Page 59

He was older, perhaps forty, and better dressed than most of the men Olivia had seen in the glen, dressed in a traveling coat and leather case that suggested he was a merchant. Nothing about him would have caught her attention if Annie hadn’t moved farther into the kitchen the instant he entered.

“I told ye,” Annie said, “I’ve no need of ribbons.”

The merchant smiled. “Every lass needs ribbons.”

“Not me.”

He stepped closer.

Morag had stopped working, though she still held the wooden turner loosely in one hand and Sorcha watched from the table. Olivia had felt the same kind of change in the room countless times at the pub when laughter sharpened or somebody put down a glass too carefully.

The merchant reached toward Annie’s kerchief.

She moved away. “No thank ye.”

He laughed.

Olivia knew that laugh too. It meant he’d heard her perfectly well and didn’t give a damn.

When he caught Annie by the wrist, Olivia was the first to move.

The knife lay beside the onions. She took it, stepped behind him, caught his coat at the shoulder, and put the blade beneath his jaw.

“Let her go.”

He did though his eyes narrowed.

Olivia kept her voice quiet. “She told you no.”

“I meant no harm.”

“Then leave before your intentions say otherwise.”

His face reddened, anger arriving now that surprise had passed. Olivia had seen that progression too, usually in men who discovered that being embarrassed frightened them more than behaving badly did.

“Out.”

This time he listened.

He stepped away, looked once around the kitchen as though searching for someone likely to take his side, found no one, and went through the door without another word.

Olivia put the knife back beside the onions.

For several seconds nobody spoke, then Morag went straight to Annie and examined her wrist where the merchant had grabbed her.

“He hurt ye?”

“No.”

Only after satisfying herself did Morag turn toward Olivia. “Where did ye learn that?”

“A Boston policeman taught me how to get out of holds.”

Iseabail raised her brows. “And the knife?”

Olivia picked up the onion. “Someone else taught me that.”

“Yer husband?”