The map of London had long since dissolved into a wavy jumble of lines and squiggles. Names and numbers. But Morgan kept at it. Waiting for that instantaneous spark that would let her know what Doran was up to. Why he’d escaped to the city.
Cam had left her at it hours earlier. Mumbled something about going out, a swift bark of an order to stay put just before he slammed the front door. No doubt, he thought she’d disobey. But no. Two weeks was their agreement. And for two weeks, she could bite her tongue.
It was just as well. A dull ache pressed at the base of her skull, the drone of mage energy saturating the air, penetrating the earth. It pushed upon her from all sides, making it nearly impossible to concentrate. She closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. Wished she were back on Skye. Climbing the peaks around Dunsgathaic. Watching the roll of breakers, smashing against the cliffs with the force of thousands of miles of ocean behind them. Not so many people. Not so many warring magics shouting in her head.
“’Tis all right, Susan, I promise. I’ll just pop in and say good afternoon.”
A voice in the hall—but not Cam’s. A stranger. Though one comfortable with the household if he knew the housekeeper by name.
Morgan swung around as the study door opened. A man stood on the threshold, dwarfing the doorway with his stature, the perfection of his features enhanced by the somber cut of his clothes, his dark hair pulled back in a soldier’s queue. Even among the dazzling good looks of her brothers and cousins, this man would stand out. And tower over.
Ducking to enter the room, he laughed at the expression she must have shown. “I owe it all to a simple diet of bannocks and mutton stew. And a wee dram of whiskey before bed.”
She shook off her surprise. Stepped forward, seeking to turn off the charm before he started. She wasn’t in the mood for gallantry. “I’m Morgan Bligh—forgive me, Sinclair. The colonel and I just wed.”
“Did ye, now?” He surveyed her, frank admiration in his gaze, and a slow knowing smile lit his gray eyes. “Cam’s mystery redhead,” he muttered.
“I’m sorry?”
He offered her his hand. “Captain Brodie MacKay. The roguish best friend. And if ye were able to drag Cam back to the altar, you’ve got a will of steel.” His eyes narrowed, more to his glittering gaze than boyish charm. His grip upon her hand tightened. “But I’m thinking mayhap it’s all a hum. And you and Cam aren’t quite as shackled as ye say.”
She pulled away, aware of the heat that spread up her neck. Burned her cheeks. How the hell had he guessed? And now what was she going to do?
Faced with this formidable Highland giant in front of her, she wasn’t sure, though the same storm-cloud intensity of his stare that unnerved her, also dared her to call his bluff. Mayhap she’d reveal the truth. See what happened. “You’re right. I’m Morgan Bligh. Sinclair and I are…traveling together.” Let him make of that what he wanted.
“Captain MacKay. You’ve gone and frightened the young lady,” Susan scolded from the doorway.
Morgan jumped. Prayed Susan hadn’t overheard.
But she bustled in with a tea-laden tray and scones fresh from the oven, seemingly unaware of Morgan’s confession.
Brodie scooped up a scone as she passed. “Do ye think so? Somehow, I dinna think this young lady frightens very easily.” He caught Morgan’s eye. “Or am I wrong?”
She squared her shoulders, a sly smile curving her lips. “You’ve been correct on every count. Are you a gambling man?”
He offered her a teasing smile. “Me? I only wager what I can afford to lose, which makes me a very dull boy since I’ve barely a feather to fly with.” He crossed to the table, grabbing a second scone.
Susan stood back, hands on hips. “Now, don’t go running yourself down, Captain. Riches aren’t everything in this world. You’re as respectable as the next.” She slapped his hand away before he could take a third. “You eat them up so fast, you won’t even taste them.”
She glowered, but was obviously smitten with the captain. Still vowing displeasure, she grumbled all the way out the door, leaving them alone.
He laughed. “Forgive Susan’s blunt speaking. She’s more a mother to me than my own mother ever was.”
“To you?”
“And Cam. She served as wet nurse to both of us. You could say we’re milk brothers. And later, I was fostered to Strathconon and Sir Joshua’s household.”
