his men didn’t mind playing the odds, no matter how bad they were.
    Gavin nodded. “We might be able to recoup some of the pay we lost here.”
    Court shook his head firmly. “We have no’ lost it yet.”
    â€œNo shame in cutting bait,” Niall said. “Another crew, those Tyrolean sharpshooters, left without pay.”
    Gavin added, “The region’s unstable and everybody’s tails are twitching. No one wants to go head to head with Pascal, especially no’ after what he did to you.”
    Niall removed his gaze from the wine to study Court. “They banged you up good?”
    So much that Court was still astonished that he’d lived. “Them and the river. I had to jump blind into the falls, then ride them headfirst.”
    â€œAnd your wrist?” Niall asked. Court had never met a more sharp-eyed person than his cousin. “Looks odd and you’re favoring one hand.”
    His wrist should look odd, since it was very stiff and sorer than usual, due solely to the fact that ten minutes ago he’d had both hands splayed on Annalía’s lush bottom. “Broke it. Had a cast on it. I think another week till I’m right.”
    â€œA cast?” Niall asked with disbelief. “What’s wrong with leather between the teeth until it stops paining you? Casts are for bairn and lasses when they fall off their ponies.”
    Only Liam and Gavin laughed. The impassive MacTiernay had never indicated he was capable of it, and Fergus had already crossed his arms over his chest and was slumped back asleep.
    â€œI dinna have any say on the cast.” Court gingerly flexed his fingers. “The Andorran did it when I was knocked out.” He frowned at Niall, who was returning to the table with the bottle uncorked and a clutch of wine glasses. Perhaps they ought not be drinking this bottle if it was dearer than the one that Niall had whistled over.
    â€œSo how long were you out?” Niall asked as he poured a round.
    â€œTwo days.” Though Court wasn’t normally a wine drinker, he accepted a glass, curious to see what it’d taste like. His drink of choice was whisky because it rendered him as jovial as he’d ever get. Wine? Not so much. “I’m just surprised Pascal dinna find me in all this time.”
    â€œHe’s searching the countryside, but not as he might in the past because he’s been busy. Hark this—he’s taking a bride,” Niall said. “She’s some Spanish aristocrat, supposed to haveroyal blood or some such. Marrying her will give him more claim to Spain than any of the generals before him.”
    Gavin drank and gave Niall an impressed look as if he’d grown the grapes, then added, “Rumor is that she’s happy about the nuptials.”
    Court leaned back, disgusted. “Then they deserve each