Devils Highlander (Clan MacAlpin 1)
One struck her as oddly familiar.
She crept to the doorway, peeking in. The room looked like a small solar, empty now but for two men speaking in earnest.
Marjorie furrowed her brow, not believing her eyes.
A man was speaking furtively with the bailie's butler. The butler reached under his coat to a coin purse tied at his waist. There was the clink of coins as money exchanged hands. The second man took the money, tilting his head as he readjusted his jacket, and the candlelight caught his cheek, illuminating it. Illuminating his perfecdy combed hair to a fine sheen.
Marjorie's gorge rose.
Betrayal speared her. And then fear, quick on its heels. She and Cormac needed to get out of there before they were recognized.
Because there in the solar was the last man she ever imagined she'd see.
Chapter 20
“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 buder. 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 buder 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. ”