Page 90 of A Scot on the Rocks

Jamie smiled because she did, but the picture hurt in a place he had no business letting it reach. “And after?”

“I don’t know.” Olivia rubbed her thumb along the edge of the bowl. “I used to know exactly what came next.”

He could have asked what she meant, but he didn’t. He’d already learned that Olivia offered more of herself when nobody tried to pry it loose. For now, she was at his table, and that was why he did what he did next.

He’d put money aside for winter repairs, but Olivia had people waiting for her in Boston and no means of reaching them. She had a grandmother waiting for her, and liking her company gave him no right to delay her return.

He reached beneath the bench and withdrew a small leather purse, setting it beside her bowl.

The purse was plain, its drawstring knotted and one corner softened by use. When she lifted it, the weight inside pulled at her wrist. It was coin he’d put by for repairs and hard winters, though a roof could be patched a little longer and a woman alone ought to have the means to choose where she went. He’d argued with himself over the amount twice before tying the purse closed.

Olivia looked at it without opening the cord. “What’s that?”

“Passage.”

Her hand stilled. “What?”

“Money for Greenock. Enough to arrange a ship to Boston.”

“You’ve got money for that?”

“I’ve got enough.”

She held her hands in her lap. “Where did you get it?”

“I’m a smuggler.”

She pushed the purse back toward him. “I can’t take your money.”

“It’s not charity, lass. It’s money for yer passage home.”

“Which I didn’t earn.”

Jamie leaned back. “Must everything be earned with you?”

“Generally, yes.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Then work for it.”

She stared at him.

“Help at the still,” he continued. “Help us understand the spirit the way ye do. Help the people who’ve fed and clothed ye. When ye’ve earned the cost, the money is yours.”

“You’d let me work it off?”

“I’d prefer you didn’t insult me by calling it charity.”

Olivia looked at the purse again, then pushed it across the table, looking almost as vexed as she had when the pony stood on her skirt.

“Keep it safe until I’ve earned it,” she said. “I’d sooner see those coins mend your roof than sit unused in my pocket. I’ll work.”

“Good.”

“And I’ll earn the passage before you spend a penny arranging a ship.”

He nodded. “Aye.”

“I’m not taking passage tomorrow,” she said. “There’s work to finish here, and I won’t leave your people short-handed after all they’ve done for me.”