“No,” Tav cut her off, meeting her gaze. “No tours.”

Tours would mean strangers crawling around where he worked and steps away from where he lived. It would mean that every crack in the wall, every flake of old paint, every repair that had to be put off until he could afford it would suddenly be given priority.

“You’re not even going to hear me out?” she asked.

“Nope. Setting up tours of the armory is about a million and one on the list of things that need to be done around here.”

“Well, what exactly are you doing? I’ve been trying to set up a meeting to figure that out but you keep putting me off.”

“I’m busy, lass. Don’t have time for messing about. We’ll talk next week.”

“Next week. Meaning two weeks since my arrival. Okay.”

She was annoyed, but it was the disappointment in her tone that grated at him. He faltered.

“Hasn’t Jamie given you work to do?”

“Jamie? Your brother, who is not a swordsmith? Yes, he has.”

Tav nodded and turned to head toward the stairs. “Well, that’s this week sorted then. I’ll have something for you next week.”

With that he glanced somewhere in the area of that damned nose of hers, nodded, and took off up the stairs. He heard Jamie’s voice coming from the kitchen and made a beeline for it. His brother was hunched over a pad of paper that lay on the counter, the cordless landline held to his ear with his shoulder, writing something down.

“I said he’s busy, mate. You asking to talk to him again doesn’t change that. Do you want to leave the message or no?” He scribbled something down. “Aye. He’ll ring back when he can.”

He dropped the phone onto its cradle with annoyance.

“What’s the script?” Tav asked, trying not to show the panic that surged through him. Had it been a call about the taxes? About the work that needed to be done on the building, or collections inquiring about his maxed-out credit card? He thought those would all go to his decrepit cell phone, but sometimes bill collectors got pushy . . .

Jamie straightened and when he spoke his voice took on a pompous air. “‘I’m calling once again on behalf of Mr. Douglas, with a new, increased offer on the property.’”

Tav slumped a bit in relief.

“They’re offering more? Fuck’s sake, what part of no don’t they understand?” Tav scrubbed a hand through his wet hair.

“You know these rich knobs. They can’t take no for an answer.” Jamie’s face was taut with annoyance, and he looked so much like their mother that Tav couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Well, no is the only answer they’re gonna get, aye?” Tav said. “I’d sell the armory to a stranger for a pound if it meant this Mr. Douglas wouldn’t get his hands on it.”

There was an awkward silence and when he glanced over, Jamie was staring at him.

“Are you really thinking of selling?”

Tav could imagine the thoughts running through his brother’s head. What would happen to the classes Jamie was working so hard to build up? And Cheryl’s food stand, that was just beginning to take off? Where would they live, and how would they rebuild? They were the same questions that had been plaguing Tav over the last few months. The property was his, but so many others depended on him. Cheryl. Jamie. The neighborhood kids and his students.

“Ach, no! It was just a hypothetical,” he said cheerfully. He realized too late that he wore cheerful like an ill-fitting jacket, and changed the subject. “Speaking of rich annoying people, I have a question for you. Why her?”

“Who?” Jamie said, his gaze sliding to the counter. He turned to the little pile of greens, carrots, and bananas sitting on a cutting board and began loading them into the blender.

“Is there another her who’s moved in recently?” Tav asked. “I’ve asked before and you keep dodging the question.”

“Oh. Portia. She had the most thorough application,” he said. “Most people said ‘Swords are cool!’ or ‘I’ve always wanted to go to Edinburgh’ or ‘Looks like fun!’ Or there was some sad story about why they deserved it; it was hard to reject those. She was the only one who sent a clear reason for why she was interested, what she hoped to learn from it, and also what skills she thought we could learn from her. It was impressive, mate. Also, I just had a . . . vibe, I guess. She was the best fit.”

“A vibe. What the hell, Jamie?”

Jamie shrugged and Tav knew that was the only answer he’d get.

“You have all the non-vibe info anywhere?” Tav asked.

“You have this info. In your email. Along with all the other emails you’ve been ignoring. Seriously, bruv, it’s been days since she arrived, months since she was selected, and you’re just now really digging into this?”

Well, yes. Tav had been hoping that maybe the problem would sort itself out. But Portia wasn’t a problem. She was a person in his employ and she deserved the minimum respect of him knowing what she was about, even if she did get under his skin like splintered steel.

“I guess I’ll give it a look,” Tav said, which was met with a mock gasp from Jamie.

“Tavish McKenzie, agreeing to check his email with no threat of mutilation. That’s something.”