Chapter 11
11
Saturday, 3:07 a.m.
S amantha opened one eye. Beside her, one arm draped across her hips and the other beneath her head, Rick breathed softly against her forehead. He still wore his kilt, and if she had any say in his wardrobe choices he wouldn’t ever be wearing anything else. Hoo, baby . With the heavy blue curtains shut it could have been broad daylight outside, but the still air and the quiet house, even the tap of a breeze-blown branch against the window, felt like night.
Night had always felt like it belonged to her. Most people would be sound asleep, but she wasn’t most people. Taking a breath, she lifted his arm and rolled out from beneath it. That done, she picked up her phone and scooted silently to the floor. Just after three o’clock. Heavy shadows, sinking moon, and deepest sleep – mortals beware. The cat burglar stirred.
The ex-cat burglar, that was. With a sigh she slipped into the bathroom, because even burglars had to pee once in a while. Back in the room she stood by the door, listening to Rick’s steady breathing. After awesome kilt sex he wasn’t likely to wake up because of her minimal pitter patter, but she waited anyway. This was solo time, and she didn’t feel like either explaining or arguing.
Silently she pulled on the dark sweatshirt and black jogging sweats she’d tossed into the old dressing room, donned her sneakers, and tied her hair back in a loose pony tail before she slipped into the cold hallway. A dim light had been left on at either end of the corridor, but that left a lot of room for shadows in between.
Going down the stairs she kept close to the wall and avoided the typical old house step-squeaking. All of Rick’s other properties were pretty high tech, and she’d even made him upgrade the system in Florida in order to keep out nefarious types other than herself. She’d learned how to beat all of them, which made no-tech Canniebrae no kind of challenge at all.
But it was still night, and she still didn’t want anyone else spotting her, so that was sort of fun. She grinned as she darted across the hallway and into the library, putting her weight against the handle as she pushed the door shut so it wouldn’t creak. The library hearth was dark, so she turned on her phone’s flashlight. It was too much light, and she lowered the brightness level and made sure the curtains were shut. Unless somebody walked in on her, she was invisible. Even if someone did, she had a good chance of going unseen.
She’d already found the local ghost lore book, and if she recalled correctly – which she did, with her near photographic recall – the local legends book was on the same shelf. Except that it wasn’t. Samantha squatted in front of the row of books. Ghosts, churches, plants, villages…and six inches of space where books weren’t.
“Dammit, Rick,” she muttered. Whatever the hell it was about Will Dawkin or his legend or his rumored treasure, Rick really didn’t want her digging into it. He didn’t want Reggie doing anything about it, either. Reggie already knew things that she didn’t know, but she was not going to go to Rick-light for information. She couldn’t – not while Rick was pissed off at him. Aside from that, if anyone at all was going to find this whatever it was, it was going to be her.
Okay. No book on local Highlands myths and legends, but there were always tourist books. Villages always had some hook, some fanciful story, with which to attract tourist dollars. She pulled out the Balmoral-printed Villages in the Shadow of the Cairngorms and sat cross-legged with her back to the shelf.
Because she needed a starting point, she began with the area directly around Canniebrae. Some sort of map had been here, and that made here important. Orrisey was just a mile down the lane, and on Canniebrae land. According to the book, it boasted a picturesque church, once known to shelter first Catholic priests and then Jacobites. It averaged blah blah blah of rain per year, had gotten electricity fairly early for a place this remote, and its oldest building was The Bonny Lass tavern, which had begun as a coaching inn some six hundred years ago, and was now a locally-renowned pub.
Blah blah local whisky, and for ten years beginning in 1738 the infamous highwayman Will Dawkin had been known to share a drink with travelers and then follow them down the road, where he would don a mask and caped greatcoat and rob them of everything but the clothes on their backs. “Ha,” she breathed, turning the page to view a facsimile of a wanted poster showing a hulking guy in a Dracula cape, a black hat low over his brow, and a black cloth covering his face from above his nose to below his chin. With crazy arched brows, wide-set, narrowed eyes, the old-timey cops might as well have been looking for Bela Lugosi.
The next paragraph actually said that on one particularly dark and stormy night Will Dawkin vanished, never to be heard from again. Ooh. And his hoard of riches was rumored to be somewhere in the hills above Orrisey, though no one as of yet had recovered any of the loot.
