‘You told him about Rabbie.’
‘No. Growler watched the house after we left. Talked to the servants.’ She gave a small shake of her head. ‘But my words sparked the idea. I’m sorry.’
The apology meant more to him than it should. ‘He never intended to do business with us, did he?’
‘I don’t know. He doesn’t tell me everything. But I knew whatever he was doing was important.’ She straightened her shoulders. ‘He offered me a lot of money to...to lure you into my bed.’
He flinched at the hard edge in her voice.
She shrugged.
Absently, he rubbed at his knuckles through his gloves as he stared at the livid mark on her face. What he’d give to have Jack in front of him right at that moment.
She glanced down at his hands. ‘You hit him, didn’t you? Rawley. That was the crash I heard.’
He grimaced. ‘He is a cur.’
‘But not a liar.’ She turned her face away and he saw the movement in her throat as she swallowed.
‘He was your lover, then.’ Hell. Why ask a question when he knew the answer?
‘Yes.’
The pain in her voice seemed to tighten a vice around his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs. Apparently she still cared for the man. He forced his hurt aside. Right now he had more important things on his mind. Like how to keep Rabbie safe.
‘Logan...’ Her voice was hesitant.
He looked at her and the sight of the ugly bruise on her face hit him anew. It was like a blow to the kidneys. It made him feel sick. ‘What?’
‘There is something I think you should know. I heard Jack talking to Growler. He said the moment he had the information he wanted we would leave.’ She frowned, then winced as the slight tension must have caused her pain.
He wanted to hit something. Preferably Jack.
‘He said he had never made so much money for so little effort. That secrets were worth more than their weight in gold.’
‘Secrets?’
‘The way he spoke...I think he wanted the information for someone else.’
‘McKenzie?’
‘Maybe.’ She sounded unsure.
‘I can’t think why McKenzie would care. He closed Edinburgh’s gates to us. He has more business than he can handle. It is why we went to Jack.’
Her hands twisted in her lap, her eyes were dark pools of compulsion. ‘You have to give him what he wants. He never makes idle threats. If you play him false, he’ll find a way to carry it out. Years later, if he must. If he didn’t, he would soon lose control.’
‘Perhaps someone in authority needs to take a look at Jack and his business.’
She gave a short laugh. ‘As far as I know, everyone in authority is part of his business.’
She was wrong. Not everyone. Not Sanford, no matter how jaded the man appeared. But she was right. He could not risk Rabbie’s life for the sake of a wee drop of whisky. He would have to tell Jack the truth. Then deal with the consequences. And Ian.
The carriage turned a corner and shaft of sunlight caressed her skin with golden light. And made the bruise seem all the more ugly. While women could be the very devil with their lies and trickery, he did not believe any man had the right to brutalise them. His fists clenched at the thought of what he would like to do to Jack for that bruise. ‘You will stay wi’ me.’
She gasped. Her eyes widening. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘You canna go back to him after this.’
The straightening of her spine warned him she was about to argue.
‘No, Charity. You have done as required. Your part in this is over.’
A bitter smile curved her lips. ‘And you think he will just let me go? I am too valuable. I know too much. He would kill me before he would let me leave.’
Nausea roiled in his belly. Anger was a hot hard bubble in his chest. ‘He told you that?’
She glanced out of the window. ‘We are almost there. Get back on your side,’ she hissed and pulled down her veil. ‘Forget about me. I overheard him talking to Growler. If I leave this carriage, he has orders to shoot me in the back.’
The bubble burst in the rush of fury. At Jack. At her acceptance of her fate. ‘I can shield you.’
‘No,’ she said dully, shaking her head slowly. ‘Don’t be a fool. Think of Rabbie.’
His fists opened and closed convulsively. Helplessly. How could he endanger the life of a child? But Charity? How could he let Jack take her away?
