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Ollie glanced at Tarley as if looking for guidance, but her tongue was tied, unable to guide him. To fool this man, they would have to showcase her place, or he’d sniff out the lie. And if the stranger was what she thought he might be, he might be desperate enough to hurt Ollie. She wouldn’t let that happen.

Ollie’s gaze danced across her face, then back at the waiting stranger. Taking a step forward, Ollie placed himself between her and the man. “She’s my wife. Now bugger off.”

Tarley took Ollie’s hand, surprised by his choice, but grateful because it was perfect. “I promised him some fish.”

Ollie glanced at their joined hands and pulled her closer, then leaned to say into her ear, “I don’t like his look.”

She pressed her mouth to his cheek and said, “He’s desperate.” Then she leaned back and offered him a smile, hoping he could read what else she was trying to say. If they didn’t feed him, he might do something worse.

He nodded and turned to the man. “My wife has such a kind heart. Dinner?” His tone wasn’t friendly, but he’d adequately read the situation.

The stranger nodded and took a seat at the fire, dropping his pack with a thud onto the ground.

“Sit,” she told Ollie. “Let me serve you.”

Ollie’s eyebrows shot up and he grinned at her, but she noted the tension underneath his smile. “Allow me to get another seat first,” he said, “for you. But come with me.” Holding out his hand, he murmured, “I don’t want you out of my sight.”

Tarley took his hand and walked the few paces with him to the edge of their small woodpile at the edge of the light. They could still see the stranger looking over their camp, his dark eyes jumping between them and their supplies, them and the tent.

“Can you lift it?” she asked Ollie quietly.

“I’m lifting it regardless,” he whispered. “He can’t know–”

She understood what he meant. This stranger seemed daring enough to find any way possible to get coin. “You could reinjure yourself. I don’t–”

“Tarley,” he whispered. “I’ll be okay. Are you okay?”

She nodded. “You’re sure?”

“Let me–”

And she knew what he didn’t say, running back to their angry exchange. He wanted to help, to take care of her for once. Acquiescing, she nodded and watched Ollie bend down, pick up a log large enough to sit on, and cart it into the camp, where he set it next to his. “There.” He twisted it to make sure it was secure, then sat without so much as a flinch, a grimace, or a groan, as if nothing were wrong in the bones of his chest. “I’m Ollie,” he told the man. “You are?”

“Gan,” the man said.

“You from around here?”

“No,” Gan said.

Tarley offered him some water, which he accepted, his gaze drifting over her face and down to her shirt.

“Why she dressed like that?” he asked Ollie.

Ollie looked at her, his eyes communicating his frustration. “Practicality.”

Gan smiled and took another sip of water looking over the edge of it at her. “You one of those then?”

Tarley handed a skewered fish to Gan, whose fingers brushed hers as he took it. She suppressed a shudder and fisted her hands, wishing she could hit him for what he insinuated as if it were nothing at all.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You like the boys.”

Ollie stood, and Tarley moved to his side. “This is how you repay kindness?” Ollie asked.

Gan chuckled. “I meant nothing by it, lordling.”

Tarley touched Ollie’s arm. “Mr. Gan will enjoy his fish and be on his way, love.”