“Bingo.”
Usually her next step would be a combo of library and internet. Rick apparently had the books she would need – which explained why he’d told her to go ahead and do her worst – and they wouldn’t have internet until next Tuesday at the earliest. Okay, maps, then. An old map, preferably. Climbing to her feet, she went back to searching the shelves. A couple of street atlases and a topography of the world book, but nothing that gave her an old overview of the countryside. A couple more empty spaces on the shelves though, of course.
Grimacing, she turned around. The tourist collectibles shop down past the tavern had had some long tubes in a basket, but the Viking hadn’t wanted to set foot inside. That meant tomorrow, and business hours, and other people. Sure, she could trot down there and risk it tonight, but that would mess up her karma in some horrible ways. Sam Jellicoe never had and never would steal from mom and pop shops.
So yay for her rules, but they still left her mapless. Standing, she replaced the atlas. She’d bet her underwear that the books Rick had pulled out of his library could give her a few more clues, but going after something he’d hidden from her on purpose crossed a couple of other lines.
“Well, this sucks,” she murmured. That treasure map Reggie seemed obsessed over could always be up in the attic, but it just as likely wasn’t. In this house and without any clues, finding it could take her a week or more, if it actually existed.
She could do an aerial survey with a drone if she had one, which she didn’t. Balmoral might well shoot it or a circling helicopter down anyway, just on principle. The Cairngorms loomed up behind them, but climbing a mountain seemed kind of desperate at this point. GPS was out because no cell service. The gods of nefarious deeds didn’t seem to be willing to offer her any breaks on this one.
Samantha glided to the window and looked outside. A quarter sliver of moon hung at about its midway point, turning the trees a silver blue that deepened to murky black shadow below. A clear night in the autumn Highlands. That couldn’t be too common. Hmm.
The widow’s walk . With a loose grin she snagged the atlas again, found a couple blank sheets of paper and some pencils, then went up into the attic. She unlocked the hatch that opened onto the roof, and a few seconds later she was outside. An iron rail ran around the top section of roof, but she wasn’t about to count on something that practically screamed “come, let me lead you to your doom”. The iron lattice walkway looked even less promising than the floor in the west wing.
Ignoring them, she climbed up beside a chimney, shoved at it a few times to make sure it wouldn’t come down tonight and take her with it, then sat back against the upslope side. The view would of course have been much clearer in daylight, but then the whole other people peskiness came into play.
Using the atlas as a lap desk and drawing a rough outline of Canniebrae in the center of the page with the village in the lower right, she sketched in the river Dee, the hills, the loch, and the valleys immediately around them. She had to leave some blank spaces where trees obscured her view, and a chunk of the twists and turns of roads and trails were pretty iffy, but she had an idea how to fill them in. Rick liked horseback riding, and he would jump at the chance to pull her away from her investigation.
An hour later she’d filled four sheets of paper with Canniebrae’s surroundings, her face and hands were numb with cold, and she figured she’d pushed her luck far enough. She left the sketches in the attic, replaced the atlas, and headed back into the master bedchamber.
Rick still lay there, thankfully, and she stripped out of her dark clothes to hike herself onto the bed and crawl beneath the covers beside him. The chill felt like it had sunk all the way to her bones, and he practically radiated heat, so she surreptitiously snuggled her back up against his chest.
“Christ,” he mumbled. “Where did you go, the North Pole?”
Dammit . “Scotland is cold,” she chattered, and turned around, shoving her hands into his chest and her face against his neck.
He actually flinched. Instead of shoving her back out of bed, though, he growled and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tighter against him. “Next time you go sneaking about, put on a bloody hat and gloves.”
Now might be a good time to point out that if he hadn’t hidden those books she wouldn’t have had to go sit on the roof, but on the other hand she’d kind of maybe pushed him into pulling out the books in the first place. He would totally point that out, too. “Maybe I’ll just wear you ,” she said instead. “You’re nice and warm.”
“Thanks, but we can mess around after you warm up. You’re cold enough I’m genuinely terrified that if I go in, my cock might break off.”
She snorted, kissing his throat with her cold lips. “Neither of us wants that. Just some nice, close cuddling.” Samantha wrapped her feet around his.
“Good God, you’re killing me. I’ve changed my mind. I want to be a bachelor.”
