Susan Johnson by Outlaw (Carre) Page B

that should you harm me.”
    “I’d definitely listen to the lady, Johnnie,” Robbie cheerfully interposed, amiable and good-humored, detached from the dramatic emotion. “She appears to have the situation under control without your accomplished sword arm.”
    “This Redmond is competent?” Johnnie inquired, his voice silky.
    “Don’t toy with me, Ravensby.”
    He’d not heard that uncompromising tone of voice before in the week of her detention, and he knew at that moment how she’d survived eight years of marriage to Hotchane Graham—a man not known for his benevolence.
    “As you wish, Lady Graham,” he replied, all fine breeding and deference. “Your servant, ma’am.” He bowed gracefully from his saddle. “And with your assent,” he mockingly said to Godfrey, whose violent disposition had been summarily tempered by the graphic threat of Hotchane’s posthumous orders, “my brother and I will take our leave.”
    With cheeky boldness Robbie unwound his reins from Godfrey’s saddle pommel, looked at his brother for sanction, and at an infinitesimal nod from Johnnie swung his mount away from his Harbottle warder.
    A fraction of a second later, waiting only long enough to see his brother free, without a word to Godfrey or Elizabeth, Johnnie nudged his black into a turn, kicked his horse into a canter, and the brothers Carre began their journey home.
    The exchange was over.
    The brief acquaintance of Elizabeth Graham and the Laird of Ravensby was over.
    In that moment the sun broke through the threatening clouds in shafts of glorious golden light, like glittering fingers from heaven, bestowing blessing on the consummated trade.



CHAPTER 9
    The celebration of Robbie’s return lasted three festive, sleepless, roisterous days, and would have continued longer had it not been interrupted by a messenger from Berwick with news of their long-overdue ship from Macao. The
Raven
was currently anchored off Berwick, waiting to be offloaded with luxuries from the East.
    “Your homecoming brought us luck,” Johnnie cheerfully declared, raising himself into a more upright position from his indolent sprawl in a heavily carved armchair at the head of the long dining table, the polished cherry wood littered with glasses and half-emptied bottles. He lifted his tumbler in theatrical salute to his brother and, waving a footman forward with a fresh bottle, said to their messenger of good cheer, “Sit down, Jervis, have a drink and fill us in. Robbie is back in the fold, which is why we’re all celebrating,” he went on in a lazy drawl, sweeping his arms expansively around the table to include all the Carre clansmen. “That ass Godfrey is licking his tarnished reputation in Harbottle Castle. England is currently being royally fucked overthe funds for the army, and now that the
Raven
has returned after we thought you lost these three months past, all is infinitely right with the world.”
    “I’ll drink to that,” a rather drunken voice from the far end of the table remarked.
    “Hear, hear, and to the Carre sword arm,” another celebrant vigorously added.
    A dozen men stood, a dozen voices thundered as one, glasses were emptied, chairs reclaimed, and Johnnie’s smile of contentment re-echoed on each man’s face.
    “But then I’ve always brought you luck,” Robbie facetiously noted, his grin evidence not only to the good news from Berwick but to three days of imbibing the best wines from Goldiehouses’s cellars.
    “For once I’m a believer,” Johnnie replied, pouring Jervis another drink. “Some of your other escapades haven’t been as profitable. This last one could have been a financial disaster.”
    “Godfrey’s men were over the border, Johnnie, by five miles or more. It’s God’s truth. I’d not ride alone into Sassenach land.”
    “Even for Emily Lancaster?”
    “Not since last Parliament session—my word on it.”
    They’d gone over the minutiae of Robbie’s capture a dozen times since his