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Whether Grace liked it or not, she had begun to care what this bold young woman thought. Though it didn’t makesense coming from a Clairmont cousin, Willa bucked crooked authority like Grace had always dreamed the Protectors would.

“What exactly was vandalized?” Grace asked, desperate to shift the focus away from herself.

“Our manor. I thought that would be obvious.”

“But when? How?”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were concerned for my family, Robbins.”

Grace stuck her nose in the air. “I’m concerned about theFerrers’estate,” she said, then winced. Habits were hard to change on a whim.

Willa grinned slyly. “Right.” She turned without further explanation. “Now, where do I find a scythe?” She pulled on a cornstalk.

But Grace wasn’t ready to leave the topic behind. When she set aside her automatic snark, a touch of fear wiggled its way into her heart.

In her parents’ time, Protectors, posing as the Rogue, had broken into gentry homes—even their own to keep identities secret—and taken what they felt a home could spare, never more than the people needed or what they felt was illegally gained. Gathered resources were distributed to struggling citizens. It was the first version of the supply runs.

Only, Mayor Nautin had inflated the robberies into tales of vandalism.

Could Willa also be exaggerating a robbery as something more destructive?

Could it be James?

No, he’d promised. Two days, no rebelling.

And yet…

“Who do you think did it?” Grace asked.

Willa looked over her shoulder at her. “Couldn’t say.” She released the stalk and the ear wobbled back and forth atop it.

“No one saw him?”

“Him?” Willa turned to face Grace again. “Know something I don’t?”

Grace shook her head, her hat shifting wildly at the action.

Willa walked over to Grace. “You sure? Because I’ve got a suspicion that someone out here”—she gestured to the farmland—“doesn’t want my family to feel welcome.”

Ignoring the urge to squirm under Willa’s pointed glare, Grace scoffed. “The farmers won’t chase away another set of hands for harvest, let alone three sets. You’re mistaken.”

“Give me that scythe if you’re not going to get to work.” Willa tried to take the tool, but Grace held it back.

“Find your own. Or check a shed.”

“Fine.” Willa marched away, headed for the Klossners’ shed.

Grace forced herself to work as she considered.

Surely someone besides the Rogue could be the culprit. Was it possible that someone at the celebration had been inspired to take up the Rogue’s cause?

Maybe Willa’s idea wasn’t as ridiculous as Grace had thought.

Willa returned shortly with a scythe over half a foot taller than her and began to hack at the cornstalks a row over from Grace.

“What was taken from your home?” Grace asked.

Willa huffed. “Taken? Nothing was taken, but most everything was damaged.”