Page 9 of The Scot Who Loved Me

His impatient huff was worthy of a dragon. “I’m no’ taking your money. It’s time you explain yourself. I’ve waited long enough.”

Her laugh was sharp. “Have you now?”

She marched on, her heels decisive clicks on stone.

Catching Anne at her doorstep was easy. Getting the slippery woman to spill her secrets was the greater task. He was glad the hour was late and the lane vacant. A passerby would think a madman was accosting the widow of Bermondsey Wall. With his shirt in tatters and hair unkempt, he was a fright. He was haranguing a woman who’d made it clear she didn’t want his services after all. That about-face was puzzling enough. Life held little value for him these days, but this was different. Anne’s appearance at Marshalsea shook him. Badly.

Her key poised to unlock the door, he stretched out an arm and blocked her.

“Eight years I don’t see you.Eight.You’ll no’ dismiss me like some errand boy.”

Her hot regard speared him. “Don’t you mean you dismissed me?”

A sane man might tuck tail and run. He considered it, until he caught a telltale sign: Anne’s thumb rubbing circles on her forefinger. She followed his sight line and jammed her hand into her cloak.

“My refusal,” he said. “I hurt you.”

“Not at all.”

Liar.She was nose-in-the-air proud, but truthbe told, he was in no rush to let down his guard either. The river’s tranquil hush and laughter from a distant tavern cooled their collective ire. This should be a simple, honest conversation despite the fact good deeds rarely happened at this hour. Harlots and housebreakers roamed late-night streets. What did that mean for him and Anne?

A patient man, he waited, his father’s voice in his head.No good decision was ever made after midnight.

“When I heard you were in Marshalsea...” Her speech broke and she averted her eyes. “I—I couldn’t bear the thought of you imprisoned again.”

He stared at nothing in particular, his shoulders sinking under the burden of damaged pride. No boy dreamt of going to prison, yet he’d been there. Twice.

After the war, the English had locked him away on a prison hulk with two hundred other common rebels. One year or so, it was, and each month, he’d endured the ritual of guards descending into the dank hold, a beaver hat filled with nineteen slips of white paper and one slip of black paper. Each month, twenty men took their turn, reaching into the hat. Being reckless, he’d stepped forward often. The prisoner who drew the black piece was tried and executed. Simple as that.

At first, he’d cravenly prayed for the white slip. Later, he’d cravenly prayed for the black slip.

One morning the guards called them all on deck, daylight scorching every prisoners’ eyes.Soldiers pointed the business end of their bayonets at him and the other rebels, telling them to seek shelter elsewhere.Shelter!As if rotting below deck was time spent on a pleasure barge. The Act of Indemnity had freed them. Left them as cast-off goods by the River Thames.

The same ancient waters tapped the wall outside Anne’s house, and his nape prickled.

She’d saidimprisoned again.

Did Anne know his whereabouts after Culloden? At the shed, she’d rubbed his arm and spoke of his working the docks.

He hadn’t said a word about the docks.

“There’s no harm in lettin’ me in for a wee bit of conversation and warmth.” He attempted a cordial smile. “My tackle is fair to freezin’.”

“Oh, Will...” she groaned.

His charm was rough at best, but it worked. A smile ghosted Anne’s mouth.

“I’ll let you in under two conditions. First—” she checked the road from whence they came “—you listen to what I have to say about a highland league—”

“A highland league? Are you mad? It’s—”

“Dangerous.”

“It’s sedition!” he whispered vehemently.

His peace of mind faltered under the weight of Anne’s firm defiance. Scotland’s loss had unhinged him. He knew that. He’d lived with despair and was prepared to stay a forgotten man. But the determination in Anne’s eyes was born of stark rebellion. He’d seen the same in his mirror before the Uprising.

Anger balled his right hand. He would pummelthe man who’d snared Anne, Aunt Maude, and Aunt Flora into a losing proposition.