Chapter Eight
They made a slow procession back to the cottage: Tam Dappleward, the roebuck, and herself. Ivy explained matters as best she could. Tam walked with his hand on the roebuck’s neck, his expression growing grimmer with each step he took. “I’ll kill Aleyn for this,” he said, when Ivy had finished, and there was such murderous rage on his face—jaw clenched, nostrils flared—that she believed him.
“Not yet,” Ivy said, placing her hand on his arm. “You mustn’t do anything, Tam. Wait until Larkspur’s told us what she learned. Wait until you’ve spoken to Hugh.”
A muscle jumped in Tam’s jaw. He inhaled a harsh breath—and released it slowly. His jaw unclenched, but anger still burned in his eyes. “Midnight to dawn? Is that correct?”
“Come an hour after midnight. Your brother’s transf
