A Promise Kept (FIRST FIVE CHAPTERS)

2 The Price of a Patriot

Raleigh looked the same as it ever was even two years after I'd last seen it. I strolled through the streets, the hood of my cloak drawn low to obscure my face. The last thing I needed was for someone to recognize me. Though I doubted they would have even if I stood directly in front of them. My waistline had slimmed significantly to hard muscle underneath through the various exertions of my new profession. My hair had grown longer but tamer as well, the previous unkempt flyaways having transformed into dark ringlet curls. My cheekbones were more pronounced and my breasts were fully formed and enough to draw the eyes of men when fastened into a corset. I was stronger, slimmer, and more flexible. I had lost the awkward bumbling of childhood and transposed to professional grace. I had gained a confidence despite my traumatic youth and perhaps an arrogance as a result of my discipline.

I crossed the town square and felt eyes upon me. Out of my peripheral vision, I saw Jack Leary, ominous as ever, watching my progress through the empty square. His vision followed me for only a moment before taking in my man's breeches and losing interest. That was a trick I had learned early in my training. In some pursuits, it was beneficial to be a woman and in some, it was better to be a man and I found that, through a correct choice of attire and a conscious difference in one's body language, you could be either of your choice nearly any time you wished. Keeping the face hidden was the key and the undeserved swagger of a man's walk was easily duplicated. I had studied soldiers and nobility long enough now to imitate it myself.

I sidestepped into an alley when I was sure that everyone who had been watching me had turned away. I took an indirect route in an effort to evade anyone who had made the effort to pursue me. I did not think anyone had, of course, but one could never be too careful in my line of work. I came out upon the back of the establishment and flipped my hood back to stare up at the windows above. There was a soft glow behind nearly every one of them, even this late at night. Of course, such were the hazards of the trade found within. As I looked, a palm suddenly pressed firmly against the window nearest me and I heard a groan of pleasure.

I stepped forward to the door and knocked softly. I heard a brief shuffling inside before the door opened to reveal a tall woman with wide hips and large breasts, all of which were barely contained within her shredded gown. Her wavy hair was piled into a mop at the top of her head and she raised one plucked brow at the sight of me, looking me up and down in appraisal.

"We aren't hiring," she said lazily, pursing her lips as she did.

"I'm not looking," I told her. She narrowed her eyes and I glanced behind her. There were two other women seated at the table in the small kitchen. One of them had a black eye and pouty lips. The other wore a scowl which made her singular eyebrow look even bushier.

"We don't do women," she said then and I could not help but smirk.

"I'm looking for Evelyn," I told her. "Evelyn Hastings."

"You the sister?" the question had come from the scowling woman behind her. I turned my attention there.

"I am."

"I'll get her. She's with someone now. But you can come in and wait if you want."

I nodded and stepped inside, squeezing past the girl with the wide hips who did not seem keen on moving. I took a seat at the table, back to the wall so that I was facing the door. That decision was more out of habit than anything. Always place yourself in a position where you can reach an exit if necessary. That was what I had been taught and habits, even new ones, were difficult to break. I observed my surroundings as the scowling woman pushed through the door into the hallway beyond. I heard her ascending the stairs moments later. The kitchen was small with peeling wallpaper and outdated furnishings. I could tell that this place used to be somewhat ostentatious. It seemed that its previous owners kept it well maintained. Though they likely were not running a whorehouse out of it.