Not at all. He would be off her case just as soon as his fever for her broke and he found a lover, and she imagined he must have plenty of girls from ritzy families lining up to choose from. She had come to the end of her resources. McClintock watched her interestedly until her golden head vanished below; then, with tolerant pity, he looked down at Spurlock, who had closed his eyes. Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. The man had favoured him with a brief nod, but the girl had gone so far as to offer a tiny smile, and a look under her lashes with which not even Gerald, for all his scant interest in female society, could fail to be familiar. "So, stir your stumps, Saint Giles; and, if you mean to lock us up, use despatch. He embraced her, kissing her cheek, then her neck. You have the gift of words, but you haven't started to create yet. Blueskin, who had evaded me with the papers and the money, is a prisoner here, and will perish on the same gallows as yourself.
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