Free Danger's Kiss by Glynnis Campbell

Five again.”  She placed a halfpenny beside the others, then began shaking the dice in her hands once more.  “’Twas a lawyer murdered, aye?”
    “Aye.  I’ll wager seven.  ‘Twas the lord’s own man.”
    “The lord?”
    “Lord William.”  The man moved closer to confide in a whisper, “He’s dyin’, ye know.  Summoned his lawyer to write up his will.”
    Bardolph jabbed him with an elbow, then skewered her with a glare.  “Just cast the dice.”
    She shrugged and released the cubes across the barrel.  One and four.  Thank God.
    “Shite!”  The man pounded his fist on the edge of the barrel.
    Desirée couldn’t help the smile that teased at the corners of her mouth.  Two pennies.  She’d eat again tonight.  Though a part of her mourned the loss of her longtime partner in crime, she didn’t miss having to turn over the greater portion of her winnings to the old lout.  Hubert would have snatched that two-penny pork pasty right out of her mouth.
    As she reached out to claim her take, her hand was suddenly covered by a massive paw.
    “Leave it there.”
    She whipped her head about.  Who dared interfere in her game?
    The master of the mews answered for her, removing his cap and breathing in awe, “Nicholas Grimshaw.”
    Bardolph poked him, muttering, “I told ye we should’ve gone.”
    Desirée wasn’t about to let go of her hard-won profit.  She glared into the shire-reeve’s dark eyes.  “What are you doing here?”
    “Cleaning up the streets of Canterbury.”
    The master of the mews twisted his cap in his hands.  “We was playin’ an honest game o’ dice, m’lord.  No mischief.  I swear.”
    “No mischief,” Bardolph assured him, adding for good measure, “and I wasn’t even playin’.”
    “No mischief?” Nicholas intoned.  “Then what’s this?”
    Before she could stop him with her free hand, he yanked the purse from her waist and upended it over the table.  What spilled out were a few farthings, four walnut shells, her silver Fast and Loose chain, a comb, the iron key Hubert had given her, two ribbons, a couple of dried peas, and the condemning unweighted die she’d exchanged, all she owned in the world.
    “God’s hooks,” the master of the mews said in wonder.  “’Tis a trick die.”
    “She was cheatin’ us... ye ,” Bardolph told him.
    Desirée was more vexed than embarrassed.  When you relied upon deception for a living, getting caught now and then was inevitable.  A bit of smooth talking, a few coins slipped into the right palm, and a hasty departure usually served to get one out of such scrapes.
    But she wasn’t ready to leave Canterbury.  She had a task to finish.  And she had no coin to spare on bribery.  Lord, at the moment, she couldn’t have left if she wanted to.  She couldn’t even remove her hand from the shire-reeve’s grip.
    “How much did you lose to her?” he asked the men.
    “Not much.  Only the penny there,” the master of the mews said.
    But Bardolph recognized opportunity when he saw it.  “Two shillin’s!”
    “What?”  The first man frowned at him.
    “Two shillin’s!  She took two shillin’s from us...him.”
    Desirée gasped.  “I did not!”
    “Two shillings,” the shire-reeve drawled.  “Indeed?”  He clucked his tongue.  “Why, gentlemen, ’tis enough to have her flogged.”

CHAPTER 7

    D esirée’s heart dropped to the pit of her stomach.  Flogged?  He couldn’t be serious.
    “Bloody hell!” she hissed in disbelief.  “‘Tis a penny!  ‘Tisn’t as if I snatched a pound from the king’s coffers!”
    Ignoring her, Nicholas told the men, “I’ll summon the constable to take her away.”
    “Nay!” she cried.  The passersby, though giving the shire-reeve a wide berth, turned their heads at her shriek, so she lowered her voice.  “‘Tis barely coin enough for supper.  And ‘twas won from willing participants in a game of chance.”
    Nicholas paid her no heed but began