Return of the Scot: The Scots of Honor Series

by Knight, Eliza

  “Who made the accusation? If ye’ve a right to search, I’ve a right to know who would falsely accuse me and slander my company.” Jaime stood her ground and wasn’t going to be cowed by a man of the law, even if he was in the correct.

  “I’m afraid that’s confidential.”

  “That’s shite,” the duke said with a sneer at the magistrate. “Give me the name, or I’ll have your job.”

  The magistrate swallowed hard, his cheeks turning a ruddy color. “I do apologize, Your Grace, but it was anonymous. We’re no’ certain. It was a letter we received from an eyewitness.”

  “Who would want to destroy me like this?” Jaime asked, racking her brain. Certainly, plenty of other shipping companies would consider her a rival, but she was on good enough terms with the other companies that she believed they wouldn’t sabatoge her. None of them would stoop so low as to have her name and reputation dragged through the mud, for fear of retribution on their own business. Unless they felt certain that they’d not get caught. That was a possibility, she supposed, and she couldn’t rule it out. Otherwise, she had no enemies. No one she could think of that would try to destroy her like this.

  “Well, ye’re welcome to go and have a look, but ye’ll no’ find whatever it is ye think ye’re searching for. I run an upstanding enterprise, sir. My laborers are hard workers and good men. My books are clean, and our cargo is only top-notch—and legal.”

  “I believe ye, miss,” the magistrate said. “We’ve never had trouble with ye before, but I have to take tips like this seriously, else I’ll lose my job.”

  “Ye may yet,” the duke warned.

  “Please, Your Grace, I swear to ye, I know nothing of whoever made the claim. And I can promise when I find out, I’ll come to ye straight away.”

  “Why no’ come to me?” Jaime asked, exasperated. “’Tis my company.”

  “Right, miss. Right ye are. I will.”

  They followed the magistrate and his deputies outside and down to the docks, where Emilia was startled by their approach, as she was flirting with one of the sailors on the Shanna.

  “What’s happening?” her clerk asked, hurrying to comfort Jaime.

  “A search for contraband,” Jaime said. “A bogus claim and a waste of time.”

  The ships were searched one by one until finally, the magistrate and his men decided there was nothing to the accusation and apologized for having disrupted her day.

  “Ye be sure to get me the information I want,” Lorne warned the magistrate as he and his deputies departed.

  “I will, Your Grace.” The wharf official tipped his hat, then he and his men were off, fading from view but not from mind.

  “This could ruin me,” Jaime said. “Even a minor accusation like this is enough to set tongues wagging and make my clients wary.”

  Lorne shook his head. “They’ll think it rubbish, lass. And I can promise ye I’ll do everything in my power to find out who was behind it. Ye have my word.”

  11

  “Malcolm, I was just going to send ye a note.” Lorne walked into his drawing room to find his cousin lounging in a chair reading the paper, an unlit cigar between his fingers.

  Malcolm snapped the paper closed, tossed it on a side table, tucked the cigar into his pocket and stood. “Mungo said ye were out, but I did no’ want to take the chance of missing ye.”

  “I hope ye were no’ waiting long.” Lorne embraced his cousin in a manly hug with plenty of mighty slaps to the back. It felt so good to be able to do something so normal again.

  “No’ at all.”

  “Can I get ye something? Tea? Whisky?”

  Malcolm chuckled. “I’m fine, but ye might want a dram. I’ve come with news about Gille.”

  Lorne motioned for his cousin to sit back down while he went to the sideboard to pour himself three-fingers. “What did ye find out?”

  “I met with the solicitor Gille hired for the sale of the castle. Matter of fact, do pour me one, too, cousin.”

  “Aye.” Lorne filled another cup and then brought it over, too agitated to sit. They both took long sips, and finally, he said, “Do go on.”

  “The solicitor, a Mr. Corbett, did no’ want to give me any information, but I stalked his office until he left and then broke in.” When Lorne gaped at him, Malcolm grinned with satisfaction. “No’ to worry, I did no’ get caught. The information I’m giving ye is illegally obtained but seemed necessary.”