“It’s too late. You’re all mine now. Every toasty inch of you. Snuggle up, buttercup.”
Sex probably would have warmed her up nicely, but she wasn’t sure he would have liked her cold appendages groping on him. Little as she generally liked being trapped, this didn’t quite feel that way. Instead it was…nice. Warm and safe and comfortable and kind of heart-lifting. Great . Now she was getting sappy.
“Sam?” he murmured.
“Hmm?”
“Wherever you went, were you safe?”
“Yes. Just not well-enough insulated.”
And still tempted to tell him just what she’d been up to. But he wouldn’t tell her what had him so wound up about the supposedly non-existent highwayman treasure, even if it would stop her from prying into it – which it would. So stale, meet mate.
“Okay, then. Good.”
“Riding,” Richard repeated, an eyebrow lifting before he could gain control of his own skepticism.
Seated on one of the chairs facing the master bedchamber’s fireplace, Samantha stomped into her second hiking boot. “With you. Not to go bronco busting or anything. Just, you know, a walking tour of your realm, my liege.”
Samantha liked going on runs, driving fast cars, flying helicopters when she could get away with it, and riding in airplanes. Her feet and the machines did what she wanted them to, when she wanted them to do it. A horse, though, had a mind of its own. One that might not agree with what its rider wanted. That wasn’t his opinion; she’d stated that very thing the last time he’d tried to take her riding.
“I’ll have two horses saddled after breakfast, then. You can have me until noon. I want to be here if and when the bulldozer arrives so I can mourn the destruction of my front drive.”
“Me, too. There could be Roman artifacts here, even though it’s kind of too far north for that. Celtic would be awesome, though. Or Norse.”
“Or feet of accumulated oyster shells and some glacial rocks,” Richard returned with a grin. “But I don’t want to crush your dreams of legitimate archaeology, so we’ll be back in plenty of time.”
“Cool.” Snapping to her feet, she slid her arms up around his shoulders, leaned up along his chest, and kissed him.
Richard kissed her back. It would have physically hurt him not to do so, even if this morning did feel just a little too perfect. Some voracious morning sex that had begun before dawn, no arguing, and Sam willing to go riding with him. The Highlands was the most dramatically beautiful place they’d been together, so it could simply be the scenery. Or she was leading him somewhere, and he was trotting along happily behind her as long as he could ogle her arse.
In his defense, she did have a nice arse. And over the past year he’d learned that going along with her netted him more cooperation than trying to shut her down – in which case she went ahead with whatever she thought was necessary anyway, and just did it behind his back.
He wasn’t her damned parent, telling her what she could or couldn’t do. But keeping her safe, by which he meant both alive and out of prison, had just about a year ago become his first priority in everything. He ranked it right alongside keeping her with him. That was why he’d had Tom Donner make up a list of which countries didn’t extradite to the United States, and he’d memorized it. That wouldn’t help if Interpol caught up with her for a crime in Europe, but they spent most of their time in America, and so it was from there that any threat was most likely to come.
“What’s up?” she asked, eyeing him.
“I’m just wondering whether I should hire a film crew to document your first ride.” With another kiss he lowered his hands from her hips. “But first I need some breakfast. It takes a great deal of energy to be as heroically warm and sexy as I was last night.”
“Mm hm. You did earn a pretty damn hearty meal. Let’s go, then. I want to know if Norway’s still in a huff.”
“You’re not planning on making more trouble, are you?”
“She started it. I prefer to make my own trouble.”
“It could have been an honest mistake. You told me. My aunt told my uncle, and Norway, as you call her, told Reg.”
“I checked with your aunt. Norway told her and your uncle we were all dressing up.”
Richard pulled open the door and stood aside to let her precede him. “It still could have been an oversight.”
“Fine. You be all na?ve, and I’ll watch our backs,” she said over her shoulder, as she passed by him. “By the way, your aunt’s taken up painting, and she’s not half bad. She brought photos to show. You should ask her about them.”
For a woman without a family, Samantha had a keen sense of where repairs between relations needed to be made. Even the ones he’d caused by his own stubbornness. True, a just-orphaned nineteen-year-old didn’t want to be told what to do by a probably well-meaning aunt and uncle, but he wasn’t nineteen any longer. “I will.”
“Good. And I want a calm horse. A really calm one. Half dead, even.”