She leaned forwards as the carriage started to slow. ‘I heard something else, Logan. Listen,’ she snarled as he opened his mouth to speak. ‘I don’t know what you can do, but...’ She glanced at the door that would open at any moment. ‘Logan, it is the militia who is to be told where the whisky is hidden.’
Logan gaped at her.
The carriage door swung back.
Logan snapped his mouth shut and stared into Growler’s punchbag-of-a-face, then back at Charity.
‘Good riddance, smuggler,’ she said in a voice devoid of emotion.
‘Out,’ Growler said.
He stepped down. In the early morning sunlight, the street looked just as it had the last time he was here. Apart from about a score of hard-eyed rough-looking men idling at intervals along the street, standing in groups of two or three. Watching.
McKenzie’s men. And those were the ones he could see. A flea couldn’t hop off a dog without these men knowing. A familiar figure stood on his brother’s front doorstep. O’Banyon.
The carriage moved off and he glanced over his shoulder. There was no last glimpse of her face. But that didn’t mean he wouldna be seeing her again. Growler gestured him to cross the road.
O’Banyon came down the steps to meet him.
Logan quelled the urge to punch the smirk off the florid man’s face. Instead he held his tongue, waiting and watching, looking for any advantage that would mean he did not have to betray his family.
O’Banyon rubbed his hands together with a raspy sound. ‘Well?’
Right down to business, was it? After days of shilly-shallying. He should have guessed there was something up. But the militia. Why the hell the militia? What was the advantage? Money. Money for secrets, Charity had said. And a lot of it. And if so, was it the government paying? Had he been wrong in trusting Sanford after all?
Well, he still had one small card up his sleeve. O’Banyon did not know he knew why the information was wanted.
He almost groaned as the idea took solid logical shape. He really had been an idiot. ‘Gilvry whisky is stored in Dunross Keep, where neither you nor McKenzie could ever get your hands on it. The keep is not going to fall to a bunch of cutthroats,’ he bluffed.
‘Do ye think so, boyo?’ O’Banyon said, his smile growing wider. ‘Well now, we will see about that, will we not?’ He shifted closer until Logan could see every whisker, some grey, some brown, piercing his jaw and smell the odour of stale ale. ‘And if you’re telling me lies now,’ he drew one finger across his throat. ‘A promise is a promise.’
Logan glared at him. ‘So Charity said. You have the truth. Now get you and your men out of my brother’s house and out of my sight. I’ll see you next beating your head against Dunross’s walls.’
The Irishman jerked his head towards Growler, who gave a piercing whistle. The men in the street walked away. Two came out of the front door at a run, hustling a young woman between then. O’Banyon and Growler backed away from him and crossed the road. A carriage raced around the corner and picked them up. And just like that it was over. The street was quieter than the grave.
Logan ran up the steps and into the house with his heart in his throat, praying he’d not been wrong to trust the Irishman’s word. Or Charity’s. She had promised they would be safe. He found his brother and
sister-in-law bound and gagged and looking furious in the drawing room. He cut them free. Niall raced for the stairs with Jenna behind him.
His mouth was dry as he followed, taking the stairs two at a time. Let the child be all right. Please. Let him be all right.
He was lying in his crib, waving a rattle and chortling at shadows on the ceiling. Unharmed. Happy.
Logan fell to his knees in the doorway in gratitude, all breath gone from his lungs as Jenna picked him up and held him close. Niall enfolded both of them in his arms, his breathing sounding harsh. Finally, he eased his grip and looked over at Logan.
‘I’ll never forgive you for this, Logan. Bringing them into my house, my home, near my family.’
The words tore into his heart and his soul like the lash of a whip. ‘I’ll never forgive myself.’
‘Get out,’ Niall said, turning his back.
‘Stop it, Niall,’ Jenna said. ‘It is not your brother who deserves your anger. He was taken in by... Well, he was just as taken in as I was. Let us leave it at that.’
Niall unclenched his fists, but he didn’t look in any way sorry for what he had said. And nor should he, when he was right.
