“Never mind.” MacEwen pulled a bottle from one of his many pockets, took down two cups and poured. “Who made the stew, then?”
“I did.”
“Good. I’d not trust one made by someone from this shire. His lordship sends his steward all the way from Cransdall to look over this wee house. Kincaid comes himself sometimes. Boyd and I have been here at times, checking for squatters.”
They’d found loads of smuggled goods piled in the stables: casks of brandy, reams of silk cloth, and lace straight from Holland. Fox had heard the stories already when he’d first met Boyd and Fergus in Rotterdam.
MacEwen grinned at him, reading his mind, probably. Tough and strong, he’d be a good man in a fight. Shaldon trusted him, and Kincaid. He, on the other hand, was not well-acquainted, nor did he know why MacEwen was here.
Unless he’d come after Perry.
His protective instincts kicked in. Whether she realized it or not, the girl’s lust for him had matched his own for her, which was probably why she hated him.
He watched MacEwen stirring the stew, belting back shots of whisky. Handsome, tough and tall, he was a bit taller than Perry. She would like that.
Blast it. Perry was having a moment of freedom. If anyone took her back to her father, it would be him, not some Scottish spy.
“I’ve information for you,” MacEwen said, “Gregory Carvelle was spotted in Rotterdam two weeks ago, waiting for a boat.”
“Two weeks ago? No boats other than fishermen arriving since then. The weather’s been bad or the coastal patrol has been lingering. No words of any cargo arriving either. What news from Scarborough?”
“None. The coastal boys have been making their presence known there.”
So, no news, more waiting. “I’ll work on my report tonight.” He needed to do the blasted encryption. “You can take it back to London with you in the morning.”
Without Perry. The girl would have a few more days of freedom.
But that left him alone to defend her, and this might be a very dangerous place very soon.
MacEwen raised one eyebrow. “I’ve not been in London these past months. My orders are to stay here with you, play the servant. Our man doesn’t know you or me. When he shows up here, I’ll take a message. We’ll have some others along as soon as Fat George gets his crown.”
It was Fox’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Such disrespect for your king.”
The other man snorted. “We Scots warmed up his majesty’s troops at Culloden. Got them good and comfortable and overconfident so you Americans could win your revolution a few years later.”
“We are allies then?”
“Aye and both of us working for Fat—” MacEwen’s gaze flew to the door and he shot to his feet. “What the—”
Fox took the kettle off the fire. “We have guests, MacEwen.”
“My lady.” MacEwen bowed, his face unreadable. Then Jenny walked in and his mouth went slack.
Holy hell, the man was about to drool over the maid. Fox swiped a hand on his face, squashing a smile. It just lacked this, it did.
“Jenny,” Fox said, “Fetch two cups and the tea and whatever biscuits you brought.”
