Page 3 of The Thief’s Lord (Catkin Trilogy #3)

Gareth

“ L et’s talk.”

The two words fell like a stone in the quiet between us. The tomcat I had caught creeping about my study had spent the past two days in solitary. I had hoped that the silence and cramped conditions might cow the tomcat into a semblance of cooperation.

My first glance at the set of his slender shoulders told me otherwise.

Those pouty red lips were set in a thin line.

Green eyes gazed at me blankly from beneath a heavy fringe of red curls now tangled and dirty.

Between us, chains lay. His wrists were cuffed and attached by a length of chain to the table’s central iron peg. My captive wasn’t going anywhere soon.

At the sight of his bony wrists and pale fingers that tapered with slender grace, my heart skipped a beat.

Was it the pale skin? The smattering of freckles across his sharp cheekbones?

The slender frame that begged me to shelter it?

There was something fragile and vulnerable about the lad.

He was a young tom. On any other occasion, I would be drawn to him.

There was a delicate beauty there—in the curve of his deep red lips and the soft lines of his face.

A Munni , I guessed. Aye. There is something attractive here.

Youth and vibrancy and beauty… and a will to survive.

But also… I hesitated as I mused upon the conundrum.

My captive was attempting to hide the truth.

Beneath his cool exterior, behind the tension of his shoulders and the straight poise of his spine, I sensed the deep vibration of something else. Fear, perhaps.

He held himself gracefully, as though he had no care in the world, but the faintest tremble to his tawny red tail spoke volumes.

Whoever this was, he was frightened. Of me?

Perhaps. Yet, I fancied that there were other darker shadows in his life that cast a greater pall.

A shame. I would rather he were more frightened of me than whatever world he’d been drawn out of.

I leaned forward, pushing toward his lax fingers a steaming mug of tea. At my elbow, a plate of bread, meat, and beans waited. I would have to see how the conversation would go.

The tom stared at the mug, clearly torn with desire and suspicion. His fingers reluctantly wrapped themselves about the warmth. For a second, thick red lashes fluttered closed with relaxed relief. The clink of chain brought him back to the present as he pulled the mug toward him.

My gaze narrowed on my captive’s lips as he hesitantly sipped at the tea. The barest hint of a tongue flicked out to catch a pearl of milky tea on the dark rim of the cup. I blinked, flicked my tail impatiently at my own rising interest, and cursed the distraction that my captive now offered.

As if guessing the path of my wayward thoughts, the redhead fluttered his eyelashes coquettishly and relaxed a little in his chair.

The scamp. I recalled Hugh’s detailed report.

He had come away from his encounter with the redhead feeling rather torn.

I could see why. I could also see why the guards might find themselves distracted.

My captive had a certain charm and dressed up as a maid or a tom, he might turn any catkin’s head.

But I am Duke of Baywaters, the cool and calculating Lord Gareth Wright. No matter what my cock might want, what my heart might whisper, I was set upon my course. This is our chance to get to the bottom of this entire sordid affair. This is my chance to reveal Lord Morne as the rogue that he was.

And how far will you fall to bring the truth to light? I shivered as a traitorous voice whispered deep within. Will you walk the path of darkness to wring the truth from those sweet lips? And when you are done, what will be left… for him or for you?

“Let’s talk,” I said again, silencing my own doubts.

“About?”

Gods. That light husky voice sounded like music in my ears. I could imagine that voice whispering sweet nothings in my ear. It took everything within me to keep my ears and tail relaxed. In a show of unconcerned confidence, I leaned forward and met his gaze squarely.

“About everything. How about we start with your name?”

“How about not?”

Pale fingers tightened about the cup.

“What is the harm in a name?” I asked.

“Everything.”

“Hm…”

My sharp gaze flitted over him, noting the dust and grime that now smudged his dark clothing and cheeks.

Those deep green eyes glittered at me with animosity and pride.

Despite the position he had found himself in, my captive was far from cowed.

Indeed, far from it, for he eased himself back and stared at me with no small amount of amusement.