He watched Jenna rock his child in her arms for a moment or two, then looked over at Logan. ‘Your Irishman refused to believe me when I told his man that the whisky was held in the old mill.’
Logan heaved a sigh. ‘He’s not my Irishman. And he wouldna’, because it isna’. Ian moved it into the keep the week before I left. McKenzie must have already looked there.’
Niall looked puzzled. ‘I suppose it will be safe enough in the keep for a while.’
‘Not if the revenue men have a search warrant.’
Niall groaned. ‘That’s why I always told Ian to keep it elsewhere. No direct tie.’ He frowned. ‘But what good does it do to any of them to lose the whisky to the revenue?’
‘I wish I bloody well knew.’
‘Then you best hurry and let Ian know, hadn’t you?’ He once more gathered his wife and child into his arms as if he couldn’t bear to be apart from them for more than a moment.
It would be a long time before Niall forgave him. He had seen that in his brother’s eyes and he understood the feeling all too well.
‘Aye. I’ll let Ian know right away,’ he said to his brother’s back and ran down the stairs and out into the street. Yes, Ian needed to know. But anyone could take a message. He had an early morning appointment tomorrow. The honour of the Gilvrys depended on his attendance. And so did Charity’s. He didn’t care what she was, or what she’d done, no man was going to say such things to her and get away with it.
* * *
Doing the right thing was always harder than pleasing your own selfish desires, but in the end you had the satisfaction of feeling better about yourself. In the end. It was a lesson Charity wished she had learned as a girl. Hopefully Logan would be able to make it back to Dunross and salvage something before the authorities arrived.
And in the meantime, she would pray that Jack never realised why.
At the sound of a door opening behind her, Charity turned from gazing down at the crowds on Abbey Hill to see Jack walk in, rubbing his hands together, a satisfied smirk on his face. She breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing in his expression said he suspected she’d played him false.
He swaggered to the sideboard and poured a brandy. ‘We’ll be leaving first thing in the morning. Ye’ll be having that wench of yours doing the packing.’
She nodded. ‘I will be glad to return to civilisation.’ She walked to the bell pull and rang the bell for something to do. Something to stop her pacing the room. The hotel staff had quickly learned that when her bell rang in the afternoons, they were to bring the tea tray. Right now though, Jack’s brandy looked tempting. But she needed her wits about her if she was to keep one step ahead.
He tossed back his drink. ‘Aye, the pickings in the taverns are too poor to keep us. These Scots like to hang on to their money. For the most part.’ She glanced at his face. Oh, yes, he was gloating all right.
‘I want my share, Jack.’
He gave her a look of wide-eyed innocence. ‘Your share?’
‘Of the money you were paid to trap the Gilvrys. Don’t think about lying to me. I know you too well.’
He gave a harsh laugh. ‘Can’t pull the wool over your eyes, colleen, can I?’ He pulled a velvet pouch from the tails of his coat. A surprisingly fat velvet pouch. He tossed it on to the sofa. ‘That’ll keep you in silk gowns for a year or more.’
She fingered the jewels at her throat. Paste. As clever as he thought himself, Jack would never believe that she didn’t care about decking herself out in the finest of everything. And she had never disabused him of the notion. It allowed her to squirrel away some of her earnings.
‘I suppose it will make up for the hours wasted on a country bumpkin,’ she said, her tone bored and her gaze flicking to that velvet pouch. After all, gold was why she did what she did, and did it well.
He gave her a sour look. ‘For a time there, I thought you’d gone soft on him.’
So soft, she’d melted into a puddle. And she had no idea if the information she’d given him would be of the slightest help. Not knowing was the worst part. ‘Why, Jack,’ she purred in her most seductive tone, ‘I thought you knew me better?’
He snorted. ‘You won’t have to worry about him again. With luck he’ll be dead by morning.’
‘He’s been caught smuggling?’ Had he not gone back to Dunross to warn his clan?
