“But we’re miles from Edinburgh. Why not take their cargo straight there?”
“Because of the advantages of coming here instead.”
“What advantages?”
Gerald looked at her as if she was stupid. “The tax advantages, of course.”
Molly stared at him as his words sank in. Then all of a sudden, everything fell into place: the hidden cove, the number of ships, the prosperity of the place, despite its location.
“You’re smugglers!” she burst out.
Gerald stopped peeling his apple and glared at her. “Now that’s a dangerous word,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “That’s the kind of word that could get a person hanged. We prefer the term ‘couriers’“
Molly swallowed. Why had Conall brought her here? Was he a smuggler too? She thought back to everything he’d told her—which wasn’t much. He’d said he was on ‘business’ and she’d been so caught up in shock that she hadn’t really stopped to wonder what kind of man he was.
Oh, God.
To distract herself from her sudden unease, she pointed at the large vessel. “How will it get out? It’s too big to fit through the inlet.”
“No, it isnae. It’s easier getting out than getting in,” Gerald replied. “The current will be with them and they’ll have enough room for her to slip through without scraping any rocks.” He looked up at the sky thoughtfully. “Although they’ll probably need to wait till high tide tonight to be sure.”
Molly nodded slowly. Her eyes fell on the boat tied up at the end of the pier—Conall’s boat that looked so much like her ownSelkiethat it sent a jolt right through her. So. It was easier navigating out of the inlet than getting in, was it? Easy enough for one person maybe? Especially if that one person had been sailing all her life and was desperate enough to try it?
“What time is high tide?”
“Around midnight or just before, I reckon.”
Right. Midnight. She didn’t have a watch, but from the angle of the sun she reckoned that was about five hours away. She only had five more hours to wait.
And then she could make her escape.
***
CONALL LOOKED UP SHARPLYas the door opened, putting down his book as Gerald stomped into the Trading House, quickly followed by Molly.
“Ah! Ye see, my lady,” Gerald said to her with a grin. “Ye have a welcoming party waiting for ye.” He turned to Conall. “I bring yer lady back to ye, my lord.”
Conall ignored him, focusing instead on Molly. The sea breeze had tousled her hair, making it a riot of red-brown waves, and her cheeks had turned rosy. The sight of her sent a thrill right through him.
“Thank you for showing me around,” Molly said to Gerald. “It was...informative.”
“A pleasure, my lady.” He gave them both another mocking bow and then swaggered off to the bar.
Molly frowned after him. “Is he doing it just to annoy me? He keeps calling me my lady. I asked him not to.”
“Dinna worry about it,” Conall replied. “It’s aimed at me, not ye. Gerald’s idea of a jest.”
Her nose wrinkled in thought. “When we first arrived, Fiona called you Lord Sinclair. Why?”
“No reason,” Conall replied, giving Gerald a murderous look. “Just a jape. And a bad one. Come and get warm.”
He returned to his table and Molly sat down on the bench opposite him, tucking her wayward hair behind her ears.
“Is Fiona not with you?”
“Nay, she has business to attend to.”
“Oh. Business. Right. That’s one word for it.”
