Ann Lethbridge - Falling for the Highland Rogue

Logan signalled to his men to depart for the stabling he’d arranged at the edge of the city. He grinned at Archie. ‘It is lucky you are to get that. We’ve been dodging McKenzie’s men half the night and the excise officers the other. Not that we had to worry about them.’

Archie grimaced. ‘McKenzie’s men no’ saw you, I hope. He’ll be round breaking staves if he gets even a hint I bought elsewhere.’

Logan chuckled. ‘He couldna’ catch a pig in a passage.’

Archie grunted, closed the cellar door in the floor and covered it with wooden boards. ‘Aye, weel, I was beginning to think you were no comin’ an’ me with a house full of cursed Sassenachs all demanding uisge beatha.’

Englishmen all wanting what the Scots called the water of life for some reason. Scottish whisky. And the Gilvrys made the best there was. Logan doubted the Sassenachs appreciated the finer points seeing as they also drank Geneva by the bucket full. Still, the imminent arrival of fat auld King Georgie was a gift from the gods, with McKenzie making it nigh impossible to sell their whisky in Edinburgh under usual circumstances. What they really needed was a buyer in London. Another reason he was here.

Noise battered at the door leading into the lower level of the tavern. Archie was also making hay from the Royal visit. Like everyone else in the city, Dunross included. ‘Aye. Well, here I am the now. And I’ll be having my due.’

Archie bolted the door to the street. ‘You’ll have a drink on the house while I get your gold, I hope.’

‘Aye. But I’ll be having ale, if you dinna mind. Tonight has been thirsty work. And you’ll not be giving me any of that swill you keep for yon visiting Sassenachs.’

The innkeeper grinned and went to the other door, pausing to look back. ‘Ye’ll excuse the company, I am thinkin’. I heared as how these London gentlemen,’ his voice held a sneer as he said that last word, ‘like to gamble away their fortunes. So I thought I would give them the chance.’

Logan arched an admiring brow. ‘You’ve opened a hell?’

‘Why the hell not?’ He chuckled at his own joke. ‘Wi’ King George bringing all and sundry from London, and all the Scots comin’ in too, there’s a good few with a wee bitty extra gold burning a hole in their pockets.’

‘Ye’re a right cunning auld bugger,’ Logan said, and followed the waddling innkeeper into one of the upper cellars filled with tables instead of barrels. The noise—men and dice and raucous laughter—filled his ears. Smoke from pipes and cigars set his eyes to water and his throat stinging. He set his elbow on the bar and took the foaming mug the innkeeper drew off for him. He raised the tankard in a salute and downed half of it in what felt like one swallow.

‘Wait here,’ Archie said and lumbered off to fetch Logan his purse.

Logan turned and leaned back, both elbows on the bar. A mass of men of all shapes and sizes and walks of life, rich and poor, filled the place. One old gentleman, with a nose like a cherry and too drunk to stand upright, leaned on his lanky friend. They stood like two books leaning inwards for support. One tap of an elbow and they’d fall to the floor. A young man wiped beads of sweat from his brow as he glowered at his cards. Another, laughing, shook the dice box as if his life depended on a good throw. The place reeked of sweat, liquor and smoke.

There were women too. Doxies, not ladies, hanging over their mark for the night. A barmaid fought off the clutching hand of the patron with a laugh and a slap as she passed by with her tray held high.

And then he saw her. On the other side of the room beside the hearth. At a table with four richly dressed fops. Everything else in the room receded. The noise. The smells. The men. It was as if she was sitting on an island surrounded by dark empty water.

An oval face, skin pale as milk, dark eyes, wide-set, long lashed, tilting slightly upwards at the corners. High arrogant cheekbones lightly rouged. Lips full and lush hinted at a pout. A proud face for all its stunning beauty, a head held high on a long neck, softly sloping shoulders and an expanse of creamy flesh where a necklace of gold and diamonds dipped into the valley between her bounteous breasts.

He swallowed hard, forced his gaze back up to her face. Their gazes met. Clashed like finely honed swords, giving off sparks as they met thrust for thrust in some deadly encounter.

A finely arched brow lifted slightly. The pout changed to a faint smile of derision and she looked down her small nose, taking in the rough home-spun of his coat and no doubt the streaks of sweat and dirt on his unshaven face.

A slight turn of her head brought her lips close to the ear of the man beside him, her lips moved slightly and, as if weighted by the words she was breathing, her eyelids lowered a fraction, the long dark lashes casting shadows on those magnificent cheekbones.

Logan felt the breath that carried her words in his own ear. Heard the darkness reflected in her expression as if he heard her low voice. His blood heated. To his disgust, his body hardened.

The man beside her turned his head to her, muttered something. His companions roared with laughter. Logan narrowed his eyes. Wealthy gentlemen from their dress. The woman helped the man to his feet with her shoulder beneath his arm. He staggered, grabbing her for support, his fingers digging into her delicate flesh.

Logan started forwards at the slight grimace that tightened those beautiful lips. She glanced up as if she sensed his movement and in those dark cold eyes he saw a warning. He hesitated.

The man leaned down and scooped a pile of winnings from the table. He handed the woman one of the coins and put the rest in a pocket. A faint wash of colour stained high on her cheeks, but the coldness in her expression, the hardness in her eyes, gave the blush the lie as she tucked the coin inside her glove.

Then they were turning away, the heavy-set man leaning heavily on her slender frame. Too heavily, even for a woman he could now see was almost as tall as her companion. Again he took a step towards her.

‘Here,’ Archie said, ‘come awa’, lad, out of sight of prying eyes.’

He could hardly leave without his pay. Ian would tear a strip off him. And his men would have no coin to pay for a bed for the night for themselves or their animals. And besides, from her glare, help was not something the woman wanted.

He turned and followed Archie into a dark corner beside the bar.

‘Can ye give a little on the price?’ Archie asked, his beady little eyes glimmering in the dark.

‘You’re an auld skinflint,’ Logan said mechanically, flashing a smile, his mind still on the woman, at how beautiful he had thought her eyes until he saw the hardness in their depths. And the cold calculation on her face as she pocketed, or rather gloved, that golden coin.

Archie sighed. ‘You can’t blame a man for tryin’ seein’ as how your mind wasna’ on business the noo.’

Logan dragged his mind back to the business at hand. ‘Aye, well, that is where you are wrong.’ Ian would flay him alive if he did not get the agreed-upon price.

‘I’ll need more next week, mind,’ Archie said.

Logan’s mind was fully focused now and he narrowed his eyes. ‘Why? I thought McKenzie had only a temporary shortage. This was a favour, man. That was what you said.’

Archie shifted his feet. ‘When McKenzie saw how well I was doing he wanted some of the profit.’

‘Did he now?’

‘Aye,’ Archie said morosely. ‘The man’s a bully. Thinks he owns Old Town.’ He grimaced. ‘I ha’ to be honest with you, Logan, lad. Ye got awa’ wi’ it the night, but McKenzie’s bent on locking the town up tighter than ever. His whisky or no one’s. It’s no just cudgels any more. He’s arming his bully boys with pistols.’