“Mouse. Little Mouse,” I said.

“Eh?” At those words, his ears stiffened upward a little.

“Here I was… minding my own business, relaxing with a good book, a pipe, and a pint of ale. When what do I hear? A little mouse creeping about my manor.” I mused aloud, “That seems as good a name as any.”

“I’m… not a mouse,” the tomcat hissed.

“You could give me your name instead.”

“Over my dead body.”

“That could be arranged,” I said quietly, “but I’d rather not. It would be a shame to squander the best set of eyes this side of the Rynduin River. Not to mention eradicate the sight of a comely maid—“

“That… was…” Little Mouse sputtered as he clutched at the mug of tea. His green eyes glittered dangerously. “I was simply playing a part!”

“A part for whom?”

Instantly, Little Mouse fell silent, pursing those kissable red lips. He glared down at the mug in his hand and then sipped at the tea, avoiding my gaze.

“I’m not going to say.” A pause. Then he asked in a small voice, “Are you… going to start hitting me now?”

“Hitting you?” I raised an eyebrow.

“That’s what they always do after a time. M—That’s what I heard.”

M. He was about to say a name but had caught himself in the nick of time.

It was almost painful to watch the confident poise waver, revealing something closer to the truth…

perhaps. A scared tomcat caught between a rock and a hard place.

Or perhaps it was all an illusion created by a master of the craft.

“That will come in time,” I finally said, keeping my voice even and firm. “I don’t want to. I would rather we find an accord between us. I offer protection and a chance at another life.”

Little Mouse snorted, rolling his eyes derisively.

“I want you to consider the offer regardless,” I continued.

“If you give me names… places… information about your shadowy masters. Yes.” My voice remained even as the young tomcat stiffened visibly at the name.

“I figured from the cut of your cloth, the movement, the lantern. This can only be the work of a seasoned professional with some connections. What you could hope to gain from creeping about my home remains to be seen, but if you tell the truth and aid me in my investigations, I will be able to grant you clemency, protection from your previous masters even.”

“From… them?” Little Mouse’s lip curled then. “You can’t escape… them. Once you’re in—“

He stopped and glared down at his hands.

Once you are in, you never get out. I had heard those words whispered before.

I sighed lightly, allowing him to see my disappointment.

Rising to my feet, I gazed down at him thoughtfully.

What now lay ahead was far from what I had wished for.

Nevertheless, in this moment, I could only offer a hand in peace. I nudged the plate forward.

“Enjoy your meal, Little Mouse, while you can.”

“Already going?” The redhead scoffed.

“You wish me to stay?” I asked curiously.

Green eyes blinked up at me, shifting between curiosity and coquettish flirtation. He really couldn’t help himself. I found myself chuckling then. Almost instinctively, my hand rose to ruffle through the red curls. Even damp and dirty, they felt soft beneath my touch.

“Another time, Little Mouse.”

With that, I left, but I fancied a bit of my heart remained behind in that cell.

The light voice of my captive remained with me for the rest of the day.

As I dealt with the problem of the roofing tiles and the windmill’s mysteriously broken spur wheel, I mulled over the redhead’s words.

Little Mouse, as I dubbed him, was in many ways an open book and a mind-bending puzzle at the same time.

I had seen tomcats like him time and again—lost wastrels looking for a home, turning their hand to any manner of roguery for the master that gave them shelter.

They were cunning, avaricious, and self-seeking.

They were hunted and haunted both. Their pasts were filled with tales of betrayal and abandonment.

I could see it behind Little Mouse’s bravado: pain and fear.

A deep shadow. Some kind of inner turmoil.

And yet, there was a conundrum to be resolved.

What Hugh had written. Little Mouse, whoever he was, had not approached the Standing Stones.

He had not attacked Alan or attempted to desecrate the sacred site even with something as simple as a campfire.

Hugh had been given the impression that Little Mouse was a true worshiper of the gods.

Yet, at the same time, the loyalty and fear that bound my captive to his shadowy masters would be difficult to break.

