Page 58 of Ruthless, But for Her

Ashton hadn’t seen Crey in years, but he could really use his counsel now. He had no notion if the man were dead or alive, only that he had not returned to Mere’s End in a long while. But when he’d made it a regular stop on his route from London to Berwick, well after he’d served his duty to the king, Crey spent much of his time at The Daisy.

One of Margot’s own rare clients.

Though admiring him for his sharp mind and deep knowledge of history, Ashton realized even at such a young age Crey was without many other virtues. He’d gotten to his position by knowing which men owed which debts, and calling them in at the right moment, used it to elevate his own and his extended family’s standing, and touted his position as the king’s advisor, and later former advisor, all the way north to the Borderlands until the accolade became more of a liability.

North of Mere’s End, any association with the English king would more likely get a man killed than it would earn him favour.

“I care little for what the English king believes,” Ryker had said once. “Margot says he is a scoundrel⁠—”

But even then, Ryker would not be waylaid. Thankfully, Crey chose not to take it as an offense. But he did push each of them, “boys I never had,” as he’d been blessed with five daughters, to think deeply. No matter the side their thoughts took—English, Scottish, or eventually, neither—Crey would say it was the thinking that mattered most.

Yet Ashton had never been able to reconcile such a deep well of knowledge with those of a more virtuous man. With few qualms on visiting Margot, despite having a wife, or when they’d begun taking to reiving to help keep The Daisy’s larder full, shrugging his shoulders at the morality of a raid gone bloody, or coin taken by force, Crey believed the ultimate duty was to serve himself.

Ashton understood the appeal of such a belief. He’d been raised by Margot, after all. He and his brothers spoke many times about whether they should kill on a raid or spare a man begging mercy, but in the end, they’d laid down just one rule between them.

They would protect women.

And that was why Ashton had immediately discounted the idea of keeping Magge’s information to himself. Though he’d been loath to do it upon seeing Cassia’s face when he re-entered the bedchamber. Many times he and Ryker and Sorren had wished for the life of a noble, but if nobility meant being bartered and silenced… perhaps Fortune had looked more kindly upon them than any of them assumed.

More likely the idea existed in their world as readily as trust in Silas de Grey did.

“I imagined ladies such as you would break their fast abed often,” Ashton said, taking the wooden tray and placing it on the small table beside it.

“Just as I imagined the crew of the black sails of the border slit men’s throats for less offense than a raised voice.”

Well struck.

“You have slit men’s throats, though,” she said, more quietly.

Ashton sat at the bottom of the bed.

“Many times. Never indiscriminately.” Before their conversation continued on the very path he wished to avoid, Ashton continued, “But to other matters. A man riding north out of Berwick just this morn brought Magge the very tale we came here to learn.”

She sat up straighter.

“Word of Roland? Already?”

“Aye. It surprised me as well.”

Eyes wide, she waited. The fear he saw in Cassia’s expression made him wish he had reached down to save Roland…so he could strangle the man himself.

That sort of fear was learned, not innate.

“They say ’tis murder. And that his wife was taken by the men who did it. By the crew of the Black Sails.”

“Murder,” she repeated. “They believe you killed him.”

“Me. My brothers. My crew. I doubt his own had any notion of who they were dealing with beyond Leif.” Ashton thought of The Einar’s captain. If ever a man appeared on first sight to be exactly what his title held, it was Leifr Einarsson.

“You are in danger.”

“We are always in danger,” he said. “But you are not. I would return your tray and leave you to dress and consider your circumstances. We could leave this very day, and I will escort you to Grantchester myself. You will be welcomed with the sympathy of a newly widowed woman, with no worry of repercussions from Roland’s death.”

He would send word to The Daisy, tell them the reason for his extended absence as Ashton escorted Cassia to her father.

“Or?”

“Or we could stay here, remain silent and wait for any further rumors.”