  “Ye took many risks to get me what I asked for.”

  “Worth it. Besides, I need to hone my skills continually.”

  Lorne chuckled. Though he wasn’t privy to all his cousin’s day-to-day activities, he knew that most of what he was employed to do by the War Office was of a secret nature.

  After another sip of his whisky, Malcolm said, “Gille booked passage for himself to Ireland, along with his wife.”

  Lorne paused, drink halfway to his lips. “Wife? Who the hell did he marry? Did anyone know he’d wed? No one told me.”

  “No one knew. Trust me, all society would have exploded like Mt. Vesuvius if they’d known your brother eloped.”

  Lorne swirled the whisky around in his mouth. He’d been gone too long and knew next to nothing about his brother now. “Who is his bride?”

  “I’ve got someone pulling the records, looking for the license.”

  “If there is one. Maybe it’s a farce.”

  “Could be.”

  “Was his wife named on the ship’s passenger list? What about the lad?”

  Malcolm shook his head. “Nay, her name was not listed, and there is no mention of a child, irritating as that is.”

  Lorne walked to the sideboard, realizing he was going to need another splash of anti-lunacy. “What the bloody hell could he be doing in Ireland?” But the idea banged around in his skull louder than the bells in a church tower—if he were in said tower. “Shanna.”

  Malcolm stood up at that and joined Lorne at the sideboard, his face creased in worry. “What are ye thinking?”

  “Shanna had a parcel of land in Ireland, a modest ten pounds castle on top.” Back in the fifteenth century, Henry VI of England and Lord of Ireland at the time had granted his subjects ten pounds if they constructed tower keeps as a defensive measure to protect their lands. Passed down through the centuries, one of these small castles now belonged to the Andrewson family. “Since the two of them went missing at the same time, how likely is it they’ve gone there together? The only thing that boggles the mind is the child.”

  “Aye, I can no’ imagine she would leave him behind. And would she have married Gille?”

  Lorne set down his refreshed glass and rubbed his temples. “I do no’ bloody know. It’s all deuced aggravating.”

  “Aye. I plan on interviewing the crew of the ship today. Thought ye might want to join me.”

  “I’d love nothing more.” And he hoped they’d get some answers.

  The two of them headed out in Malcolm’s waiting carriage for the docks at Leith. The Andrewson ships loomed larger than most but were farther down the wharf than the Dueling Brothers, a ship’s name whose irony was not lost on Lorne in the least. It made him sick to his stomach. Gille had undoubtedly chosen this ship for his passage to Ireland for the moniker.

  “Bastard,” Malcolm muttered under his breath.

  “He really is,” Lorne agreed.

  They alighted from the carriage and walked toward the ship. The crew was making repairs and cleaning, perhaps planning for the next passenger voyage.

  “Ho, there,” Malcolm called to a man who looked to be in charge, given he was just standing around pointing rather than doing any work.

  The disgruntled man glanced down at them from his place on the deck, crossing his meaty arms over his even meatier chest. “What do ye want, guvnor?”

  “We’ve some questions about two passengers.” How Malcolm maintained his cool was beyond Lorne, who wanted to shake the captain for being difficult.

  “I’m no’
in the habit of answering questions,” the captain replied with more than a touch of attitude.

  Lorne pulled two coins from the hidden pocket in his doublet. “Does this help loosen your tongue?”

  The man’s eyes widened, and he nodded. “I just remembered that I’ve got a lot to say. Come on up.”

  They made their way up the gangplank, mindful to stay out of the crews’ way. When they reached the resentful captain, he eyed them up and down with obvious disdain.

  “Name’s Miles. I’m the captain of the Dueling Brothers.”

  Lorne passed him one of the coins. “The other one’s for ye when we get the answers we seek.”

  Miles frowned but nodded anyway, biting the coin to be sure it was real. “What can I help ye with?”

  “We’re looking for information on a passenger, Gille Gordon. Traveled aboard the ship to Ireland about two weeks ago.”

  “Oh, the young lord, aye. He was here. His wife was a pretty wee thing.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Can no’ recall.” But the expression on his face said otherwise, as did his pointful look at the coin still waiting in Lorne’s hand.

