groping hands to another, giggling, and delving to retrieve coins pressed between their near-naked breasts.
“Let's be done with this.” With each tankard, his tongue became thicker, as did his brain. Best come to a final agreement while he was still conscious—particularly since the newcomer had refused any drink. “What d'you want of me?”
“Listen,” the second man ordered grimly. “You should know things have changed, become more urgent.”
“How so?” His fingers threatened to slide away from the table's edge.
“He's got his claws into someone else. Another female.”
“Who—”
“No matter who. If she remains, we'll use her to our own advantage. The more he has to lose, the better. He is already afraid. I have made certain of that.”
He felt disoriented, sullen. “So, what d'you want of me?”
“Your word.”
“On what?”
“I think you know. You will do as I have asked you to do. No questions. No changing your mind, regardless of what happens. You're my man to the end.”
“Promised you as much already.” He raised a wavering hand and stirred the brew in his tankard with one long finger. “That whore's s-son robbed me.”
“He robbed us both. He's got to be made to pay.”
“S'right.” His head grew too heavy. “Tormented as we've been tormented. And I'm tired of waiting.”
“The wait is all but over. The time for action is upon us. All you need do is listen a little longer for my word. Be vigilant. Be ready. Give me your hand on it and we'll never speak each other's names or meet again.”
Their fingers touched, passed over palms, pressed briefly and withdrew.
If the eyes were the mirror of the soul, they were strangers in spirit. Strangers with a single wish—satisfaction—and the greater the cost to Struan, Viscount Hunsingore, the better.
By the time Struan rode into the stable yard at the lodge night had fallen. After leaving Arran and Calum to their bickering over what he should do with his life, he'd spent the afternoon going about the estates with Caleb Murray. Then he'd visited tenants, particularly Robert Mercer, whose help in recent weeks had been invaluable.
After the arrival of the first letter, and at Struan's request, Robert had recruited a band of loyal men to watch over Ella and Max while they wandered free during the daylight hours. Struan had needed only to say that he feared an old enemy. It had been Robert's idea that the children should spend their nights where none would think to look for them—in the tiny cottage he shared with Gael and their two little ones.
A boy Struan recognized from the castle stables ran out to catch the horse's bridle and hold the animal steady while Struan dismounted.
Deeply disturbed by the idea of so many knowing where he was living, he nodded to the boy and began drawing off his gloves as he approached the kitchens. Habit kept him entering by that route and he saw no reason to alter the routine. With luck his enemy might have no knowledge of the changes that had taken place here in the past few days.
Struan went into the kitchens—gleaming now in the light of freshly tended candle brackets. Pots and pans hung in resplendent brilliance before the great hearth where fresh venison had once turned upon the spit. The table and draining boards had been scrubbed white and the flagstones still smelled of the turpentine, soap, and pipe clay with which they'd been rendered to a pale shine.
All very appropriate. And all very dangerous.
In the wake of Justine's whirlwind efforts, Ella and Max were now permanently in residence. Not a comfortable thought. At least he'd been able to arrange, without difficulty, for a watch upon the lodge around the clock.
He entered the curving passageway leading up to the main floor of the building and took a flight of stairs two at a time. There had been no further letters since the one he'd received on the night of Justine's arrival.
That fact should bring him comfort.
It made his skin
“Let's be done with this.” With each tankard, his tongue became thicker, as did his brain. Best come to a final agreement while he was still conscious—particularly since the newcomer had refused any drink. “What d'you want of me?”
“Listen,” the second man ordered grimly. “You should know things have changed, become more urgent.”
“How so?” His fingers threatened to slide away from the table's edge.
“He's got his claws into someone else. Another female.”
“Who—”
“No matter who. If she remains, we'll use her to our own advantage. The more he has to lose, the better. He is already afraid. I have made certain of that.”
He felt disoriented, sullen. “So, what d'you want of me?”
“Your word.”
“On what?”
“I think you know. You will do as I have asked you to do. No questions. No changing your mind, regardless of what happens. You're my man to the end.”
“Promised you as much already.” He raised a wavering hand and stirred the brew in his tankard with one long finger. “That whore's s-son robbed me.”
“He robbed us both. He's got to be made to pay.”
“S'right.” His head grew too heavy. “Tormented as we've been tormented. And I'm tired of waiting.”
“The wait is all but over. The time for action is upon us. All you need do is listen a little longer for my word. Be vigilant. Be ready. Give me your hand on it and we'll never speak each other's names or meet again.”
Their fingers touched, passed over palms, pressed briefly and withdrew.
If the eyes were the mirror of the soul, they were strangers in spirit. Strangers with a single wish—satisfaction—and the greater the cost to Struan, Viscount Hunsingore, the better.
By the time Struan rode into the stable yard at the lodge night had fallen. After leaving Arran and Calum to their bickering over what he should do with his life, he'd spent the afternoon going about the estates with Caleb Murray. Then he'd visited tenants, particularly Robert Mercer, whose help in recent weeks had been invaluable.
After the arrival of the first letter, and at Struan's request, Robert had recruited a band of loyal men to watch over Ella and Max while they wandered free during the daylight hours. Struan had needed only to say that he feared an old enemy. It had been Robert's idea that the children should spend their nights where none would think to look for them—in the tiny cottage he shared with Gael and their two little ones.
A boy Struan recognized from the castle stables ran out to catch the horse's bridle and hold the animal steady while Struan dismounted.
Deeply disturbed by the idea of so many knowing where he was living, he nodded to the boy and began drawing off his gloves as he approached the kitchens. Habit kept him entering by that route and he saw no reason to alter the routine. With luck his enemy might have no knowledge of the changes that had taken place here in the past few days.
Struan went into the kitchens—gleaming now in the light of freshly tended candle brackets. Pots and pans hung in resplendent brilliance before the great hearth where fresh venison had once turned upon the spit. The table and draining boards had been scrubbed white and the flagstones still smelled of the turpentine, soap, and pipe clay with which they'd been rendered to a pale shine.
All very appropriate. And all very dangerous.
In the wake of Justine's whirlwind efforts, Ella and Max were now permanently in residence. Not a comfortable thought. At least he'd been able to arrange, without difficulty, for a watch upon the lodge around the clock.
He entered the curving passageway leading up to the main floor of the building and took a flight of stairs two at a time. There had been no further letters since the one he'd received on the night of Justine's arrival.
That fact should bring him comfort.
It made his skin
Similar Books
