Chapter One
Lucy Galloway pushedher tired legs up the steep incline of the hillock, not daring to look over her shoulder. He was there. Right behind her. She could sense him. At the summit of the hill, she doubled over to catch her breath. Her brown hair fell in her eyes. She pushed it away, along with the line of perspiration on her brow, and forced herself to keep running.
Down the hill, through the woods, and into the open. Not far now. Straightening, she raced down the hill, thankful for gravity’s assistance, and entered the woods. She couldn’t stop a quick look over her shoulder.
Damn! There he was. She could see his auburn hair against the yellow and greens of the hill as he crested it just as easy as you please. The dratted man didn’t even look winded!
She might be winded, but she wasn’t giving up. She couldn’t.
Lucy dove into the thick line of bushes and trees, stumbling over roots and dodging tree limbs until she found a rough path. She began to run again, her hair flying out behind her. It was cooler in the shade of the woods, and the earlier drizzle had left her clothing damp. She shivered now but pushed on.
Another glance over her shoulder.
She didn’t see him, but the distraction cost her. The toe of her boot caught on a root and her body flung forward while her foot stayed put. She hit the ground hard, knocking her breath from her lungs and hitting her head on another root.
For a moment, she lay on the ground, confused and disoriented. Her ears rang, and she couldn’t catch her breath. Then strong arms grabbed her in a tight grip.
“Lucy? Are you hurt?”
She wanted to scream. She rolled over and looked up into the face of Duncan Slorach—her enemy, her competition, her fellow agent-in-training.
“I’m fine,” she said. At least she tried to say the words. Her breath hadn’t quite returned. She waved at him instead, indicating he should go on and leave her here. Why was he helping her? They were competitors.
Another agent appeared and slowed. “Galloway, Slorach! Are you hurt?”
“We’re fine,” Mr. Slorach answered. “Miss Galloway just took a tumble. I have her.”
No, you don’t!Lucy wanted to scream.
The other agent nodded and raced off. Lucy pushed herself to her feet and slapped Slorach’s hands away. Then she pushed him. Her meaning couldn’t have been clearer—go on without me. He hesitated and finally started away, barely jogging and glancing at her over his shoulder. What was wrong with him?
He would win. Again. He always won. Just once she wanted to beat him at something. Lucy and Slorach had arrived at the Farm, the training ground for agents of the Crown, at the same time eighteen months ago. In that time, Slorach had beaten her at nearly every challenge the instructors had set for the prospective agents. She’d swore she would beat him on the obstacle course today.
She would beat all the agents.
She took a breath and started running again. This wasn’t over yet. She raced past trees and markers. This time she didn’t look over her shoulder. In mere moments, she’d caught up with Mr. Slorach, who was still jogging. He saw her coming and sped up. They passed the other agent and exited the woods together. Then he sprinted ahead and toward the round clumps of hay set uniform distances apart in the field. Mr. Pistol, their instructor for this part of the test, was waiting. He indicated one hay target for Lucy and one for Slorach. Lucy raced past hers to the set of knives laid out fifty paces away. She lifted a knife, turned, and threw it.
And missed the center.
Damn it!
Slorach threw his first knife. She wouldn’t look. She would not look! She lifted her second knife and stared at the clump of hay. A red target had been painted in the center, but with the perspiration stinging her eyes and her blow to the head, the red paint had gone a bit blurry. She gripped a knife in her left hand, her dominant hand, and lifted it slowly, positioning as she had been taught. Not too high. Not too low. Arm steady. Shoulder relaxed.
A warm breeze lifted the loose strands of hair off the back of her neck. It might be June, but in northern England, the day was still cool enough that she needed a coat. She’d removed it an hour ago when the race had begun. No matter. She didn’t feel the breeze or the chill. She felt the weight of the knife in her hand and the smoothness of the hilt beneath where she gripped it. She could even hear the faint metallic ring as the wind blew around the sharp blade.
Lucy let out a measured breath. She would hit the center of the target this time. The red target was hers.
Failure was not an option.
She heard athwack, and the red target slipped out of focus. She couldn’t stop her gaze from sliding to her right where, at the end of the line of agents in training, Slorach had just thrown his second knife. Lucy’s eyes cut to his target.
His knife vibrated in the exact center.
Infuriating man! In that moment, he reminded her of her brother, Willoughby, who she always said was perfect from the day he was born. Like Willoughby, it seemed there was nothing Duncan Slorach couldn’t do.
But Lucy reminded herself she too had skills. She could still make a good showing today and prove her prowess. She drew herself up, adjusted her stance, and repositioned the knife. She was aware all eyes were on her, and she didn’t mind. She liked being the center of attention. She drew back and—
“Miss Galloway!”
