She set her hand to the thick oaken door of the inn and pushed it open.
EVAN TOOK ANOTHER TASTEof his beer, eyeing his two associates. They shared a glance then Alec leaned back, folding his scarred hands over his chest. “Hand it over, then.”
Evan shook his head slowly, his smile never faltering. “That’s not how we do things, lads. Payment first, goods second. Surely ye ken the rules by now?”
David scowled, his ruined teeth flashing as he spat on the floorboards. “And ye know that thereareno rules in our line of work. We want to see the stuff before we hand over a single coin.”
The inn around them was quiet, with only a low murmur of conversation and the sour reek of ale. Evan knew better thanto draw too much attention—deals like this needed to be quick, quiet, and forgettable. He forced a light chuckle, spreading his hands.
“Do ye take me for a fool? I’ve only brought a sample with me. If I unloaded the whole cargo, I would have been seen. Then tongues would wag. None of us want that.”
Alec’s mouth twisted. “Maybe we take this ‘cargo’ from ye, then. Save ourselves the coin.”
Evan’s grin widened. “Ah, but if ye try that, I’ll be forced to make a scene. And we all know which of us has the quicker blade.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Best keep this pleasant, eh? The sample will show ye the quality of my wares.”
For a moment, no one moved. The air at the table grew tense as a drawn bowstring. Then David growled, fumbling at the pouch on his belt, and tossed a small leather bag onto the table. It landed with a satisfying jingle.
“Count it if ye like.”
Evan didn’t move for the bag, only raised a brow. “And risk insulting yer honor? Never. I’ll trust it’s all there. I know ye gentlemen wouldnae try to swindle me.” He laced his voice with just enough threat for them to know he was serious, even though the smile never left his face.
He reached inside his cloak, pulled out the object he’d hidden there, and placed it on the table between them.
“This, gentlemen, is the finest French brandy, fresh from the distilleries of Paris. Ye will have the aristocrats of Edinburgh falling over themselves to buy it and ye will triple yer investment. There are ten crates safely stashed along the coast.”
Alec and David glanced at each other and grinned. Just as David was about to reach for the bottle, the inn door banged open.
A woman stood framed in the doorway, cheeks flushed from the sea wind, hair whipped into a dark halo around her face. Mud clung to her strange dress, her coat was torn at the sleeve, and she carried herself with a breathless purpose.
“Excuse me!” she said, hurrying over to the serving lass who stood behind the bar looking surprised by this sudden interruption. “I’m looking for my cousin. Charlotte Douglas. Do you know her?”
“Canna say as I do,” the serving lass replied. She raised her voice and called to the rest of the patrons. “Anyone here know a Charlotte Douglas?”
The inn fell into baffled silence. Alec’s brow furrowed. David blinked. The locals muttered to one another, shaking their heads.
The woman’s shoulders slumped at the lack of recognition, but she lifted her chin stubbornly and pressed on. “Fine. What about her husband? Niall Campbell.”
The name slammed into Evan like a musket shot. His easy smile faltered just for a heartbeat—but long enough for his associates to notice.
“Campbell?” Alec said, his eyes narrowing. “Ye are a Campbell. Is this lass looking for an acquaintance of yers?”
“Hardly,” Evan replied. “I’ve never set eyes on her before. Look, are we going to get this deal done or what?”
But Alec wasn’t to be put off. He swiveled in his chair and called to the lass, “Ye are looking for a Campbell? I know someone who might be able to help ye. Why dinna ye come over here so we can discuss it?”
RUBY TURNED SHARPLYas the man addressed her. Three men sat at a table near the back. Two were rough-looking—one wiry with a tangled black beard and a scar that carved its wayup his cheek, the other with thinning red hair. The third was altogether different.
He lounged against the bench as though the entire room were his to command, long legs stretched out in front of him. Sandy-colored curls caught the glow of the firelight, framing a sharp-boned, handsome face, his mouth quirked in a smile that never reached his eyes. And those eyes—storm-gray and watchful—met hers for only a heartbeat before flicking away.
“Over here, lass,” the scarred man called. “We dinna know thisNiallCampbell ye are looking for. But this fellow might.” He jerked his thumb at the man with the curls. “He’s a Campbell, too.”
Ruby’s heart leapt. Relief, sudden and fierce, rushed through her. She hurried over, the bottom of her dress brushing the damp rushes. “Oh! Niall Campbell is my cousin’s husband—Charlotte Douglas. Or Charlotte Campbell now I suppose. Do you know where I can find her?”
The handsome one stiffened almost imperceptibly. Then he leaned forward, resting his clasped hands on the table.
“Never heard of either of them,” he said lightly. “Plenty of Campbells about, lass. I’m no kin to the ones ye are seeking.”
The words landed like stones in her stomach.
