“Fine,” I say. “I was born in 1765, which makes me twenty-five. But I will be twenty-six this year, and I do not appreciate being called a child.”

“I called Mademoiselle M a child. I have not called you thus since our first meeting, after which I realized I had underestimated your age due to your petite stature and deceptively innocent appearance. I will accept you are five-and-twenty, then, which means you are six years older than Mademoiselle M, and I am seven. There is no romantic entanglement between Mademoiselle M and me.”

The girl is clearly enamored of Nicolas, and he’d seemed quite comfortable with her attentions. Either he doesn’t want to admit to a romance, or they are still merely circling the possibility.

“All right,” I say. “She is not your Maid Marian.”

He chokes on a laugh. “Non, crécerelle. I have no Maid Marian. I am not in a position to form such entanglements, being a man with a price upon his head.”

8

Nicolas’s cave is damnably difficult to get to, which would be the point. His hideaway is not an abandoned barn or even a cave just below the bluff’s edge. No, to get to it, we must find a hidden skiff and then row to a cave barely above the high-tide mark. As it is not high tide, we must climb the rock face to that cave. Or I must, while he takes the skiff to a spot farther down.

It is an adventure; I must say that, and I must also say how delightful it is that he only once asks, “Is your arm all right to climb?” Then he allows me to ascend unassisted . . . though he does wait below, should I fall. Yes, my arm is throbbing by the time I make it to the top, but if I had been in danger, I would have accepted help.

I climb into the cave and make myself at home there while he hides the boat and returns.

The cave is more comfortable than I expected. Or, I should say, Nicolas has made it thus, with pillows and throws and furs to ward off the chill. The sea has infused the fabrics with the faint odor of must, but it is masked by the smell of salty brine and the scent of lavender.

When Nicolas arrives, he finds me settling onto furs near the back of the cave, and he brings food—dried fish, fresh water and apples.

As he checks and redresses my arm, he says, “I fear I do not have a change of clothing for you. That will need to wait for tonight.”

I arch one brow.

His eyes glint as he grins. “I have an adventure planned for tonight, crécerelle. One I think you will enjoy. Only if you are up to it, of course. I must make the journey myself—to fetch supplies that Mademoiselle M has told me are much needed—but you do not need to join me.”