Every muscle in her body went stiff.
It was a ridiculous reaction. An animal was probably making noise and?—
“Rosalind?”
She turned to find Bryony moving through the woods, then stood.
What was her friend doing here? Her heart thudded against her ribs.
“Are you all right?” Bryony rushed forward, then clasped her in a hug, holding her tight against her chest, wayward strands of her red hair tangling in the fur of Rosalind’s coat. “Yuri was so worried.”
“Yuri?” Rosalind swallowed, trying to understand just what Bryony’s presence here meant. “Did he tell you about our meeting? I told him not to say anything.”
Bryony gripped her shoulders and pushed her back just far enough to look into her eyes. “I think he’d have been quite content to keep everything a secret if you had met him last week as planned. He was quite worried when you didn’t come.”
She pressed her eyes shut. Of course, he’d have been worried. He was too kind to shrug off a missed meeting. That was whyshe’d chosen him to send and receive letters for her in the first place.
That, and he was her father’s enemy, meaning there would never be any occasion for Yuri to divulge to her father what she was doing with her inheritance.
“I wanted to meet him, but I hurt my wrist, and the doctor came to call when our meeting was set. I had no way to let him know.”
Bryony stepped back. “You hurt your wrist? How?”
“Oh, it’s nothing to fret over. It’s almost better, see?” She pulled off her mitten and extended her left arm, twisting her wrist to show her friend. The trouble was, twisting it sent a fresh stab of pain through her arm, and she sucked in a breath.
Bryony’s brows pinched as she looked at the wrist that was still a bit bruised and discolored. “It doesn’t seem all that healed.”
“It’s healed enough to be out of a sling.”
More questions filled Bryony’s eyes, but she didn’t voice them. Bryony had stayed with her for a few days after returning from the expedition where she’d met Mikhail last November. Her friend had pieced together just how quick her father was to use his fists when he was angry, but Rosalind wasn’t going to admit anything, not aloud, at least.
Another gust of wind tore across the water, whipping a strand of Bryony’s coppery-red hair across her face. She shoved it away, then met Rosalind’s eyes. “Come back to the Amoses’ with me.”
“What?” Rosalind blinked. Where had that question come from? “I can’t. Father will be furious.”
“You can,” Bryony insisted. “We’ll have you on a ship away from here in a day or two, and you’ll never have to face your father again. You can go somewhere and disappear and?—”
“Did Yuri put you up to this? It will never work.” She was already shaking her head. “He’ll be able to track me.”
“Not if we’re careful.”
Again, she shook her head. She wanted to leave, yes, but she couldn’t abandon her inheritance and leave the charities she supported with nothing. If she was going to leave, she needed to find a way to do so while still protecting her money, and at the moment, that seemed utterly impossible.
“Did Yuri explain what usually happens?” Rosalind pulled the letters from her pocket. “I need you to mail these for me. Hopefully it won’t look suspicious when you go to the post office, since the return address shows Yuri’s name.”
“I doubt it.” Bryony took the letters and fanned them out, briefly studying the addresses before stacking them up and sliding them into her satchel. “Yuri says you give him letters that get mailed to the same places every month. Whoever sees them probably assumes he left them to be mailed in his absence, and that I’m doing it as his sister-in-law.”
“Yes, you’re right, of course.” She blew out a breath, trying to calm the racing in her heart. “That doesn’t seem very suspicious now that I think about it.”
Bryony pulled another stack of letters out of her satchel and extended them. “Yuri said these are for you.”
“Thank you.” She took them, then stilled. One of them was open.
In the three years they’d been doing this, Yuri had never once opened one of her letters. That had been part of the original agreement when she’d first gone to him for help. What had caused him to?—
“It was me,” Bryony blurted.
“What?” Rosalind jerked her gaze back up.
