Page 30 of Devil’s Highlander (Clan MacAlpin #1)

“I say!” The bailie froze, hovering over the billiard table, his cue poised in midair. “Lord Brodie, you may want to tend to your wife,” he said with a nod toward the door.

Cormac looked, and his heart lurched to his throat. Marjorie stood trembling in the doorway. The hall’s dark shadows clung to her, making her wide eyes appear ghostly in the candlelight.

Forbes took his shot, and the balls clacked together and then thunked against the rails. “Seems like she’s taken a turn.”

“Aye.” Cormac handed his cue to one of the other men in the room and went to her at once. Her skin was clammy, and he chafed her arms, trembling and so delicate in his hands. “What’s happened?”

“’Tis the rumbullion, I’ll wager,” the man said with a knowing smile.

Forbes leaned against the table, taking a contemplative sip of whiskey. “She’s a delicate constitution that one.”

Cormac glanced back at the billiard table. He’d estimated he had only one more round of the deuced game before he could broach where one might acquire a smuggled boy from the Aberdeen docks.

“Cormac?” Marjorie’s voice cracked, and all thoughts of smugglers and slaves flew from his mind.

“If you’ll forgive us,” he said, even though he was halfway out the door already, his back to the bailie and company.

As they left, somebody mused, “ She’s off to Jamaica?” and was answered by a round of skeptical clucking.

“What is it, Ree? Are you ill? Did the women say something?” Cormac whisked her down the hall, practically carrying her as he went.

He wished he could simply sweep her into his arms, but they’d drawn enough attention to themselves already.

He saw the set to her jaw and realized it might be anger, not fear, that had her trembling so. “What’s happened?”

“We must go,” she said, coming to herself. She looked around frantically, tugging his arm to spur him on. “It’s Archie—he’s here. We must go, Cormac. Now, before he sees us.”

“Archie?” Cormac asked, confused.

“Yes,” she hissed, her face in a snarl. “He was taking”—she glanced around—“taking money . From the bailie’s manservant.”

“Archie,” he repeated, understanding dawning.

What business would the hallowed physician surgeon of Saint Machar have with Malcolm and Adele Forbes?

Marjorie had said Archie’s father was friendly with the bailie, but just how friendly did one have to be to mingle among this eccentric crowd, or worse, to have some reason for the bailie to pay him off?

He resumed his stride, supporting Marjorie with an arm at her back and one at her elbow. “Money? Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am certain—”

They reached the foyer, and their conversation ground to a halt at the sight of said butler. They requested their return carriage and finally were able to bid a stiff and hasty farewell.

“I saw it,” Marjorie said the instant the carriage door closed. “The butler dug something from his coin purse and gave it to Archie .” She paused for emphasis.

“Popinjays with their bloody purses,” he mumbled. “A real man would carry a sporran. I knew I didn’t trust the look of him.”

She glared. “Be serious, Cormac.”

“Och, calm yourself, Ree. We mustn’t make assumptions,” he said steadily, even as he was coming to the same conclusion. “There might well be another reason Archie was there.”

“What?” She scooted as far from him on the carriage bench as she could. “Another reason? I thought you despised Archie, and now all of a sudden you’re standing up for him?”

“I’m not standing up for him.” Cormac fought not to crack a smile at her vehemence. “I’m simply saying, perhaps we should find out all the facts before—”

“And to think he comes each week to work with the boys. He knows everything, about every one of them. Their health, their history.” She stared out the window, worrying her hands in her skirts. “If Archie is involved in nefarious goings-on . . .”

“Nefarious, is it? How are you so certain it’s as depraved as all that?” Sighing, Cormac sidled closer. Taking Marjorie’s chin in his hand, he turned her to face him. “Don’t forget. The slave trade is entirely legal. Sanctioned by Parliament, forbye.”

“So it is. But last I checked, parleying with smugglers and pirates is decidedly il legal.” The last thought seemed to break her, and her chin began to quiver. “I think we have to tell my uncle.”

Tears pooled in those vivid blue eyes, her face a sweet ruin. Dear, innocent Ree.

He had to get this Davie back for her. He couldn’t abide her tears. He knew, if pain shattered her heart for good, he’d not survive the sight. He needed to calm her, to remind her of their goal.

“Panic won’t help us. Think on it.” Putting his hands on her shoulders, Cormac swiveled Marjorie to face him. “Aye, Archie could be involved. But there’s naught we can do about it tonight. Our priority is to find Davie. Spoiling our disguise to confide in your uncle Humphrey won’t help matters.”

The carriage rolled to a stop outside their inn.

“Promise you won’t jump to conclusions. We’re close to finding the boy. If he’s alive, and if he’s in Scotland, I’ll find him for you.” He tenderly smudged the tears from her cheeks. “I will always help you; I swear it. But you must promise you’ll trust me.”

She was quiet for a moment, searching his eyes. He forced himself not to look away. Though it was Ree who was in need of solace, never had he felt so vulnerable.

“I trust you, Cormac,” she told him in the barest whisper.

And with those few words, a foreign sensation found purchase in his desolate heart. She needed him. Over all other men, Marjorie had chosen him . The feeling was heady.

