Page 38 of King's Man

“And if wishes were horses, beggars would ride.” Sam sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching for him again. “Nobody wants to live in times like these. But here we are and all we can do is make the best of it.”

“And what’s that?”

“We had those years together. And we have our memories.” His throat ached, thickening his voice. “Perhaps, if we can learn to look back on them with pleasure instead of pain, it’ll be enough.”

Nate stared at him. “It doesn’t feel anything like enough.”

“I know. But what else can we do? We are where we are.”

In the distance, MacLeod’s dogs started barking again, sending a shiver up Sam’s spine. He looked back towards the river and Marlborough Castle, its lights gleaming faintly through the swaying branches. “Come on,” he said, holding out his hand. “Let’s go. One more day and we’ll be on the road back to London.”

And what then? Nate would sail for Boston, that’s what.

And they’d have to say farewell forever.

Chapter Thirteen

The next morning, Nate found Sam down by the stream behind the cottage, shirtless and bootless as he bathed, sluicing water over his head. In the morning light, the scars on his back were less vivid, washed away by the brilliant sunlight. But still there. Those scars would always be there, on Sam’s back and on his heart.

And on Nate’s conscience.

“Sam?”

When he turned around there was none of that snapping resentment Nate had learned to expect. After their conversation in the woods last night, Sam's bitterness had softened into something gentler — more like melancholy — and Nate wasn’t sure which was more painful to witness. Nevertheless, Sam smiled at him as he grabbed his shirt and used it to dry his face and hair. “Morning. Did I wake you?”

“I don’t mind.” In truth, he’d hardly slept, too alive with frustration and regret. Unlike Sam, Nate simply couldn’t accept that the only thing left between them was memories. He refused to accept it. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Sam’s expression turned wary. “About?”

“Nothing bad.” Dawn was a blush on the horizon, the sky turning from rosy to morning gray. In the soft light, Sam’s damp curls looked dark where they fell forward over his forehead. “I’ve been thinking about today, that’s all. About finding MacLeod’s study.”

“I’ve been thinking about it too,” Sam said. “I reckon I should reconnoiter by myself. It’s not worth the risk of MacLeod recognizing you.”

“Well, I was thinking the opposite. What if I call on MacLeod?” He lifted a hand to forestall Sam’s protest. “I’ll tell him I’m there on Farris’s business. With luck, I’ll be admitted to his study.”

“I don’t like that.”

“Why not?”

Sam gave him a speaking look. “He knows you, Nate. If you show up today asking questions, and tomorrow he discovers this document of his is missing…? I doubt he’s a fool.” His expression brightened. “Better ifIcall on him, like you said. He doesn’t know me from Adam. I’ll give him a false name and tell him Farris sent me to…what? You can give me a reason he’ll believe. I’ll find the study and look for a good route in and out.”

Nate barked a laugh before Sam’s indignant expression told him he wasn’t joking. Schooling his face, Nate said, “You think you could convince MacLeod that you work for Farris?”

“Why not?” His eyes narrowed. “You’re not the only lawyer in these parts, Nate Tanner. I know what I’m doing.”

“I still think it’s safer if I go.”

“Well, that’s not your decision,” Sam said, straightening. “And it’s not worth the risk of him linking you to the break-in when he doesn’t know me, and I can go in your place.”

Nate opened his mouth to protest, but there was logic to Sam’s argument that he couldn’t ignore. Itwouldbe a disaster if MacLeod linked him to the theft. He’d tell Farris and that could expose Nate’s identity, wrecking their entire mission. Talmach would probably drop him headfirst into the Thames. “Alright,” he conceded reluctantly. “But I’m still coming with you. I’ll pose as your servant and see what I can find out downstairs. Unless MacLeod brings staff down with him from London, which I doubt, his servants won’t know me.”

Sam lifted an eyebrow, amused. “You’ll pose as a servant?”

“Why not? I can scrape a bow as good as the next man.” He demonstrated, affecting a terrible London accent as he bowed over his leg. “Very good, Mr. Hutchinson, sir.” He gave a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows. “How can I serve you today?”

“You’re a hell-born devil,” Sam said, clearly fighting a smile. “And far too aristocratic to be a manservant.”

“Aristocratic!” Nate feigned outrage. “How dare you?” But he grinned, delighted by the mischievous sparkle in Sam’s eyes. He hadn’t seen it in years.

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