Would my guards and I be able to beat the truth out of him, or would he always fear his masters more than myself? For me to replace them in his mind, I would have to transform myself into something vastly evil.

A few days ago, I would have told any catkin that I was prepared to do whatever it took to get to the bottom of the corruption with Landis’s court. Now, within the week, faced with a comely lad caught in a web of machinations beyond his ken, I doubted my resolve. Did Little Mouse have any doubts?

For the next several days, I stayed away.

Upon my orders, my captive was barely fed and any comforts that might have been given to him were denied.

Every two days, he was brought in chains before me.

On either side of the wooden table, we sat, sparring each other with words.

With each passing day, however, I could see that Little Mouse was increasingly frightened and disturbed.

No doubt he fears me , I mused, but even more so, he fears his masters. As a captive for so long, he would be missed. They will hunt him down, and, finding him, what will they do to my Little Mouse?

I brought myself sharply to the present at that stray thought.

My Little Mouse? Since when had he become mine?

I grimaced a little as I took my seat opposite him.

The idea that the slender assassin had already crept his way into my thoughts and mind did not sit well with me.

Even worse, I couldn’t help but wince at the sight of bruises that now colored his jaw, split his lower lip, and swelled his left cheekbone.

Part of me wished to tend to his wounds, gently dab at the cuts, and lessen the swelling.

Another part of me chided my softer half.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, voice lightly mocking. “Like what you see?”

“You know I don’t,” I said quietly, folding my hands before me.

As usual, at my elbow a plate of food waited. His green eyes fastened on the plate, and a growl emanated from his midsection. Little Mouse scowled and hugged himself tightly in mute defiance.

“It is yours… for a price.”

“What is the price today? Pain? My body?”

“Your body?” A lump of ice formed in my belly. “Have any of my guards touched you in any—“

He gestured blithely at his face.

“They aren’t so much into fucking, no.” His green eyes pinned me to my seat. “Should I be grateful for that, I wonder? Do I have you to thank for it? Or perhaps you are saving me for yourself?”

The last question found a mark I had not thought existed. I glared back and kept my voice even as I lied through my teeth.

“Not in the slightest,” I said. “The price, Little Mouse, is a name. A name and your role in this whole… affair.”

There was a long silence. I waited patiently. After a while, I shifted, making to rise to my feet.

“Erlin.” Little Mouse raised his chin defiantly. “The name’s Erlin. And I’m—I’m a petty thief. Not much in the way of grand affairs, but I’m the best in the business, I’ll have you know.”

“I can guess,” I said mildly as I eased back into my chair. I allowed genuine admiration to filter into my tone of voice. “You infiltrated the castle on many occasions. You are slight in figure, light on your feet, and quick. Any catkin would be lucky to have you—“

“In more ways than one,” Erlin interjected flirtatiously, but there was an edge to his razor thin smile. “Do I get my prize?”

I shoved the plate forward, allowing him to dig into the food instantly.

He had earned it. This was, after all, a relationship of sorts.

There must be proper give and take. Hopefully, with enough time and properly applied pressure, I would be able to eke what information this thief held within his memories.

Already I had sent word to Alan with the hopes of finding out whether there was some magickal or alchemical way to loosen lips.

Lips. Red lips as rosy as… Gods, Gareth , I scolded myself. Get a hold of yourself!

“Good?” I asked, trying to keep my attention focused on the chains that circled his wrists and the additional layer of dirt that now darkened his once fiery red curls.

“Good enough,” Erlin said grudgingly around a mouthful of pheasant and greens.

“There’s more where it came from,” I smiled at him. “You simply need to behave.”

Erlin nodded, the very picture of gratitude and compliance. An act, I was certain of it. Just as false as the name he’d dubbed himself. Whoever Erlin truly was, I would find out. Soon enough, the facade would be torn from him, one way or another. I simply required time.

Time I did not have. Two days later, a few minutes after I had sat down to breakfast, a guard burst into my great hall, looking terrified and frantic.

“Milord, your Grace—he’s—he’s escaped!”