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“No, but the castle’s in trouble.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her out from under the desk. “Show me how to work that intercom.”
15
* Lake *
“I can’t take any more,” Flynn complained. “Make it stop.”
The men were staring in shock as Betty gyrated against a male stripper. She’d sat him on a wooden chair, announced she’d always wanted to give a lap dance then complained when everyone shouted that she wasn’t allowed to take her clothes off. Instead she’d settled for being fully dressed in her usual tartan tent and dry-humping the poor guy’s leg.
“I didn’t even know if was possible for someone that old to move like that,” Matt said in a disgusted kind of awe.
“Can we go be with the women now?” Josh whined.
Grunt pointed at Josh. “What he said.”
Lake looked around the room. His friends ranged from bored to dazed. Yeah, it wasn’t the best stag night he’d ever attended.
“What about Dougal’s food?” Harry asked, halfway through a bowl of chips.
“Take it. I’ll even pack it up for you.” Dougal pointed at Betty. “Anything to get rid of her.” He gave Lake a look of utter disgust. “I need to bleach everything they touched.”
“In that case,” Lake said as his friends hung on his every word, making them seem even more pathetic, “I don’t see why n—”
The door to the pub crashed open and one of the twins fell in, coming to a halt on top of a table. She bent over it shivering and gasping for breath.
“Baby!” Grunt ran to the woman, who had to be Claire, although Lake had no idea how the man could tell them apart. He scooped her up, his arm under her knees, and barged his way to the fireplace. “What are you thinking coming out here in this weather?”
The music stopped. Lake strode over to stand beside the couple as Grunt laid her on the floor in front of the fire. He peeled off her layers as her blue lips shook.
“Dougal?” Lake looked over at the man.
“I’m on it. Hot drink and warm clothes coming right up.”
Lake nodded his appreciation. In the three years he’d been in town, he’d come to believe that Dougal could read minds.
“I...I...” Claire’s teeth chattered as her eyes pleaded with her husband.
“Don’t talk, baby. We need to get you warmed up.” He ran a hand down her jean-clad legs. “You’re soaked through.”
A thick white terry-cloth robe materialised through the crowd.
“Turn round.” Grunt ordered, and as one everybody, except Betty, faced away.
Fortunately, Betty was at the back of the crowd. “I can’t see,” she complained.
“Tough,” Matt said, then grunted. Presumably because she’d kicked him. Betty was quick to dispense justice with her heavy-soled shoes.
“Cut it out,” Matt said.
“Or what?” she said. “You’ll arrest me?”
“Aye, I’ll arrest you. If anyone could do with a night in the cells, it’s you.”
“If you arrest the strippers as well, I’ll go quietly. Can you put us in the same cell? Can they stay cuffed?”
“Somebody please gag the woman,” Mitch said.
“You can turn back now,” Grunt said.