Raised together? Lord help the women of Scotland.
If Cam traced his icy blond brilliance back to his Viking forebears, Captain Brodie MacKay was all Celt with his dark brooding looks and chiseled features. She could only imagine what trouble two such young men got up to in that isolated corner of Scotland. Probably wenched their way through every lass within two hundred miles.
With that disturbing image uppermost in her head, she focused on the aroma of hot scones. Food would take her mind off Cam’s oversexed past. Place it back where it needed to be. On the map in front of her.
Taking a seat by the tray, she smeared jam on one. Wished she had some of Gram’s thick, creamy dyenn molys to spread as well. “How did you know we were here? Cam assured me no one would notice our arrival.”
“Dodging the in-laws? Dinna blame ye. Lady Sinclair’s a dear, but Sir Joshua’s another kettle of fish.” Brodie dropped into a chair, his stature dwarfing the delicate white and gold piece. She waited for its inevitable collapse. “He’s proper as a Puritan.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
He poured himself a cup of tea. Looked as if he wished it were something stronger. “Nor you, mine. Should we exchange confessions?”
“I’ve already confessed as much as I plan to.”
“Verra well. You’re too well spoken to be some Covent Garden bawd. But ye dinna look the type to lie about, deciding what expensive bauble ye want next and waiting for your protector to snap his fingers either.”
“So I’m not a low-class whore or a high-class mistress.”
He grazed a hand across his jaw in thought. “No. I can’t say with certainty what ye are. But I intend to find out.”
“Then if you’re finished cross-examining me, it’s my turn. How did you know we were here?”
“Amos,” he said simply.
“What about him?”
“I ran into him this morning. To anyone who doesn’t know him, nothing strange in his manner. But I’ve known him since I was born. He looked cagier than usual. Full of something. A little prodding and he told me Cam was back in town. When I came round and saw the house still shut up, I got curious. Susan let me in through the kitchen. And here we are.”
A pounding on the front door threw Morgan to her feet.
Susan rushed to answer, her mumbled yes, sirs and no, sirs carrying through the house as she fought to fob the visitors off.
Finally a voice rang clear, and Morgan’s heart dropped into her boots. “I know he’s at home. Don’t stand there sputtering. Get me my nephew.”
So much for stealth.
Chapter 15
Cam left the gunsmith’s, the second of his errands complete. A Baker rifle ordered and a new pair of pistols in his possession. If Doran came within five hundred yards, Cam would take him down. He didn’t care how much magic the Amhas-draoi wielded, a well-aimed bullet to the head would stop him as easily as the next man.
He only wished his initial destination had been as beneficial. General Pendergast could tell him nothing of use. And Cam’s deal with Morgan meant he couldn’t share the information he did have. It made for stilted conversation and long uncomfortable pauses with Major Eddis’s sneering, know-it-all glances making Cam’s fists itch.
“I’m counting on you to find me that sword, Sinclair.” The general eased back in his chair, hooking his thumbs in his waistcoat. “You were highly recommended for this assignment. Your wartime service made you of particular interest.”
“Did it?”
He didn’t like where this was going, though he’d suspected it
from the minute the army had brought him in last spring. Something in the careful way they handled him. The way they danced around his past experience or didn’t speak of it at all. As if the dirty part of war was something gentlemen didn’t discuss. Or even acknowledge.
“Your years abroad prepared you well for this type of mission, though it’s been hard to take advantage of the brigade’s expertise in peacetime. Few members of your outfit remain. And those who survived the campaigns aren’t exactly…” His voice trailed off.
Cam knew what words the general didn’t say.
Stable. Balanced.
Sane.
Supposedly he was all those things. Though what that said about him when the work of the brigade had ruined so many others, he wouldn’t look into too closely.
He tried to ignore the tension banding his shoulders, the dead weight settling across his chest.
“Doran’s from the Wapping area,” he said. “We’re assuming that’s where he’s gone. He’ll know every bolt-hole. Miss Bligh is currently mapping the area. We’ll flush him street by street if we have to.” He kept his agreement with Rastus quiet.
