Page 80

“Very well,” offered the marquess, “I intend to spend the day with my wife, but I’m sure you could use the manly support, Will.”

Aware of how often Hugh and Mary had kept to themselves since coming to Arbroath, Nash smiled.

“Martin and I plan to go over the orders Powell and Sons expects to place for ships this next year,” said Nash’s eldest brother Nick. He waggled his brows at their host. “We want to be prepared when we meet with William later today. How about you and Robbie?”

“We hope to sample some of the local taverns in town.” There, he’d provided a reason for them to be in Arbroath.

William gave him a curious look, but said nothing. Nash averted his gaze, regretting that Ailie’s brother might think he preferred getting foxed with Robbie to being with Ailie and the ladies, but he had to lay the groundwork should they be seen.

Robbie viewed Marketgate from where he and Nash stood at the corner of that street and Bridge Street, a short way from the harbor. It was the most likely path Kinloch’s guards would take and the crossing allowed them a clear view of both streets.

The sky above was clear of clouds for the first time in days, but the air was bitter cold. He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets, wrapping his right hand around his pistol. He hoped the threat of force would render Kinloch cooperative, though he worried about the guards, particularly Hamish and Lachy. It was too late to ask for the magistrate’s help and such men often complicated matters. He wanted no bloodbath on the streets of Arbroath.

At the moment, those streets were bare, save only for snow piled in the corners. The atmosphere was dreary, the tall buildings lining Marketgate standing like cold dark sentinels braced against the wind blowing offshore.

“I don’t like it,” he said in a hushed voice. “It’s too quiet. Feels like the whole town has gone into hiding. I fear we waited too long. Kinloch might already be aboard the Panmure. Passengers often board early on the day of sailing.”

“Not Kinloch,” argued Nash. “His plan will be to board at the last minute, leaving no time to be seen or a magistrate to be summoned. Still, I doubt many of Arbroath’s citizens would inform on him.”

“We’re not in Dundee,” Robbie reminded him. “Many in Scotland oppose the kind of change Kinloch advocates. ’Tis why he is called the Radical Laird.”

“Not all oppose his views,” muttered Nash.

“No, not all,” agreed Robbie, noting the brooding look on his brother’s face. He recognized its source. “The Mistress of the Setters is one who supports him.”

They had inquired about the tide and, using their own knowledge and the activities underway onboard, guessed at the Panmure’s expected sailing time, now a mere quarter of an hour away.

From where they stood, Robbie could see the masts of the ships in the harbor. They had passed the Panmure on the way to their current post, and he had observed the seamen working aloft, putting the sails in their gear and pushing them off the yards, leaving them hanging down ready to set. The captain and his officers had been walking the weather deck, likely checking in with the bos’n and carpenter to assure the supplies essential for repairs had been loaded. Robbie had overseen the same procedures many times.

Nash followed Robbie’s gaze. “Captain Gower must be pleased with these westerlies blowing offshore. ’Twill make his departure from Arbroath a smooth one.” Then with a stern look, he added, “It’s not too late to turn back, Robbie. I wish you would. If we have to tell a lie, let it be to Sidmouth, not our family and friends.”

Robbie never replied for, in the distance, he saw a group of men emerge from an alley close to the harbor. “Damn! They have taken a different route.” To the five men, a sixth had been added, a gentleman by the look of him. Kinloch had foregone his odd hat for what looked to be a gentleman’s wig. They moved toward the quay at a leisurely pace, perhaps so as not to draw attention. “We must be quick!”

Robbie took off at a run, Nash on his heels. Fifteen feet from the men, Robbie slowed.

The men turned at their approach.

“George Kinloch!” Robbie shouted, “Halt in the name of the Crown!”

The guards placed themselves in front of Kinloch and the other gentleman.

Robbie pulled his pistol, intending to fire a warning shot.

“Robbie, no!” Nash shouted. “Let him go!”

The blond they knew as Lachy raised a pistol and smirked. “I’ll no be askin’ agin, Englishmon. Drap yer pistol!”

Robbie held his pistol steady, focusing his eyes on the space a foot above Lachy’s head. Before he could fire, Nash yanked his arm to the side. Robbie’s pistol shot a burst of flame and smoke as the ball went wild.

Robbie bit out an oath. “I wasn’t going to shoot him.”

Ahead of them, Kinloch shouted, “No!”

Lachy fired his pistol, which spewed fire and smoke into the air.

Searing pain shot through Robbie’s head as stars appeared before his eyes just before his vision went black.

Splattered with his brother’s blood, Nash dropped to the pavement beside Robbie, staring at the fountain of red flowing from his head to pool on the ground. “Oh God, Robbie!”