“Herlosthusband?” He swallowed.
“Make no mistake. He is dead”—Emmaus’s lids veiled his gaze—“but hope dies harder than blood and bone. Did you know Captain Lord Cheverley?”
“No,” Chev said. And because lack of curiosity would be suspicious, he added, “What was he like?”
“Brave. Honorable. A leader so trusted he rarely resorted to the lash commonly used on ships.”
He’d been that, hadn’t he? Once. Before the pirate. Cheverley swallowed again. The knot hadn’t loosened.
“I would have called him brother.” Emmaus leveled his gaze. “I will not tolerate anyone who claims an unproven connection.”
“I would not bring false hope to Lady Cheverley.” Truer words he could not speak. “But if shelter is available, I would be obliged.”
“Obliged...” Emmaus tapped his fingers on the wooden table. “Can you shoot?”
“Arrows, yes. Aim’s not what it was,” Chev lied, “but it’s better than most.”
“If you promise not to lie to Lady Cheverley, I’ll provide shelter and work for as long as you require.”
“I swear on my life I do not mean harm to the lady.”
Emmaus nodded once. “I will accept that.”
“How long,” Chev asked, “do you expect to remain here?” Land had never been part of Emmaus’s intentions.
“For now,” Emmaus answered. “As for what I do, I serve as gamekeeper for both PensteagueandIthwick.”
“Both?” Chev had so many questions.
“Ithwick’s famed deer herds have”—Emmaus paused—“thinned.” He stirred his stew. “I warn you, the work is hard. And the current stewards of Ithwick are wasteful, immoral, and unforgiving.” He flashed a brief smile. “On a good day.”
“They intentionally depleted the deer herd and culled the boars?”
Emmaus nodded.
“Don’t the boars belong to Pensteague?”
“Mr. Anthony claimed rights, as the lady and young Lord Thaddeus are staying at Ithwick. And, he insists the lands are soon to be rejoined.”
“Joined?” Cheverley frowned. “How?”
Emmaus looked up. “When Lady Cheverley weds Mr. Anthony, of course.”
If Pen refused Hurtheven, she would never accept Anthony. “Is such a thing anticipated?”
“Not by me,” Emmaus replied. “Nor, I’d guess, by the lady.”
“Are you suggesting he is forcing her hand?”
“I am advising you to be on your guard while you are here.” Emmaus kicked back his chair, went to the mantle, and retrieved a knife. “I sleep with one.” He handed the knife to Chev. “And if I suggest anything, it’s that you do, too.”
Chev frowned down at the knife’s jagged edge. “Is that necessary?”
“Ithwick’s last heir died after stepping into a nest of adders, after having warned his nephew—Lady Cheverley’s son—away from the very area he was found. Rents and harvests have dwindled, yet still they have money to spend.” He leaned forward. “I know nothing, but I find a great deal odd.”
Chev nodded.
“Now,” Emmaus stood, “I have work to attend before I sleep.”
