The Match of the Century by Cathy Maxwell Page A

good walk into the woods,” Elin continued. “When I returned, I’d lost the direction of the coach so I ended on the road well behind it. The men approached, speaking to James, Toby, and the others. When I saw them, something warned me to step back into the tree line. A moment later, the three men shot Jensen, Toby, and James. One of the men, the leader, threw a knife at Craig and struck him right in the throat.” She took another sip of brandy, before confessing, “You are right. It was my fault. Mine . If I hadn’t been so angry at Madame, they would have been doing their duties.”
    A tremor had come to her voice. Ben took the glass from her. “It was their task to be aware at all times. You mustn’t blame yourself, Elin.”
    She didn’t agree. He could see that. “Don’t focus on it,” he ordered. “Tell us what happened next.”
    “Madame was very angry with the men for not obeying what had been planned.”
    “She said that?”
    “Yes. Then she told them I was in the woods. Two of the men went after me. Tucker and Peters were their names. The leader stayed behind, and that is when he shot Madame.”
    “Shot the dressmaker? After she sounded as if she was an accomplice?”
    “The leader said ‘he’ wanted her dead.”
    “The leader wanted her dead?”
    Elin made an impatient sound. “No, whoever had sent them wanted her dead as well as me. And he just killed her as if her life meant nothing .” Ben knew she was just holding on.
    “So there were only three men in the attack?” Nate asked.
    “Attack?” Elin repeated, surprised at the word, and then said, “Yes, I suppose it was. Three. I heard two names. Peters and Tucker.”
    “Is one of them the leader?” Ben pushed.
    “No.” Her shoulders slumped. She had to be exhausted. She yawned, a sign the brandy was doing its work.
    “Osprey, do you have a room?” Ben asked. “Some place private for Miss Morris?”
    “She can have my room,” he answered. “It is off the hall in the back.”
    Ben and the others expected to sleep out on the benches. Over the past year, Ben had slept on the ground or the floor. He’d been leading a rough-and-ready life, but Elin needed something better. Safer.
    Ben had explored the area earlier when they had first arrived. The Oak was comprised of two rooms—the main taproom and another room that was large and empty. Perhaps it was used for gatherings, but considering how isolated the tavern was, Ben couldn’t imagine much call for the space. Off the hall, several tiny rooms were used for supplies. One of these small rooms contained an unmade cot, which the innkeeper used.
    The room had also had a window and a floor littered with shoes, a tap for a keg that was soaking in a bucket for some reason, some leather harnesses, and a number of other things of the sort men collected.
    “Let me straighten it up a bit,” Osprey said, rushing out of the taproom to do so.
    “Try and eat a bit more of the stew,” Ben advised Elin. “He may be awhile at it.”
    She attempted to comply and looked up in relief when Osprey came back into the room and nodded to Ben, a sign that he could take Elin back.
    “Excuse me, lads,” Ben said rising. He reached for Elin’s arm. She was exhausted and had grown uncharacteristically quiet and docile. She allowed him to escort her to the back room.
    Osprey had left a candle burning in his room. The yellow light was a beacon in the room’s shadowy blackness.
    The innkeeper’s idea of clean and Ben’s were two different things, but Elin didn’t raise a fuss.
    No, she had something else on her mind.
    “What are you doing here?” she asked once they had stepped inside the room. “Why are you with those men?”
    Fooled again. He had completely misunderstood her silence.
    “They are my friends,” Ben answered.
    “Perhaps, but they aren’t the sort I would think the duke would admire.”
    Ben bristled. He tried to tamp it down, but the hour was late. “You may dance to my