The scent of warm bread and bacon met them halfway down the stairs. Inside the breakfast room a hot pot of coffee awaited him, while a glass of ice and a can of diet Coke had already been placed at the spot where Samantha generally sat. Perhaps things felt too perfect because they were just perfect enough.
Or not. As he piled bacon and over-easy eggs on his plate, Reg and Miss Nyland made their appearance. He wasn’t about to greet them first, on the very good chance that neither of them would respond. Because whatever he’d told Samantha about innocent mistakes, he didn’t think last night had been one of them. Power, negotiation – they were like part of his own nervous system. Reg wanted something, and he had no intention of aiding his cousin in any way. He, therefore, had the position of power. He wasn’t about to give it up in exchange for an unanswered hello.
“Good morning,” Samantha said, smiling as she and her plate took their seats. “Rick and I are going horseback riding this morning, if you want to join us.”
Richard sent her a quick frown. Samantha inviting other people to witness her attempting something at which she had no skill didn’t make any sense. “Really?” he whispered, as he moved around behind her.
“Oh, riding sounds delightful,” Eerika gushed. “I haven’t ridden in ages. Might we, Reginald?”
“There’s nothing else to do here but play cards with my parents,” Reg answered stiffly. “We may as well.”
The pair went over to the sideboard, and Samantha leaned over toward him at the head of the table. “Reggie can’t be pulling down walls if he’s with us,” she whispered back.
It was for him, then. She was willing to risk being embarrassed in exchange for keeping his cousin from digging through the west wing for a few hours. The cynical half of him also had to note that going riding would keep Reg from finding any treasure before she could do so herself, but one thing at a time. “The heavy equipment is supposed to be here by noon,” he said aloud. “I’ve also sent for my architect and a structural engineer. It’s fairly obvious that I won’t be able to repair the west wing, so I’ll be replacing it.”
That got Reg’s attention. “You’d just tear it all down, then? What if I were to send for a historian? Someone who might object to you ripping things apart without assessing what the country could be losing?”
Richard finished chewing his mouthful. “Be my guest. Who knows? After I restore the place I may decide to hand it, and a large endowment, over to the National Trust after all. Or I may change my mind again. At any rate, I’m opening a museum that should bring a large amount of tourist money to Devon and won’t cost the county a penny. Don’t be an idiot and think you can convince them to sue me over some rotted wood and ruined carpet.”
Something rammed into his shin beneath the table. Hard. His only suspect was in the middle of wolfing down an omelet, her gaze on her plate. If she expected him to cow or to sit quietly while his own cousin threatened him, she didn’t know him very well. But then, she did know him very well. He took a slow breath.
He’d just shortened Reg’s timeline to find the treasure, and then he’d taken the bait when Reg had threatened him, giving his cousin the excuse to avoid going for a ride so that he could go digging instead. After Samantha had gone to the trouble of arranging for Reg to be away from the house in the first place.
“But beneath all the stomping and blowing,” he went on, “we’re still family, Reg. We’ve drifted farther apart than we should have, and I’d like to amend that. If you’re still set on going on a treasure hunt, I’ll give you a day or two to dig through the rubble – as long as you stay safe while you’re doing it.”
Reg remained on his feet, chest out and shoulders squared. Eerika, though, sank down gracefully onto a chair. “You know you’re always grumpy before you’ve had your breakfast, Reginald. Let’s eat, go riding, and then decide if you’re still indignant or not.”
“Sure, if Ricky apologizes for calling me an idiot.”
So now they were back in public school again. “Certainly, if you stop acting—”
Crack . Samantha’s boot found his shin again.
“—like I’m personally trying to ruin your life,” Richard amended, making a mental note to purchase shin guards before his next argument with Samantha. “Which I am not.”
With a pause for dramatic effect Reg deflated enough to take a seat. “Not quite an apology, but I’ll take it. I suppose I have to, if I want to be invited to the wedding.”
“I’d invite you anyway, Reggie,” Samantha finally put in. “You’re Rick’s family. No fisticuffs is good, though. I’ve never ridden before, and I really don’t want you guys bellowing at each other while I’m trying not to be killed.”
Miss Nyland chuckled, clapping her hands together. “You’ve never ridden? Oh, if you’re going to be an English lord’s wife you must learn.”
“Because we’re time traveling back to Jane Austen days?” Samantha suggested.
