Chapter 2
Evan Campbell sauntered up the path towards this God-forsaken hole’s only inn, whistling a merry tune. To anyone watching he would appear relaxed, without a care in the world, enjoying the late season sunshine and the breeze coming in off the sea.
But appearances can be deceptive.
In truth, his eyes darted everywhere, scanning the alley that ran down the side of the inn, noting the two lads sitting on the wall tying a line to their fishing rods, counting the number of patrons that left the inn and their appearance.
When he reached the rickety stone-and-timber building, instead of entering through the front door, he ducked down the alley, wrinkling his nose at the smell of piss and refuse, and moved swiftly along it, taking note of its length and where it led.
Round the back was a kitchen garden where the proprietor grew the few vegetables that could withstand this harsh sea-climate and a few scraggly hens picked through the rows. The back door of the inn gave out onto the kitchen garden, and a narrow, zigzag path wove its way from the garden and down the steep hillside upon which the inn perched.
Good. It would provide a means of escape in a pinch.
Satisfied, Evan made his way back through the stinking alley and emerged at the front of the inn. The two lads had gotten the line attached and now appeared to be arguing about whatto use for bait. Other than those two, the approach to the inn was empty. From here, he had a clear line of sight down to the harbor and the fishing boats and skiffs that filled the wharves. He glanced at the sky. Almost time. He’d better get in position.
Pulling on a nonchalant air, he strode up to the door, pushed it open, and made his way inside. The common room was large and dingy, with benches for seats and half-barrels for tables, with rushes on the floor to soak up the mess that its patrons left every night. The bunches of lavender and other herbs hanging from the ceiling couldn’t quite mask the scent of spilled ale and sweat.
Evan fought the urge to wrinkle his nose. He made his way over to the bar and leaned on it. A tired-looking serving lass stood behind, cleaning a pottery tankard.
“What can I get ye?”
Evan put on his most charming grin. “A smile from ye is all a man could ever want.”
The lass rolled her eyes, unimpressed. “I’m fresh out of smiles but I can get ye an ale,” she said.
She was a pretty one, with her plump curves and rosy cheeks, and on another occasion Evan might have persisted with the flattery to see where it might get him. But today he was here for other business.
“It’s a poor substitute, but an ale served from yer fair hands will have to keep me going, I suppose,” he said with mock disappointment.
She rolled her eyes again, dipped the pottery tankard into a barrel behind her, and handed it over to him. Evan took it with a nod, flicked a coin in her direction, and made his way over to one of the benches, placing his tankard on the half-barrel table.
He lowered himself onto the bench, which creaked as he set his weight, and then stretched out his long legs. He scanned the room. Not many patrons at this time of day, which was good.Fewer eyes to mark him. He’d made sure to position himself with a clear view of the main door, but also close enough to the back that he could get out to the kitchen garden if everything went sour. In his line of work, it was important to have escape routes.
He took a sip of the beer. It was warm and sour, and probably only fit to be used to clean the privies, but he swallowed it down anyway. He glanced at the door, feeling his impatience rise. Waiting had never been one of his strong points.
“My, ye will burn a hole in the wood if ye keep staring at that door any longer.”
Evan jumped at the sudden voice, one hand going instinctively to the handle of one of the many daggers strapped beneath his clothes. But he relaxed when he saw that the person addressing him was just an old woman.
Evan glanced behind her, wondering where she’d come from. It was a rare person who could sneak up on him. Annoyed at himself for his lapse, he smiled. “My apologies, madam, I didnae see ye there. Is there something I can help ye with?”
To his surprise—and mild irritation—she lowered herself onto the bench opposite him, then reached out and took hold of his tankard. Raising it to her lips, she took several deep swallows before plonking it back onto the table with a sigh.
“Ah, that hits the spot, my lad. Although I think I would have preferred whisky.”
Evan glanced around for the serving lass, hoping she would know this woman and be able to extricate her from his presence, but the girl had disappeared. Bloody hell. He glanced at the door again. His associates would be arriving any minute. He had to get rid of her.
“If ye would excuse me, madam, I have important business to attend to—”
The old woman cut him off with a loud guffaw. “I’m sure ye do, lad! After all, dinna we all think our business is important? Otherwise, why would we bother to do it?”
His glaze flicked to the door. Just his luck to be accosted by some eccentric elder right when he needed it the least. How could he get rid of her? “Are ye waiting for someone?” he asked.
“I was,” she replied airily. “But he’s arrived now.”
She fixed Evan with a piercing gaze, and he noticed how dark her eyes were. They glittered like black pebbles that had been shaped and polished by the waves of the sea. He couldn’t put an accurate age to her. Although wrinkles creased her face like lines drawn on a map, her mischievous grin made her look far younger, and her eyes sparkled with an amused intelligence.
“Ye are the one I’ve been waiting for, Evan Campbell.”
