So he had come here to recover a necklace for a pretty girl while he figured out how to give his cousins power without getting his own throat cut.
He was rescued from his gloomy thought by the appearance of his quarry. The tavern maid’s grandmother waddled in. Her thick ankles and heavy brow endeared her to Reuben. Made him think of his own great aunts, and so he smiled at her.
She peered at him, then called her granddaughter away.
“What you be wanting?” she demanded. She had the thick accent of northern England, but he understood it better than the fake Scottish brogue her grandson adopted when he stopped carriages.
“That lovely necklace you’re wearing.”
“Wot?” She frowned, not understanding his words and no wonder. The pendant was nearly dwarfed by her skin, the delicate chain too thin to hold the heavy dragon. It was tucked inside the high collar of her dress, but Molly had told him all about it. How her brother had brought it from Scotland, and it was a witch’s charm for health and good luck. He’d given his grandmother the thing as a birthday present and the whole family had praised him for his generous gift.
“Your grandson stole that necklace from a lady who wants it back.” He raised his hands in a jaunty shrug, as if he were nothing but a clown about to juggle some balls. The woman gaped at him, replaying his words in her mind and roundly rejecting them. In five seconds, she would start pummeling him about the ears.
He never gave her the chance.
He always moved when he spoke. It was the curse of being perpetually on guard. People got used to the animation in his body and never expected the strike when it came. Neither did this woman.
He caught her in the neck, his fingers wrapping around the chain. But he didn’t yank it off. Instead, he held there and spoke very quietly.
“If you scream, I will rip this off, punch you in the face, and then be gone before anyone can catch me. And you might or might not survive the blow. Do you want me to do that?”
The lady quivered where she stood, her eyes wide, but her lips pressed tightly together. She was furious, but she was not going to stay that way.
“Your grandson is going to get himself killed. I’m from London and I know it is he who is attacking travelers. Do you think I am the only one who notices? He has not been quiet about his activities. If you love your grandson, then you will give me this necklace and keep him from his foolishness. Otherwise, he will be dead within the year.” He let his gaze go flat and hard. “Maybe much sooner.”
He saw the fury drain from her eyes. She already knew what the boy was doing. “If I give it to you, you will not hurt Olly?”
“If he attacks a carriage I protect, he will die.” He extended a finger to tease along the woman’s neck. It wasn’t a sexual movement, but it was gentle and that usually made him all the more frightening to people. The combination of deadly intent and softness made the weak shake. It made this woman deflate into misery.
“I will tell him,” she whispered. Then she reached to lift the necklace off. He let her do it, though he watched carefully to see if she would try to be clever.
She wasn’t…yet.
“He’s fallen in with those damned Scots,” she murmured. “Made him go wrong.”
She held out the necklace, but he didn’t take it.
“They aren’t Scotsmen, and you know it.” He countered, his voice cold. He hated it when people blamed another for their own sins, and so he took a moment to show his disgust of this dirty inn filled with small people. “Clean up your county, grandmother. End the thieving, curb the wild boys.” He leaned in tight until he breathed directly in her face. “Leave this world better when you die.”
She broke, just as he knew she would. She jerked a dagger from her skirts and stabbed downward at his balls. Not a clean strike for this granny. She wanted him maimed and howling like a child. He caught her in her own shawl, wrapping it around her arm and tightening it across her neck. He could choke her now, and she knew it.
She began to curse, but he cut off her breath with a simple twist of her shawl. Then he used his free hand to take both necklace and dagger. He made it a habit to keep any weapons that had been aimed at him. Which meant he had an impressive collection.
When he had pocketed what he wanted, he looked around the inn. Molly was there, her eyes wide. Her father too, his big hands on a cleaver. So he spoke to the entire room.
“I came to get the necklace back, but I know who leads the thieves.” He eased off the shawl to allow the woman to breathe. “You run them all.”
Her lips curled in disgust. “They’ll kill you.”
“Then they’ll die.” He looked at the two others in the room. “See how little she values your life? I am King Reuben of London. Many better than you have tried and died.”
He saw doubt creep into the father’s eyes, though Molly looked like she had a pistol in her apron. Damnation, women could be tricky. He shook his head.
“She will be the death of all of you,” he said as he tossed the woman backward. Then he stepped away from the door, neatly avoiding the ball that landed in the wall where his chest would have been. “Molly, Molly,” he said. “That’ll cost you now.”
He could have done terrible things to the girl. He saw her eyes widen as the same thought flooded her brain. But he only wanted the pistol. Fortunately, his best friend entered the inn at the sound of the gunshot. He had his pistols at the ready, one trained on the father, the other on the grandmother.
“Are we killing innkeepers now?” Jonathan asked.