“If only we could! But there are charity rides, the polo matches where Rick already shows so well, pony judging… So many things! I’m happy we can assist you!”
“Oh, good,” Samantha said, gulping down her soda. “You can never have too much help.”
A little too much help would serve her right for kicking him. “You’re a horsewoman then, Miss Nyland?” he asked.
“I’ve won several ribbons, if I say so myself. And please do call me Eerika. You’ve given your leave for me to call you Rick, after all.”
He didn’t remember doing any such thing, but it didn’t matter. “Eerika, then. I’m certain Samantha would appreciate any pointers you’re willing to offer.”
The tall blonde picked at her plate of fruit. “With pleasure. Will you be riding in the proper style then, Sam?”
“If you’re talking about riding sidesaddle, no way. I’m going to be holding on with everything I’ve got.”
“We can’t have that. Not with you being an American. Once you become a marchioness, you’ll have duties.”
Samantha turned her head, pinning Richard with a look that might just keep him awake at night. “Duties?”
“We’ll talk about it later,” he said, reaching over to take her hand. He was accustomed to battling on several fronts, and the two of them were already at odds over the highwaymen nonsense, but this… This one could do some damage if he couldn’t head it off. “It’s nothing you can’t handle.”
“Says you.” She set aside her fork and stood. “I’ll be out at the stable trying some bribery.” On her way out she liberated a pair of apples, dumping them into her jacket pockets.
He wanted to go after her. She had a history of fleeing when she felt trapped, and he wasn’t about to let her get a head start. On the other hand, she hadn’t made a run for it in weeks, even when he’d asked her to marry him. She loved him. He knew that. He was going to have to trust in it sooner or later.
Deliberately he took another bite of his eggs. “I want your word, Reg, that you won’t go into the west wing alone, and that you’ll wear a hard hat. I’d ask that you not blame me when you don’t find anything, but that would make me delusional.”
“Why don’t you tell me where the map is? Then you won’t have to worry about me blaming you for anything.”
“I told you what happened to the map.” Finishing off his coffee, he climbed to his feet. “And for God’s sake keep in mind that I invited you here to meet my fiancé. Make an attempt to do that, will you? If it doesn’t interfere too much with the reason you actually came here, that is.”
Even without Samantha there to kick him he knew he was pushing things again, so instead of elaborating on what he thought of his cousin’s new obsession he inclined his head and gestured them toward the hallway door.
“Don’t I even get to finish eating?” Reg asked.
“No. Samantha’s out there getting nervous because you two had to talk about duties and obligations, so we will go out now and reassure her. We will compliment her efforts, and we will be extremely supportive and informative. Is that clear?”
“Of course we’ll be helpful,” Eerika said, pulling on a jacket. “I certainly never intended to be anything but helpful. Sam and I are practically sisters.”
Reg drew even with him as they left the house for the front drive. “Miss Jellicoe doesn’t strike me as being particularly shy or fearful.”
“She isn’t, generally. But she is private. She would have to engage with the aristocracy as much as I do, which is almost never.”
“I’m not the one who mentioned charity rides and pony judging. That was Eerika. She’d give her left arm to have those obligations. Showing off in front of rich, snobby women gets her off.”
“Then why is she with you?” Samantha had mentioned that Miss Nyland’s pursuit had evidently been very focused on Reg, as well, but he wasn’t about to have that discussion.
“Ha ha. Very amusing. Just because you absent yourself from the obligations of your station doesn’t mean the rest of us do. Dad, Mum, and I always attend the Derby opening, Wimbledon, Parliament, and all the other things you so studiously avoid. Hell, I’m practically your official stand-in. Didn’t you know that?”
“Honestly, it’s never really crossed my mind. But don’t expect me to believe for a second that you get nothing out of it.”
“Oh, I get tail like you wouldn’t believe. There’s a whole cult of aristocracy groupies. After William and Kate’s wedding I didn’t even surface for a week.”
Richard glanced ahead of them as Eerika slipped into the stable. “Is that where you caught Eerika’s attention? Before she pretended to buy a car from you?”
“Yes.”
“Then we’ll call it even.”
Perhaps he needed to pay more attention to his inherited obligations. He’d always put them second to his business ones, and since he’d met Samantha they’d fallen even further down the list. No, she wouldn’t wish to participate in some of it, but his thief had a soft spot for charities and causes. He could certainly afford them, and he could use some more good karma. Anything to insulate Samantha a little better from her past misdeeds.
