Page 6 of The Last Crimes of Peregrine Hind
“And if you wanted to tell me, I would listen. I would believe you.”
A strange thing happened then. Peregrine’s lips parted, almost as if they were ready to speak, almost as if he were ready to talk about what Reginald had done to his family after years of holding the bitter knowledge inside himself—but that couldn’t be right, could it? Peregrine had been careful to never speak of his losses, even to Lyd, because if the memories cut so deeply merely in his thoughts, what would they do to him as words spoken aloud?
So why was he tempted to talk to this spoiled aristocrat? Why was the brother of his enemy eliciting this urge in him when his friends and fellow thieves never had?
“I don’t need your belief,” Peregrine said.
“Everyone needs belief.”
“Not the dead,” he replied, and put away the brush and pick. Then he took the horse by the halter to walk him up and down the stable aisle. He could still feel his captive’s eyes burning against him as he walked.
“Are you referring to yourself?” Alexander asked. “Or to someone you lost?”
It was too close to the truth—too perceptive. Again, Peregrine felt the strange urge to speak, to explain. And along with it came a feeling that wasn’t quite fear and wasn’t quite resentment, but a serrated alloy of both, sharpened by the genuine honesty he heard in his prisoner’s voice.
Peregrine reminded himself that Alexander was his captive right now and would likely say anything to get Peregrine to trust him, to get Peregrine to let him go.
And that, Peregrine would not do.
He didn’t answer Alexander’s question. And then Alexander didn’t say anything else, even after Peregrine put the horse in its stall with fresh hay and water, and then unhooked his captive’s rope and led him into the priory itself.
“I’m gracious enough to concede I was wrong about the ignoble lodgings.”
Peregrine ignored Alexander as he led him out of the small cloister and into what used to be the priory’s church. When he’d first found the priory, untouched since the Dissolution, it had been in a terrifying state. Peregrine—with the help of a few local shepherds, whom he’d paid handsomely for their future silence on the matter—had restored the back half of the building to soundness while leaving the front half alone. Which meant if someone did stumble down the narrow cart-track to the abandoned monastery, it would look even worse than unsafe—it would look worthless.
The result was a warm, dry, and bird-free space that was disguised by its ruinous frontage, an ideal hideout for Peregrine and his friends. And though they’d never bothered to take a captive before, there was plenty of room to keep one. Peregrine had the perfect place in mind: the old sacristy at the back of the church. Lyd had slept there until she started sharing one of the monk’s cells with Ned, so there was already a bed and a few other amenities inside.
More importantly, there was only one high, narrow window and only one door. So long as the door was guarded, escape would be impossible.
Peregrine took Alexander there now, walking through the choir and past the uncovered altar to the sacristy. Alexander’s head swiveled as they went, peering through the shadows at the piles of stolen things they hadn’t had a chance to sell—bolts of cloth, bundles of leather, a basket overflowing with jewelry—and the furniture, tapestries, carpets, and candlesticks which transformed the forgotten church into a medieval hall worthy of a king.
“I’m impressed, Peregrine,” the younger man said as they reached the sacristy door, and Peregrine opened it to reveal a snug, furnished room. “This is a better thieves’ den than I could have imagined. Complete with piles of loot and everything. Are the stories true then? That you even have escape tunnels beneath?—”
“It’s not going to work,” Peregrine interrupted, reaching for the lamp to light it.
Alexander gave him an innocent look. “What?”
“Manipulating me, charming me, befriending me—even trying to learn more about the priory. I know you plan to escape. And you should know that it won’t work.”
His captive gave him a dazzling grin. “Well, you can’t blame a man for trying.”
Peregrine’s pulse gave an unwanted kick at the sight of Alexander’s smile, and he had to look away before he did something ludicrous. Like smile back at him.
He lit the lamp and then walked over to the small fireplace.
“Get on the bed,” Peregrine said gruffly.
“Oh, Peregrine, I thought you’d never ask.”
Alexander’s coy purr sent Peregrine’s pulse jumping again, and he had to tell himself that he was a villainous highwayman who wasn’t affected by the charms of a rake, no matter how lissome. No matter how pretty his throat or how long his eyelashes. Peregrine also told himself that this rake’s brother had both directly and indirectly killed Peregrine’s entire family.
Peregrine hated the Darthams. He hated them so much that he would happily kill all of them, even Alexander.
Right?
His mind instinctively pushed away from the idea of killing Alexander, and he decided he wasn’t going to think about it right now. It wouldn’t be a problem until after the ransom anyway, and so he’d think about it then. He would instead focus on the present moment, which involved somehow keeping Alexander here without his escaping.
Peregrine lit the fire, then walked over to where his captive sat perched on the edge of the bed and deftly untied his wrists. There was dirt on Alexander’s knees, and his hair was in windblown tangles. Peregrine sighed and stepped back.