“That’s right.” Pendergast nodded, adjusting his spectacles. “You and the young woman. How is that arrangement working out?”
Eddis’s expression went from merely contemptuous to outright insulting. “Yes, Sinclair. How is she?”
Three little words and the weeks of pressure tore through him. Like a gun going off, Cam snapped. He lunged for Eddis, conscious thought lost amid the animal need to hurt. “You fucking prick,” he snarled.
Eddis stumbled back, catching his wooden leg on the edge of a chair. He brought up his cane in defense, but Cam slid beneath his guard. He’d show them how bloody well the brigade had prepared him.
“Enough!” Pendergast bellowed, slamming his open hand on his desk. The sound breaking through just moments before Cam’s fist connected with Eddis’s jaw.
Cam fell back, his whole body knotted with unfulfilled rage. “You speak that way about her again, I’ll rip your head off—Major.”
Eddis hobbled out of range, his own fury showing in the squint of his eyes, the tic in his jaw. “They were right about you. You’re insane.”
Cam’s chest heaved as he tried slowing his breathing, tried slowing his racing heart. “Damned right. And don’t ever forget it.”
“Sinclair, that’s more than enough. I’ll handle my own staff, thank you.”
“If you don’t, General, I will.” He knew he skated on thin ice. The general could reprimand him for insubordination. Hell, he could arrest him for treason if he chose.
He did neither. “It’s that kind of spirit I’m expecting out of you, Colonel. That’s what will find us this sword. And end this threat once and for all.”
They wanted him this way? On a hair trigger and ready to explode? The demons so close to the surface he saw their faces and heard the whispers every time he closed his eyes?
Just knowing that held him together long enough to get out of the office and hail a cab, sending the driver toward Whitechapel and the gunsmith’s. The army had nearly destroyed him once for their own purposes, yet he’d crawled back. Now they wanted to destroy him again.
He wouldn’t give them—or the demons—the satisfaction.
“And when did you say you married my nephew?” Sir Joshua Sinclair asked, his tone strained in an obvious attempt to remain civil.
Morgan never batted an eye, though she felt Captain MacKay’s gaze boring into her back, waiting for her answer. “I didn’t, sir.”
Cam’s uncle turned out to be all voice. As diminutive in stature as the captain was enormous. But despite his size, his manner brooked no nonsense. A man used to being in charge. Much like his nephew.
He’d ensconced himself in the fanciest chair in the drawing room, the rest of them ranged around him as supplicants. Lady Sinclair perched nervously on the edge of a settee. Their niece took up her subservient position on a bench near the window, strips of shuttered light falling over her delicate features, the pale blue of her dress. Even Brodie seemed cowed, his great frame ranging near the doorway as if he might bolt if given half a chance.
Only Morgan held her ground under the onslaught. She hadn’t lived for twenty-four years under the stern discipline of the triumvirate—as she’d dubbed her father, her uncle, and her grandmother—without learning a little bit about self-composure.
“Well, I’m asking you now. When were you and Cam wed? And why weren’t we told of it? We’re family. You’d think he’d feel at least a slight obligation to let us know when he takes a wife.”
“Cam and I have only been together a few weeks.” Not a lie. Not a truth. She thought she threaded it nicely. “There wasn’t time to send word.”
“No time for the only family he has? Why, Euna’s his own sister”—he motioned to the young woman at the window—“and she hears of his marriage for the first time from a stranger. I have to say this is all highly irregular. Not at all what I expect from a Sinclair.”
Morgan’s gaze fixed on the retiring blonde with the downcast eyes. This was Euna, the spunky child of Cam’s memories? Any backbone had been sucked out of her in the intervening years. She looked like she had all the pluck of a baby mouse.
“Did you send letters to your family while on your marriage tour, sir?” Morgan responded, every ounce of Bligh pride coming through in her cool tone.
“No, but I had no need to. Those dearest stood witness to our joining.” He rubbed at his chin as if digesting an unexpected problem. “A second marriage…what can that boy…just like his father…” He gave a long-suffering shake of his head.
