The Match of the Century by Cathy Maxwell Page A

is too bad we couldn’t learn his secrets.”
    “Such as?” Big Roger said.
    “Who hired him. I have no doubt he is being paid well for his services. The heels of his boots aren’t even worn down.” Ben started going through the man’s pockets, something that gave Elin the chills.
    “Already did that,” Big Roger said. “He had nothing but this gun and a powder pouch.” He placed the pistol and pouch on the bar. “Here, take it.”
    Ben felt something in the man’s sleeve. He rolled it back to reveal a hidden pocket. He pulled out a small pistol, the size of his palm. It was an ornate thing, with a gilded wheel lock and ivory carvings embedded in the grip.
    Big Roger whistled. “It is too pretty to work.”
    “Why else would he have it?” Ben held the gun to the light and cocked it. “It’s loaded.”
    “Tricky bastard, wasn’t he?” Big Roger said. “He meant business.”
    “We already knew that.” Ben stepped over the man’s body. Uncocking the pistol, he offered it to Elin. “Are you still a good shot?”
    “With a hunting gun.”
    “There isn’t much difference,” he assured her. “You cock it and fire.”
    She took the weapon. It was surprisingly heavy for its size. She dropped it into a pocket inside her cloak. Meanwhile, Ben went over to the hook where his wool coat, one from his military days, was hanging among the others. The length went down to the top of his boots.
    He also collected the horse pistol and gunpowder Big Roger was generously giving him. “Thanks, mate.”
    Osprey returned with a sack of food for them. “Here you go, Whit. Good luck to you.”
    “Thank you, Osprey. Big Roger.” He nodded to them. “Our paths will cross again. Come, Miss Morris.”
    But Elin had something to say. These men had risked their lives for her without even knowing who she was.
    She stepped forward. “Thank you. I will remember this, and so will my father. You don’t know, but the man you called Whit is the Duke of Baynton’s brother.” She felt impelled to share this. “Whit” had powerful connections.
    The two men appeared unimpressed.
    “You know who the Duke of Baynton is?” she prodded.
    “Aye, we’ve heard of him,” Big Roger said with a touch of distaste. “And we always knew there was more to Whit than meets the eye.” He turned to Ben, and said, “Nate served under you. You wouldn’t remember him, but he said you were a right one. Having spent my time marching for the king, I knew what he meant. Most officers are bloody fools. You’re not. We helped you, Whit, because we like you. And,” he added, a bit of mischief in his eye, “you don’t win that often at dice. I hope your luck is better giving those bully lads a chase.”
    Ben moved forward and took Big Roger’s hand in a strong grip.
    “Safe travels,” Big Roger said.
    “Same to you,” Ben answered. “Come, Miss Morris.”
    “We’ve heard of Fyclan Morris as well,” Big Roger called after her, as she went out the door, then he began laughing, a huge, hearty sound that followed them into the night.
    Ben moved forward, but Elin held back. “Did I offend him?”
    He had her by her cloak and gave it a yank, pulling her. “What? By letting him know what a service he’d done for the nation in helping to save the mighty duke of Baynton’s future duchess? Hurry on now, will you.” He moved ahead of her.
    Elin grabbed her cloak and pulled back. She had no intention of being led through the forest all night as if she was a toddler. Nor did she understand his testiness.
    “I never mentioned myself,” she declared, careful to keep her voice low.
    “No, you were too busy babbling about my brother.”
    “What does that mean? And will you slow down? Or are you so annoyed with me you wish to walk off?”
    “I’m not annoyed with you,” he threw out without easing his pace. Indeed, they had reached a path that even she could see in the forest. He turned, walking backward to remind her, “There are men who