Inside the stable, closed off from the part they now used as a garage, waited half a dozen horses and a trio of grooms. He’d had them brought up from Rawley a few weeks ago, when he’d first decided Samantha needed to meet his family. Samantha leaned up against one of the stall doors while a foot or so in front of her a large chestnut mare sloppily chewed up an apple.
“You’ve met Lily, I see,” he said, walking over to join her.
“She wasn’t at Rawley Park. Where’s Molly?”
“Molly’s still at Rawley. I thought you might like Lily. She’s nearly in a coma, she’s so calm.” He tilted his head. “You remembered Molly?”
Samantha pointed at her head. “Really? Have you met me?”
“Point taken.”
“Briggs said you’ve acquired a new gelding. Major Pumpernickel or something.”
“So you remember a horse you barely set eyes on, but you can’t remember my new bay after you were clearly just introduced?” Richard put a hand to his ear. “Say his name, Sam, if you expect his support and assistance.”
“Fine.” She took a deep breath. “Major General Llewelyn Alberic Emilius Price-Davies. Named for the English recipient of the Victoria Cross who died in 1965 at the age of ninety-five.”
“Going for extra credit points, are you?” He put an arm across her shoulders and pulled her against his side. “I know you don’t like displaying any sub-par skills in front of other people. I appreciate this, my lass.”
She smiled. “My lass. I like that. Just remember that you owe me one.”
“Thankfully you won’t let me forget.”
He did appreciate it. Yes, he’d now more or less given his permission for both Reg and Samantha to go digging through the ruins, but neither of them would be doing it this morning. Neither of them would be finding the damned map there, either, and Sam had no access to details of anything. Reg already knew the tales, but if he hadn’t figured anything out by now, he never would.
The part of him that liked taking risks, the part of him that dove straight into the deep end after Samantha, looked forward to watching her try and fail because he’d already taken steps to see that she would do so. He’d caught her once, but that had been in the process of working with her to solve a crime. This time they would seem to be at cross-purposes. Nemeses, as she’d said. And he really wanted to win, as much as he wanted to see how she would handle losing.
“Briggs, let’s put Lily in the pen, shall we?” he said aloud. “She won’t take off on you, Samantha, but this way you won’t have to worry about it.”
“I’ll see to it, my lord. Let’s get the rest of you mounted first, though.” The English groom sounded out of place here, but he knew what he was about. He nodded at Samantha. “Lily’s a sweetheart, but any animal’s easier to control while they’re moving than while they’re trying to stand still.”
“Okay. I’m not about to argue.”
They put Reg up on a black gelding named Pitch, while Eerika chose Lady, a gray mare trained for sidesaddle. He could see Samantha eyeing the rig as they all went outside and Reg lifted Norway onto the saddle. “Lily’s not trained for a lady’s saddle,” he murmured. “I reckoned you’d be more comfortable with cowboy-style riding.”
“Damn straight,” she returned, climbing up the bottom of rail of the pen to watch Briggs saddle the chestnut mare.
“I thought you wanted to learn how to ride properly,” Eerika said, walking by on Lady and circling back again, and not sounding the least bit supportive or helpful despite her promise to be both. “You’re already at a disadvantage because you’re, you know, American.”
“Oh, get me the fuck up there,” Samantha muttered, and stepped up to hop gracefully over the railing.
Richard wanted to hand her into the saddle himself, but Briggs had been right about moving being easier than standing still. He swung up on Major, sending the bay over beside the gate. Was Samantha going to play the part of the neophyte equestrian, or would she be herself? It was difficult to tell the difference sometimes.
With Briggs holding Lily’s bridle and issuing softly-spoken instructions, Samantha took hold of the saddle horn, put her left foot in the stirrup, and swung herself up into the saddle with all of her usual easy athleticism. The groom specialized in first-time riders, and after having him on the payroll for six months Richard was supremely gratified to see just how good he was at his job.
She took hold of the reins as Ross guided Lily in a wide circle and gave instructions on steering and braking. Once she’d attempted the various controls Ross stepped back and sent her around again. The moment Samantha smiled, Richard leaned down and unfastened the gate, then pulled it wide.