Reynald was waiting for my answer.
“Do you trust Gort?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Then hire them. We can afford it. We got paid last night.”
Reynald narrowed his eyes. “How?”
“The head of the Shears scaled the wall and dropped the payment off.”
“And you’re just telling me this now?”
I hid a smile. “Why are you mad? This helps your case. Clearly, we need Gort and his sons to guard us at night.”
Kaiden snickered.
“Maggie, if anybody from the Shears comes here again, I need to know about it. Not after it happens but immediately, while it’s happening.”
“It was the middle of the night. What was I supposed to do, scream?”
“Yes.”
He stared at me. I stared back. It was really difficult to hold his gaze.
“Next time I will scream,” I promised.
“Thank you.” He didn’t sound grateful.
“Will you come to my rescue?”
“Yes.”
He said it with absolute certainty. If I screamed, he would come running. It felt so . . . reassuring.
“How long will it take you to find Gort?”
“I know where he is. He can be here today. We will likely need a few more people, but Gort and the boys are a solid start. His wife is a good cook, too. She’d be an asset.”
He went back to his tea. I let him drink a mouthful.
“If Shana came to work for us as a cook, do you think she would make her famous rudberry pastries?”
“She better,” Reynald said. “As much as Gort’s been boasting about them for years . . .” He stopped and swore.
I laughed, and the kids laughed with me.
CHAPTER12
Reynald hadn’t lied. It didn’t take Gort long to show up.
Reynald had found a small table and a chair in one of the storage rooms and carried them out to the wine tree. Apparently, this was my Magnar family–meeting chair. I sat in it now, with a small box of money in front of me.
Clover was to my left, standing, her hands folded before her, and Reynald was to my right. It was early afternoon and Kaiden had run to the door to let Gort and his sons in.
Gort’s name meantshieldin the Old Tongue. The man looked exactly as you would imagine a human shield would look. He was tall and broad and built like a football defensive end who’d given up cardio to be the strength-training coach: six foot three inches tall, just under three hundred pounds, burly shoulders, huge biceps, thick neck, and a scowl on his face. Naturally pale, he’d acquired a permanent tan over the years. His hair was gray and cut short. He looked to be in his late forties or early fifties.
Two younger versions of him followed. Gort 2.0 was twenty-one years old, while Gort 2.1 was nineteen. They were a couple of inches taller than their father and looked similar enough that people mistook them for twins at first glance.