‘Not him.’ Jack put down his bumper with a sharp rap of glass against polished wood. ‘The young fool knocked some toff down with his fives, Growler tells me. Handily. The man challenged him.’
She struggled to keep an expression of dismay from her face. He was going to duel with Rawley? Over her? Her heart clenched, a sweet little ache at the thought he cared enough to defend her honour. But that was before what had happened today. He wouldn’t feel that way now.
‘Pistols at dawn on Leith Links, when they should have had it out with their fists and be done with it the way a real man would.’
Not the nobility. It wasn’t their way. But a duel? With Rawley. A crack shot. ‘Men,’ she said derisively.
‘Aye. Too clever by half, that young man. Let us hope the other one puts a bullet in his brain.’ He made a sound of derision. ‘Half the time these bucks challenge each other and then fire in the air. Honour satisfied or some such rot.’
And Jack was watching her like a cat at a mouse hole. Looking for her reaction. ‘Why, Jack, I believe you are jealous.’ She laughed. ‘Jealous of that naïve boy.’
Jack’s fists clenched and she measured the distance between them. He wasn’t close enough to deliver another of his backhanded blows. Not without taking a step or two. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t. She resisted the urge to touch the bruise on her cheek and forced a smile. ‘It seems I managed to fool you as I fooled him. And you know I despise all men equally.’
‘You don’t despise my money.’ He glanced pointedly at the sofa.
‘My money, Jack. I earned it.’ Just looking at it made her feel ill. She gave a long sigh and hoped it didn’t sound as false as it felt. ‘Truth to tell, I did have a bit of a soft spot for the lad. He reminded me of my brother. He thought it was all such a grand adventure.’
‘Well, the adventure is over.’
‘Yes,’ she said briskly. ‘Onward and upward, right, Jack? You are done with him now.’
A gloating smile touched his thin lips. ‘And so are you.’
A shiver rippled down her spine. The threat thickened the air between them. A warning that she would have to earn his trust all over again.
A soft rap and the door swung open. A young lad with the tea tray, his head bobbing, as he walked to the table by the wind
ow. ‘Your tea, ma’am.’ Whenever he delivered her tea, his voice reminded her of Logan, with its soft Highland burr. Most of the servants were lowlanders, their northern cousins being too stiff in the neck to serve Sassenachs, Jack had said one day when she had mentioned it in passing. It was something she had intended to ask Logan about, but hadn’t. And wouldn’t now, of course.
A pain slid between her ribs like a knife finding a new home. She hated Jack. But if she could continue to keep her feelings hidden she could soon be rid of him. ‘Thank you. You can put it over there.’ She nodded at the table near the sofa.
‘Anything else, mistress?’ he asked, hovering by the tray, bobbing like a duck in mating season.
‘No. Thank you.’ She pulled a few coins from her reticule and dropped them in his palm. He touched his forehead with a knuckle. She’d talked to him one afternoon for a few moments. He was the only breadwinner in his family and exceedingly grateful for the little bit of coin she gave him when he brought the tray. ‘I hope your mother is feeling better,’ she said.
The boy’s eyes widened in surprise ‘Yes, miss. Thank you, miss. Verra kind of you to remember.’
Jack glowered at him. ‘Be off with you.’
He grinned, ducked his head again and shot for the door.
‘Ye give them too much,’ Jack grumbled as he always did when she gave veils to the servants at the club. ‘They come to expect it and turn sullen when they are disappointed.’
‘What I do with my money is my business, Jack,’ she said calmly, while her stomach tied itself in knots of fear for Logan.
She had warned him to be careful. What more could she do?
‘I’ll leave you to your tea,’ Jack said, picking up his hat from the table where he’d laid it when he came in. ‘I have business to see to.’
The business of his plans against the Gilvrys, no doubt. Teeth gritted, she nodded. She took a seat on the sofa, beside the black velvet pouch. ‘Shall I have your company here for dinner? Or shall we spend one last night on the town? Bring in a little more coin.’
Falling for the Highland Rogue Page 19