  “Ye must no’ want the other coin then.” Lorne made a move to tuck it into a pocket, which suddenly got the man speaking.

  “Sherry? Shelly? Something like that?”

  “Shanna?” Malcolm drawled out.

  “Aye, that was it.”

  Lorne’s gut tightened. “Did they have anyone else with them?”

  “Aye, a wee porter.”

  “How wee?” Lorne narrowed his eyes.

  “About yay high.” The Captain held his hand mid-chest. “Looked a bit scared he did.”

  “Why was he no’ listed on the passenger list?”

  Miles shrugged. “No’ a passenger.”

  “Did he set sail with them?” Malcolm asked.

  “Aye.”

  Lorne frowned. “Then he was a passenger.”

  “We do no’ count the help.” Ballocks, but the captain was stubborn.

  Lorne gritted his teeth in frustration. It was looking a lot like Shanna and Gille had taken the child with them. “What was the lad’s name?”

  “That I do no’ know. They never addressed him, and he did no’ speak. Once they had their cabin, the lad did no’ come out of it.”

  “But he did debark with them in Ireland?” Malcolm clarified.

  “Aye.”

  Thank goodness for Malcolm because Lorne was ready to wrap his fingers around the man’s neck. It was like pulling teeth to get him to give them any information.

  “Is there anything else ye can tell us about the three of them?” Malcolm’s tone was steady.

  “For newlyweds, they did no’ seem all that happy with each other. Kept bickering, and barely a smile passed between them.” Miles scratched his nose, perhaps thought about picking it, too.

  “Anything else?” Malcolm urged.

  “Aye. The man had a lot of coin. Paid us all to keep quiet.”

  “And yet here ye are, speaking to us.” Lorne was surprised his voice came out jovial.

  The captain grinned. “Got a family to feed. He did no’ pay me enough.”

  Malcolm nodded. “We’ll be back if we have more questions.”

  “Why do ye no’ give me your names in case memory serves?”

  “No.” Lorne was adamant about it. There was no way he wanted the captain to be able to tell Gille about their questions. “We’ll come back if we have need to speak to ye.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Lorne handed the captain the other coin, and then he and Malcolm made their way off the ship. Down the gangway they went, with Lorne’s gaze drifting down the wharf, wondering if Jaime had remained in her office or if she’d left already. He had half a mind to walk down there and find out. But she’d made it clear this morning she wanted distance, and besides, he didn’t want to disappoint her with how little he knew. Aye, they’d discovered the direction in which Gille had run off with Shanna and the lad, but they didn’t know anything else. It was best to wait and approach her when he could tell her something concrete.

  There was also the fact that if he did see her, he would want to kiss her again. Badly.

  Blimey…

  “Care for a boxing match?” he asked Malcolm.

  “I thought ye’d never ask.”

  * * *

  Jaime’s head pounded after visiting the very last shipping company to share that side of the quay with her. She wasn’t certain if her head ached from the worry of the accusation or the fact that she’d seen Lorne handing coins to one of the captains, the Dueling Brothers.

  She’d had her coachman stop long enough for her to confirm it was him. Even if he were trying to be inconspicuous, the man could not hide. Along with his companion, the duke descended from the ship, looking as if he owned every vessel in the wharf, and then climbed into a carriage with a crest slightly different than his own but also quite regal.

  “Follow that carriage.”

  “Aye, miss.”

  They wove their way through the quickly crowding streets of Edinburgh until they reached Sutherland Gate, where the previously seen carriage had gone through the access to the stable.

  “Circle around. I’ll be back,” she said, alighting from the carriage without waiting for her groom to put down the stool.

  Acutely aware of what had happened the last time she visited the duke at his place of residence, she still managed to hold her head high as she approached the door, lifted the unicorn and let it fall with a resounding thud.

  Jaime didn’t turn around, though she could feel eyes on her, watching her. Waiting for her to be disgraced again. Thank goodness she’d not gone home first, or else Aunt Beatrice would have made certain she didn’t leave the house without a proper chaperone, and the last place they would have gone was to the Sutherland manse.

