He forced ease into his voice. “A market full of grown men ought to handle one thief.”
He didn’t know if that was meant to make him feel better or worse.
“Aye,” the man said, soothed.
Alex turned back to Erica. “Which one caught yer eye?”
She pointed without thinking. A small portrait at the back, a woman in a simple dress, staring at the viewer with confidence. The mouth was set strong, and the eyes had a look he knew. He glanced at Erica and saw the match.
“Oh, that,” the stallkeeper started, his voice clear. “That is such a wonderful option.”
“Really?” Erica asked.
“Ye see, ‘tis by Morag Keane of Glenfinnan,” the man said, brightening. “She paints in winter when there are nay fields to tend, and she grinds her own pigment with a wee stone mortar her da carved. The green there, she makes from nettles dried and baked to ash, then mixed with linseed.”
Alex blinked back his amusement, watching as the stallkeeper leaned closer to the portrait, tapping the air just off the jawline. “The woman’s Màiri Donnachie, midwife for three parishes. See the mouth, set firm, but the corners are lifted, as if she’s hearing a bairn cry and kens it’s a good cry. Keane uses a hog-bristle brush for the broad passes, but for the line here… aye, right there… she cuts a single badger hair and ties it to a reed. That’s commitment right there, I tell ye.”
Alex let him run until Erica’s curiosity settled, then cut in before the tale circled back.
“We’ll take it,” he said.
“‘Tis fifty shillings.”
Erica started. “Alex?—”
“Done,” he said mildly, already drawing coins from his pocket.
The man wrapped the portrait in linen. Erica asked if he would keep it safe till they left the square. He agreed at once and tucked it behind his stall.
They walked on, and Alex wondered what the twins were up to at this point. He needed to distract himself from the sinking feeling that continued to crowd his chest ever since he became aware of a cloaked man roaming the market.
“Tell me about yer braither,” he said, surprising himself as he turned to look at her.
She glanced over, wary, then gave in. “Why?”
“I find it a bit relieving when ye talk about these things.”
She spoke of Evander, and her mouth softened, then tightened. He listened to her talk about how he couldn’t sit still. How he climbed where he should have used stairs. Alex listened and held the small details.
“We will find him,” he promised, firm as iron.
“That is what frightens me,” she admitted. “If they do, he willnae be safe. I need his name cleared first. Or else finding him brings the knife with it.”
“The truth resurfaces,” he said. “Always.”
She gave a short laugh, and he frowned.
“What?”
“Ye’re just surprising, is all.”
The frown on his face turned into an amused expression. “Surprising how?”
Erica shrugged. “‘Tis nothing. I just thought ye were a beast when I met ye.”
“Really?”
“Aye.”
