After sufficiently muddling their trail, Archer directed the horse toward an overgrown path leading into the woods. Briar didn’t ask where they were going. She must have sensed she was safe with Archer for now. They didn’t speak as they left the lights and noise of the village behind.
The foliage thickened around them, hiding them from anyone who might try to follow, choking out the starlight. Then it was just Archer and the darkness and the warm figure of the girl pressed against his back. Her hair tickled his neck, and she smelled of linseed oil and ash. Archer couldn’t quite relax with her arms around his waist. She had accepted his help when she had no other choice, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try to blow his hands off again. He’d seen what she could do.
As they got farther from the village, the only sounds were the rustle of branches, the thud of their mount’s hooves, and the occasional hoot of an owl. The night deepened, the woods wrapping Archer in a familiar embrace. He had spent happy days in Mere Woods, once upon a time.
He slowed the horse to a walk as they neared the hideout so as not to alarm the rest of the team. They had been camped outside Sparrow Village for nearly two weeks while they’d prepared for the mission. No one had ever disturbed that particular hiding place, but they were always ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.
Suddenly, Briar spoke. “What happened to your dog?”
“He’ll find us,” Archer said. “He probably appreciates that you hid the bridge instead of destroying it. He hates swimming.”
“Destroying it would have been terrible for the village.”
“The look on Sheriff Flynn’s face would be spectacular, though.”
“Yes … I guess it would.” She loosened her grip on his coat since they were no longer galloping for their lives and put as much space between them as the saddle allowed. “You didn’t send those men after me, did you?”
Archer hesitated. Would she believe him after the threats he’d made? “Didn’t have time,” he said airily. “They didn’t wait long to start burning things, and here I thought Flynn was all bark and no bite.”
“That cottage was all I had.” Her soft voice was almost lost in the nighttime rustle of the forest.
“You can buy a new one.” Archer glanced back at her. “I happen to know a fellow looking to pay a curse painter for a job.”
She didn’t answer, and the darkness hid her expression. Did she really think he sent those men after her? The loss of the tumbledown cottage appeared to bother her more than he would have expected. He had learned through a few discreet inquiries at her neighbors’—where he had stolen the horse—that she was renting the place and she had only lived there since the end of winter. No one could say where she had come from or if Briar was even her real name.
Archer knew a thing or two about fake names and secret pasts. He was more interested in her future, though. “Look, why don’t you meet the team at least? Hear what we have in mind.”
“The team?”
“They’re a sorry bunch of lowlifes, but they get the job done.”
“Who you calling lowlifes?”
Someone spoke in the darkness, and Archer grinned. They were home.
“Only the finest bunch of larcenists and arsonists I ever met,” Archer called.
“It’s about time you got back.” A burly middle-aged man stepped out of the woods, uncovering a lantern. The light revealed his big red beard and curly hair. A coarse brown vest strained over his broad chest. “My wife was about to march into town to start busting heads.”
“I have returned unscathed, and I brought a friend.”
The curse painter shifted against Archer’s back, peeking out at the newcomer.
“Briar, the curse painter, meet Lew of Twickenridge. He’s the brawn of this operation.”
“A bruiser with a poet’s soul.” Lew bowed, putting a large freckled hand over his heart.
“I told you I’m supposed to be the brawn.” Another figure appeared in the circle of lantern light. Younger even than Archer, the lad was well on the way to being as burly as Lew, but his big shoulders and round face still carried plenty of baby fat. His patchwork coat looked decidedly rumpled.
“This is Nat. Errand boy, all-purpose foot soldier, and yes, future brawn.”
“Are you supposed to be the brain?” Briar asked Archer dryly.
“That would be Lew’s wife, Jemma,” Archer said. “She planned our little quest. I’m the charm.”
Nat snickered and whispered something to Lew behind his pudgy hand. The older man chuckled, making the lantern shake.
“About this quest,” Briar said. “I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”
“You have anywhere else to be?” Archer asked. “Some other hovel to attend to?”
Briar stiffened. Then she swung down from the horse, straightened her skirt, and turned deliberately into the woods.
“I meant no offense,” Archer called, dismounting too. He’d thought they’d started to build a rapport on their ride through the woods, but apparently the loss of everything she had in the world still smarted.
“I thought you were supposed to be the charm,” Nat muttered then ducked the loose fist Archer swung at him.
Briar paused where the pool of lantern light met the trees. “I’m already on the wrong side of the law. I can’t afford to fall in with a bunch of criminals. Unless you intend to keep me here against my will?”
Lew bristled at the implication, and Archer raised a soothing hand toward the girl, as if she were a skittish woodland creature. He knew what she was capable of when threatened.
“Of course not, but if you want to leave, you might as well do it with a full belly and sunny skies.”
“It’s not easy getting back to town in the dark,” Nat said. “I twisted my ankle last time I tried it.”
Lew snorted. “That’s because you’re a lubber.”
“Yes, but he’s a brawny lubber,” Archer said. He took a slow step toward the curse painter. “Won’t you hear us out at least?”
Briar hesitated, the lantern light flickering in her eyes. Archer feared she would march into the darkness and disappear forever, but she looked at the dry paint on her hands and clothes, useless now, and her shoulders slumped.
“I don’t think I’d be welcomed back to this village anyway.”
“It’s settled, then,” Archer said. “You’ll eat a hot meal and listen to our plan, and if you don’t take the job, you’ll be free to go. I’ll even give you my horse come morning.”
Briar nodded, and Archer felt a surprisingly powerful surge of relief.
He gestured to the path ahead with a flourish. “Shall we?”
The four made their way deeper into the woods, relying on Lew’s lantern to avoid the roots choking the path. Branches crackled under their feet, and a sudden rustle suggested they’d startled a deer from its hiding place. The stolen horse snorted contemptuously. Soon they reached a dense thicket, where blackberry bushes grew taller than a man. Two sycamore trees leaned toward each other, marking the spot and creating a spooky, tangled canopy.
Nat hurried forward to pull aside the bundle of branches serving as a door and revealed a tunnel opening directly into the mass of thorny bushes.