The captain came forward to stand beside Lady Sinclair. “She can’t be any worse than Cam’s first.”
Thank you, Captain. And this was supposed to help her cause?
Lady Sinclair shifted in her seat. Placed her hand over the captain’s. “Brodie, please. Charlotte’s only been dead for a few months. It’s unseemly to speak of her in such a way.”
A mumble that sounded to Morgan’s keen ears exactly like good riddance came from the direction of Euna Sinclair. Mayhap not so mousy after all.
Sir Joshua pounded his fist on a table as if calling the unruly room to order. “We can all admit Cam’s marriage to Charlotte was an unmitigated disaster. But she’s not the reason I’m here this morning.”
Morgan crossed her arms over her chest, her spine straight as a saber. “Exactly why are you here? And how did you even know Cam and I had arrived? The house remains shut. We’ve told no one.”
“I heard it from a gentleman at my club,” blustered Sir Joshua. “A major on General Pendergast’s staff. Edwards…Edgars…”
“Eddis,” Morgan supplied.
“That’s him. Fellow said he saw Cam this morning. Congratulated him on his wife and Cam attacked him like some common ruffian.”
Morgan could guess what the smarmy Major Eddis had really said. But to set Cam off? It must have been particularly awful.
“So why would my nephew attack a fellow for wishing him well on his marriage? That’s what I want to know.”
Morgan’s patience and her good manners were lessening by the second. The steady pound of her head had flared to a bass-drum crescendo. The map lay untouched. Doran remained uncaught. And the longer she stood here defending herself to Cam’s inquisitive relations, the longer she’d have to remain his faux bride. “Your questions keep mounting. But I can’t help you. One—I don’t know why Cam didn’t inform you of our marriage. Perhaps he didn’t want you to know. Perhaps he didn’t care whether you knew or not. Perhaps he wanted to tell you in person. And two—I wasn’t with Cam this morning when he encountered the major in question. I can tell you the man’s a right bastard, and I’d love to see Cam plant him a facer.”
Brodie’s laugh turned to a cough. Lady Sinclair’s shocked gasp almost drowned out Euna’s murmured giggle. Only Cam’s uncle remained silent, a tight, white line ringing his mouth, his peat-brown
eyes shooting arrows.
He rose from his seat like a king coming down off his throne. An old, tired king. “We’ve warned Cam about his volatile nature. He rushes headlong when patient thought would avail him more.” Even his voice seemed weighted with exhaustion. “Does he take advice? Take his family’s concerns into account? Of course not. Never has. Like his father in that regard. More’s the pity.” He ran a hand through hair thinning at the crown and silvered with age. “Can you tell me that a marriage to you will restore his reputation? Erase a disreputable past that threatens not only himself with social exile, but his sister and brothers as well? Or is it simply another case of Cam acting less than he is?”
Morgan’s hands clenched to fists at her side. How dare they run Cam down as if he were some sort of blight on their grandiose family tree? “Less than he is? What the hell is that supposed to mean? Mayhap a little less scolding and Cam would let you know what was going on in his life. Do you even know your nephew?”
“Only too well. And what we know becomes harder and harder to forgive.”
Morgan drew herself up, every ounce of Amhas-draoi power in her stony gaze. “Then you—sir—know all the wrong things.”
Halfway down Fenchurch Street, a prickling sensation slithered up Cam’s spine. Buried itself in his chest like a blade. Someone trailed him.
And this time, not Morgan.
He turned onto Lime Street, passed St. Dionis Backchurch just as the bells chimed three. Turned again at the next corner, kept walking. Noting who followed. Noting who didn’t. He held to this routine block after block, narrowing the field of possibilities while at the same time leading his stalker away from the house and Morgan. Aldgate. Back to Whitechapel and through. Onto Shadwell. The streets grew narrower. Dirtier. The fishy, muck smell of the Thames overpowering the scents of garbage and excrement littering the rowdy, bustling riverside.
By the time he’d reached the congested wharfs and warehouses of Limehouse and the entrance to the still-under construction Regent’s canal, he’d focused in on one man. And it became time for the hunted to become the hunter.
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