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Grace frowned. She shuffled through her memory, trying to find an image of James with the bow, and found none. If he’d wanted to stop it, why hadn’t he at least tried the final challenge?

He sighed. “I considered speaking out, turning myself in. I just didn’t think that would accomplish anything. ”

The way he looked at her, he was waiting for something. If he expected her to read his expression, he was going to have to remove that mask. Her eyes examined the leather, then dropped to the face cloth. The coverings were right there. She could just grab one of them.

But every time she’d tried in the past, her interactions with the Rogue had turned into a battle. A flirty battle, but a battle, nonetheless.

Which was the greater risk—asking him about the vandalism without the benefit of non-verbal clues, or ending the conversation before she even got a chance to ask the question?

“Was it you who vandalized the Leroux home?” She watched his face the best that she could. Above the inner corners of his eyes, tiny creases formed.

“Of course not.”

She let his words linger in the air, considering every facet of his inflection, watching his body language.

The voice wasn’t his, but in the emphasis of the second word, she heard revulsion. There was no lift at the end to indicate defensiveness. He leaned closer to her, inviting her trust.

Grace nodded. “I believe you.” And she did. A weight slid from her shoulders, like shedding a cloak after the end of a long walk through the cold. The Rogue was someone she could trust.

Her words had done something to the man beside her. She heard his breath against the face cloth, saw the dilation of his pupils. Her own body responded in kind. The invitation to trust had shifted, inviting more, inviting closeness.

But something held her back. Two things.

A mask.

And guilt over her inexplicable attraction to a sweet, risky Clairmont.

Grace cleared her throat and forced herself to lean back.

There were still important things to be discussed. “Do you have any clue who might have done it?”

If he had any idea who’d used that gold, she needed to know.

He looked down at his hands in what she imagined to be disappointment. He shook his head. “I don’t know who did it, but I think they meant to blame it on me to turn the people against me.”

She nodded. “I agree.” The same explanation worked for the use of the gold, as well.

So who used the gold?

It was a question the Rogue couldn’t answer, but maybe she could think through the possibilities with him here.

“The vandal is someone who is mimicking the actions of the original Rogue, based on what we were taught at school,” she said, “which doesn’t narrow the list of suspects down much.”

“I don’t know,” the Rogue said. He shifted so his back was against the wall of the shed, his shoulder pressing against Grace’s. She didn’t shy away. It was nice not to feel alone. “Maybe everyone in Fidara has heard the mayor’s version of the break-ins, but at least half, if not more, were alive for the real thing. They would know those aren’t the real stories.”

“That’s true.” Were they looking for someone young then? No. “But I don’t think that narrows it down. If this is someone trying to blame you, it doesn’t matter if they know the truth. They could just be using the false narrative to serve their purposes.”

“True…” His voice drooped.

“So we need to focus on those with reason to defame you.”

“There are the obvious answers…”

“Mayor Nautin, Sheriff Clairmont…”

“Anyone who agrees with him or is too afraid to cross him…”

“Most of the gentry.”