Free Mirror Sight by Kristen Britain Page B

wounds from . . . from edged weapons.” He sounded disturbed. If he had believed she were a Green Rider, then perhaps he wouldn’t be so surprised, but it appeared there were no Green Riders in this time and no memory of them. To think all their bravery and efforts came to this, unremembered and disbelieved.
    “Mirriam thought her muscles unseemly for a girl, too, even one who might have labored in the mills,” the professor mused. “Maybe a field hand? No lash marks, though. Her wounds, combined with the artifacts lead me to only one conclusion.”
    Karigan did not get to hear what it was because someone said,
“Psst,”
behind her. She jumped.
    “Miss,” Lorine said, “you must go back to your room.”
    “I’m tired of my room.” Oops, that sounded a tad more petulant than Karigan intended.
    Lorine gently took her arm and turned her toward the staircase. “Please. Mirriam will be home soon, and if she or anyone else sees you down here . . .”
    Karigan heard the implication that if mad Miss Goodgrave were discovered wandering around, the fault would fall on Lorine, who’d be in a great deal of trouble. Not wishing to cause Lorine problems, Karigan started up the stairway compliantly, but was vexed not to have heard the rest of the professor’s statement. Midway up, she stopped, thinking to go back down, fling those doors open, and confront the professor. But Lorine anxiously tugged on her sleeve. With a sigh, Karigan continued her upward climb.
    When they reached the top landing, the double doors opened, and Karigan paused to look back down. A man strode out into the foyer with books beneath his arm.
    “Don’t forget I need those papers tomorrow morning,” the professor called from the adjoining room.
    The man halted and turned. “The Hudson Study?”
    “That’s the one.”
    When Karigan saw the man’s profile, it took only a moment for her to recognize him. He’d been standing next to the professor in that lecture hall the night of her arrival. His voice also matched that of the man who’d helped her fight off the assailants in the alley and brought her to the professor’s house.
    She ignored Lorine’s pulling on her arm. “Who is he?” Karigan asked in a whisper.
    Whether the man heard her or some other impulse caused him to glance up the stairs, she did not know, but he did, and he stared hard at her, his face unreadable, brows drawn together. He was in his mid-twenties, she thought, very trim in his plain longcoat, but beneath his scrutiny she felt naked, as if he could see past her nightgown, through her skin, and right into her being.
    Then it was all over. He turned curtly on his heel. “I’ll have the Hudson Study for you first thing, Professor.”
    “Good man!”
    And he swept out the front door.
    “Who was he?” Karigan asked Lorine again.
    “One of the professor’s students. It’s not proper for you to be seen like this.” She fussed and pulled till Karigan followed her down the hallway.
    Karigan assumed “not proper” meant the professor’s mad niece should not be seen by anyone from outside the household, especially when she was wearing nothing but a nightgown. “Does he have a name?” Karigan persisted.
    “A name?” Lorine’s nervous disposition made her seem just about to quiver apart.
    “Yes, a name.”
    “Mr. Cade Harlowe.” Lorine spoke breathlessly, and when Karigan espied the pink in her cheeks, she thought she knew why.
    “Does he come here often?”
    Lorine nodded. “He assists the professor. To help pay his tuition, as I understand it.”
    They were about halfway to Karigan’s room when another door at the far end of the hallway opened and a girl of about eight in servants garb stepped out. She stared openly at Karigan.
    “Arhys!” Lorine said. “What are you doing? Mirriam is not pleased with you. She had to go to Copley’s after Miss Goodgrave’s slippers.”
    The girl tossed her head. “Mirriam is never pleased about anything.”
    That