The bastard.
Drinks ordered, Alexander sat back in his chair and waited. Mayhap they should have gone to one of the boxing clubs instead. He could use an outlet to release the aggression that had been building up in him ever since he’d left Kitt in the gardens with a warning to stay far away from Clarissa.
The bastard just sneered. He had a set of bollocks on him, Alexander would give him that. For someone so small in stature, especially compared to Alexander’s size, he didn’t back down. His ego wouldn’t let him.
But when it’s only your ego that you have in your corner, it will falter sooner or later.
And Alexander planned to take him down. Soon. That’s why he needed his friends’ help. To come up with a plan.
“All right,” Gunn said. “There is obviously something amiss. Now that we are here, with drinks,” he picked up his glass in a cheer, then continued. “Tell us what is going on, Alexander. Ye usually arena so tight-lipped, or serious.”
He smiled. His friends knew him too well. And if he was going to recruit their help, they needed to be aware of all the details. No matter how humiliating they may be.
With a deep breath, he started. “Nicholas kens some of this already, so it willna be a surprise to him, and ye ken some of the situation, but no’ all of it.” He took a sip of whisky and let the burn warm his chest before he aired out the mess he found himself in.
“My dear brother,” he said sarcastically, “as ye ken, has a problem with the gambling hells.”
His friends nodded in unison. They were well aware of his brother’s addiction.
“When I got back home, the estate’s books were in an awful state. Christopher had made some verra poor decisions and things werena looking great for us.” He waved his hand in the air. “But ye ken that. What ye dinna ken is that when I next traveled to Huntly, for Nicholas’s wedding, my brother decided to visit the gambling hells again—with the naïve thought that he would be able to win back any monies that had been previously lost.”
“What a shite,” Gunn murmured. “Let me guess, he only made matters worse?”
Alexander chortled. “Aye, ye could say that. A good card player he ne’er was, so his plan was doomed to fail from the start.”
“He’s still young,” Finlay offered.
Alexander flicked his gaze to his friend. “But old enough to ken better.” He finished his whisky and lifted his glass to gain the attention of the maid for a refill.
“I came home to find the Argyll sheep gone.”
Malcolm’s eyes rounded. “What do ye mean gone?”
“Just as I said. Gone. The whole fucking flock.”
“Nay.”
“Och, aye. He’d lost them in a final all or naught game of cards.”
“I canna believe he did such a thing. ’Tis your livelihood.” Finlay shook his head as he sipped his whisky.
“Aye. And now, that livelihood is at stake. Some shite American has my flock and willna let me purchase them back.”
“Why no’?” Malcolm inquired.
Gunn’s hands clenched into fists on the table. “Who is it? Why dinna we pay him a visit?”
Alexander laughed. “Och, I did that already. Dragged Christopher along with me. Well, no’ to the American, but to Ross who originally took the sheep for payment, who then sold them to the American. Kitt is his name. He was at the ball last night.”
“I dinna recall seeing an American there.”
With a scowl, Alexander thought about how the man had danced with Clarissa and made her feel uncomfortable. “He was there. But stayed out of the way for most of the night.” He kept the dance to himself.
Gunn leaned forward, resting his muscled forearms on the polished wood of the table. “So, he has your sheep. Will he no’ let you buy them back?”
“At first, I thought it was monetary. I offered him higher than what I had been told he paid for them, and he wouldna e’en let me get the numbers out of my mouth.
“That doesna make sense,” Finlay quipped.
