Page 5 of The Thief’s Lord (Catkin Trilogy #3)

Any tom might stint his graces, particularly when it is related to a runaway captive.

Something about the note of unrevealed threat in Lord Gareth’s voice had remained with his guards.

Even though he was absent for the better part of the evening, I received no harsh treatment beyond half-hearted cuffs to the back of the head.

By lunchtime, I was back in my cell with a second blanket and a tray of Mrs. Malmsey’s home cooking.

The mud that plastered my clothing had now cemented and flaked off. If there was any of my original coloration on my hair or skin, I would have been surprised. As it was, I was a picture of filth and grime when I was finally brought to Lord Gareth’s office.

His office, this time , I noted. My ankles were once again left unchained, but my wrists were shackled before me.

After depositing me in front of His Grace, I was left standing on a large thick rug before a warm hearth.

Now alone with the duke, I was able to once again attempt to take full measure of the tom.

Yet again, I failed.

Any casual observer could see the high breeding and wealth apparent in the duke’s somber dress.

The black and grays of his wools and leathers were of the highest quality, triple stitched with the barest silver, but silver nonetheless.

His lightly wavy chestnut hair and ears were trimmed by the best barber this side of the Rynduin, I imagined, and his long rounded tail had likewise been shorn in the short-haired fashions current in the king’s court.

“Well, Erlin,” the duke said dryly, “today has been… a day. And a half.”

I tensed as I recognized the false name I had given myself. Eying him carefully, I noticed that my unease had been marked by him. Those godsdamn… fine eyes. I glared down—at the long, powerful fingers that had so handily captured me.

“Indeed,” he continued quietly, “if Rhenn has spoken aright, we have you to thank for Bella’s soft landing. From what I understand, you managed to get the both of you safely through the rapids and the falls.”

“It was barely a drop,” I muttered.

“Nevertheless, it would be poor of me to let such a kind gesture go unthanked.” Gareth—Lord Gareth—then beckoned and a slight tomcat stepped out of the shadows.

“And I am thankful. Not only I, but my sisters both would also extend their gratitude. Doctor Mellin will look you over. I have also ordered a bath be drawn for you as well.”

My cuffed hands rose self-consciously to my half-torn tunic now caked with mud. A deep flush rose to my cheeks as I noticed how his gaze rested on my throat and hands. Part of me felt wordless with gratitude and fearful as to how much this would cost me.

It has cost you your freedom , I reminded myself.

Now you are fukken stuck, Dorset. They’ll have their eyes open day and night now.

Escaping a second time will require more than some fancy fingerwork.

You won’t be meeting up with Mourn or Shade anytime soon.

And what will they think? You know what they will think.

I ought to say something. After all, Gareth—the duke—had no need to show such gratitude.

I was, after all, a criminal and his captive to boot.

As I attempted to find the words, Gareth rose and gestured again.

The doctor, who called himself Mellin, came forward to gently cut away the tattered remains of my tunic, baring my bruises for the world to see.

When I glanced over at Gareth, however, I discovered that the duke had graciously turned his back, giving me a semblance of privacy.

Mellin asked a few questions, used some arcane instrument to listen to my chest, and warned me of a potential cold.

Whiskey, warm food, and blankets were all that were required to keep me healthy.

I was not to be roughed up or knocked about for the next couple of days, allowing for the bruising to heal before the next round of “interrogations.”

Hunching before the fire without my shirt on and feeling more miserable than ever, I contemplated my near future with something approaching despair.

Not only had Gareth captured me again, Mourn and Shade would never forgive me if they discovered that I had jeopardized my mission thanks to a pair of noble kits.

A warm hand spread across my shoulder jolted me back to the present. Gareth had joined me and was looking at my back thoughtfully. My ears drooped and my tail trembled as I waited for the next words to emerge from him. What was I expecting? Patronizing platitudes? Snide remarks?

“We call it the Rynna River, a lazy river most times, but those rocks hit hard this time of year. The snows melting in the mountains swell the waters. They rampage out of control. Many toms and mollies have lost their lives to the tributaries of the Rynduin.” Gareth sighed then.

“You’ll feel it tomorrow morning. Hopefully, the bath will relax your muscles and take the edge off. ”

“A bath, eh?” I kept my voice light and flicked my tail at him, hoping he wouldn’t notice my confusion. “Are you joining me?”

“Not tonight.” Gareth chuckled, ruffling the back of my hair. Instantly, his fingers were tangled in my matted curls. “Gods, Little Mouse, we’ll need to get Alfwyn to tame your mane.”

“It’s Erlin,” I said with put-on iciness even as a corner of my heart melted at the sound of the nickname. “Er-lin.”

“Ah. Yes. Erlin.”

“You sound like you doubt me.”

“I doubt much about you,” Gareth said, moving around to stand before me.

I glared at his shoulders, refusing to look up at him, and wished I was taller.

My tail flicked back and forth, revealing my unsteady nerves, my fears, my confusion…

and my growing attraction. There was something about the set of Gareth’s shoulders that filled me with strange desires.

I wished more than ever that I could step into his embrace, that I could rest my head in the crook of his shoulder and find the comfort and protection he had promised.

It’s an illusion , I reminded myself harshly. It’s an illusion. It’s just a dream. A lie, Dorset.

“But one thing I cannot doubt, Little Mouse,” Gareth continued. His fingers rose to cradle my chin gently, where my cheek now swelled blue and black from a blow against a rock. “Your courage… and kindness… and your heart.”

I could scarce believe the words emerging from the tomcat’s mouth. Courage? Kindness? Heart? Dorset didn’t have those. He had burdens, dark memories, and regret. He had loss and pain and fear. Was there something else I couldn’t see? Is that what he truly saw in me?

For a moment, we stood there, lit only by the cheerful orange glow of the fire. His pale golden winter tan now ablaze with the heat. I too was flushed, trembling with unnamed desire as he gently traced the line of my jaw to the corner of my lips. What did I want?

I didn’t know, but for the first time, I wondered whether I had been wrong after all. Perhaps Gareth wasn’t an illusion. I truly did not know, but I did know that I wanted to hear him say those words again. I wanted him to call me by name.