  The door swung open, revealing Mungo there, looking at her with something akin to amusement.

  “Did ye come to fight?” he asked.

  She cocked her head to the side to stare at the man. “Well, I had hoped to have a civil conversation with His Grace for once.”

  “I’ve heard that before.” Mungo beckoned her inside and then left her in the grand entrance, slipping into the shadows.

  What the devil had he meant this time? The butler was full of riddles. But she didn’t have time or the current brain capacity to decipher the puzzle of his words. Seconds later, Lorne appeared, sweat slicking his brown hair, his shirtsleeves rolled up to expose the strong, corded muscles of his arms. Was there anything more delicious than a man’s forearms? She was certain right then and there that the answer was no.

  “Oh,” she breathed out, then clamped her mouth closed, embarrassed she’d said anything at all.

  “Oh, indeed.” He grinned with an air of mischief that made heat flood her cheeks. “What can I do for ye, Miss Andrewson?”

  So many things… Naughty, wicked things. “I saw ye today. At the docks.”

  “Why did ye no’ say hello?”

  That was a good question. “Because it was more fun to spy on ye. What were ye doing there?”

  “Questioning captains and crews.”

  “About?”

  Lorne grinned and crossed his arms, emphasizing his muscular physique. “Am I under investigation, Miss Andrewson?”

  “Maybe.”

  His grin widened, and his gaze roved over her from head to toe, heating her in all the places a man like him shouldn’t be allowed to touch.

  “I like it when ye investigate me.” The duke’s tone was not playful anymore but rather…sensual.

  Jaime waved away his wicked insinuation in hopes of fending off her desire. “Truly, Your Grace, ye are a pain in the—”

  “Och, I can see we’ve been spending entirely too much time together. Ye’ve picked up my vulgar tongue.” The way he drawled out the last word only had her remembering what he could do with that tongue.

 
“I’ll ask again, what were ye doing?” she demanded, trying to be authoritative, but the way her gaze kept landing on his mouth, she was undermining herself.

  “I’ll fight ye for the challenge,” he dared.

  Fight? There was that word again. “Honestly, duke, I’m exhausted.”

  He frowned, disappointed, letting out a sigh. “And here I thought ye’d come all this way for a little fun.”

  “What’s taking ye so long?” Another sweaty man came from the corridor behind the grand staircase and stopped when he saw her. “Ah, I see.”

  “Cousin, Miss Andrewson would like to challenge me.”

  “I would no’,” she countered, crossing her arms over her chest, and backing toward the door.

  “This, I’d like to see.” His cousin grinned, looking nearly as handsome as Lorne. “I’ve never seen a female pugilist.”

  Ah, so they were discussing boxing. Goodness, but if he expected her to raise her fists? Nay. Just nay.

  “I’m Malcolm Gordon, Earl of Dunlyon, by the way.” The newcomer bowed. She thought she recognized him from the ball and today from the docks.

  She affected a curtsey. “I’m Jaime Andrewson, daughter of the late Viscount Whittleburn.”

  “A pleasure to meet ye, miss, and my condolences on your father.”

  “Thank ye.” She shook her head. “Now I confess I’m no’ a pugilist, and so must be going.”

  Lorne made a dissatisfied noise. “Ye mean to tell me ye’ve no’ learned a thing or two at the docks?”

  She straightened her shoulders. “Well, as a matter of fact, I have learned some things.”

  “Show me, then. Come on, Miss Andrewson, I dare ye.”

  Jaime pursed her lips. “If I show ye, then ye’ll tell me what ye were doing at the docks today?”

  “Aye.”

  “Fine. Lead the way.” She waved her arms forward, the same way she shooed away the birds who flocked the ship decks.

  Lorne took her hand in his, and they followed Malcolm back to his gymnasium. It was much brighter inside than it had been the last time she’d been in there. But still, the sight of the pugilist ring, the fencing planche, and the various dumbbells scattered around had her face heating and her mind swinging back to the night of the ball when he’d kissed her. Hovered over her. Delicately touched her ankle. Oh, but she could swoon.