All his years of warring, of scouting and killing in the shadows, could they actually be put to some good? Might he actually be able to find the boy, to help Marjorie?

Would it redeem him if he did?

He helped her down from the carriage, letting his hands rest overlong on her waist.

Marjorie looked up at him, a sort of distressed bewilderment replacing the ire wrinkling her brow. “I’d thought Davie’s kidnap was mere chance. Bad luck.”

“I told you to take your mind from it, Ree.” He guided her inside. “We will find him.”

“No, but Cormac, listen to me. If there is someone actually preying on the boys . . .” She shivered. “And if it’s Archie, I swear, I will stop him. I won’t let this happen again.”

“First we focus on Davie,” he said, ushering her up the inn stairs.

“But what of the other lads in the meantime? How can I keep them safe?”

He gave a comforting squeeze to her shoulders, then quickly unlocked their door. “There’s naught we can accomplish tonight.”

“Archie will still come round to Saint Machar. He was supposed to be helping.” Renewed indignation flushed her cheeks red. She tugged at her gown for breath. “The damned blackguard. I trusted him.”

She was growing riled again, and Cormac blamed it on that accursed foreign liquor. It had intoxicated her, rousing her with this wildly careening alarm.

By the time he settled them in their room, she was all swirling skirts and fisting hands. Her body quivered with fury, and she wriggled and plucked at her bodice. “But how in the world—?”

“You don’t help Davie when your head is going in other directions.” He needed to take her mind from it all. “It’s the drink, Ree. You must calm yourself.”

“I can’t calm myself. And it’s not the drink.” Reaching awkwardly behind her, she struggled with the ties of her gown, trying to loosen them. “Cormac, I can’t seem to—”

“Hush, lass.” He turned her away from him and slowly began to pick at the laces running up the back of her dress. “Catch your breath.”

“Catch my breath,” she grumbled. “I’ll tell you what I’ll catch. I’m going to catch that Archie and . . . and I’ll shove him up a chimney.”

Cormac worked at her laces, letting her rant.

He understood her state of mind all too well.

She was right—it wasn’t the drink that was the cause.

It was hard not to get swept away by a tide of outrage and dread.

Only through years of hardening his heart had he learned to master the tumult of feelings.

A baptism of blood and gunfire had taught him how to focus his mind utterly, how to numb himself to the chaos and despair all around.

He knew, though, if he were only to let go, if he let his own mind drift for but a moment, he’d invariably end up in a dark place. A guilty, anxious place filled with morbid imaginings. Aidan kidnapped, Aidan beaten, Aidan killed.

“I’ll find the smugglers, too, Cormac. If I have to go down to the docks myself, I swear I will find every last one of those pirates, and I will chain them up and send them away to a tropical isle.”

Concentrating only on the woman before him, he tucked his grim thoughts into the farthest corners of his mind and continued to pick at her laces. “I know you will, Ree.”

She jiggled her torso and shuddered in a breath as her bodice began to loosen.

“Those women, too. For the boys’ own good.

Can you imagine? I’ll send those horrible women away to live on an island for their own good, and I’ll send the smugglers, too, and see what those nice wives think about Highland stock then. ”

“So many ties,” he muttered. It was no wonder she couldn’t breathe; women’s clothing was preposterous. Just when he thought he was finished, another knot or another layer would appear. “How do you women manage it?”

Finally, her bodice sagged, and she took a huge and shuddering gulp of air. His muscles relaxed, his body easing when hers did.

Cormac’s eyes grazed up her spine, and his body quickened at once. He’d been so busy practicing his damned focus, paying mind only to the endless series of ties, he hadn’t realized her sleeves had slipped low and her gown gaped open at her back.

“You’ve got that big, long sword, Cormac.”

He coughed. Sword indeed.

“Aye,” he managed. Her back was laid bare before him. His eyes devoured the creamy length of naked skin, the elegant stretch of neck. He longed to sweep his hands down her, finding each bone and muscle with his thumbs and rubbing her cares away.

“You’ll fight them for me, right?”

“Of course, Ree,” he rasped. Even though there were no ties left to undo, he placed his hand at the small of her back. He longed to feel her naked flesh just where spine curved into bottom.

“What will you do when you get your hands on them?”

He couldn’t think about his hands anywhere but right where they were at that very moment. “I . . . I’ll . . .”

Her beautiful shoulders slumped. “Oh Cormac, tell me I didn’t make a hash of things yet again.”

A few long strands had spilled free from her knotted hair, and their light brown waves against the ivory of her skin mesmerized him. “Whatever can you mean, Ree?”

“Did you manage to arrange a meeting with Forbes, before I . . .” She visibly deflated.

“Hush.” How smooth those curls would be if stroked between his fingers, how delicate if they were to brush against his chest. “I’ve made the connection, and that’s enough. I’ve good reason to go meet Forbes at his office now.”

“I suppose he will want to know how your ailing wife is.” She straightened her back, sighing deeply. “We’ll find Davie, won’t we? We’re close to finding him?”

He traced the slope of her bare shoulders with his fingertip. “Aye, Ree.”

He drew in a sharp breath. His heart, his body—both knew.

There was only one thing in this world that could banish the darkness, all the rage and the fear, from both their minds.