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Royal and Grant had burst in immediately after the departure of Bill and his henchmen. Although they’d found the back door easily enough, they’d encountered an unexpected obstacle—street urchins, armed to teeth. Graeme’s brothers had tried to wheedle, argue, and bribe their way into the coffeehouse, but the children had refused to budge. They’d faded away only when a whistle from the street, signaling Bill’s departure, had called them off.
By that point, there’d been nothing to do but cut Graeme free.
Graeme sighed. “Och, I didn’t exactly cover myself in glory. The clever brats fooled me, too.”
One, a girl of about eight, had lured him out of the theater lobby with a tale about some of the children needing his help to escape Bill’s clutches. When Graeme had taken the chance of slipping out to the side alley to talk to the child, he’d been promptly coshed from behind and shoved into a waiting hackney. By the time he’d come out of his daze, he’d been securely bound and under guard.
He shook his head in self-disgust, wincing when pain throbbed behind his temples. Emmy thrust another fortifying glass into his hand.
“I swear,” he muttered, “children are better at lying than spies are.”
Angus snorted. “Laddie, have ye talked to yer nieces and nephews lately? No one tells whoppers better than the little ones.”
“Except for you, Grandda,” Grant said.
“Aye, it’s a talent.”
Sabrina was once more studying Graeme with a worried frown. “Mr. Kendrick, do you think you can walk now? You must return to Heriot Row and call for the surgeon.”
Graeme touched his head. The bleeding had stopped. “I’m fine.”
“But you obviously took a terrible blow,” she said, tightly clutching her reticule.
Graeme couldn’t help but give her a reassuring smile. “There’s no need to worry, lass. They stunned me, but I never lost consciousness.”
Royal stepped closer to inspect Graeme’s cut and look at his eyes. “No dizziness or blurred vision? No nausea?”
“None.”
His brother nodded. “You’ll do, but we should get home before anything else can go wrong.”
Oh, things had gone wrong, all right, if what Old Bill had told them was remotely true. And Graeme’s instincts told him that Bill’s information was more right than wrong.
If so, Sabrina was in danger, and it meant that Graeme had to get her out of Scotland—for his sake, as well as hers. The very notion of anything happening to her all but incapacitated him.
Not a particularly effective condition for protecting anyone.
As if hearing his thoughts, Sabrina narrowed her gaze on him. It was amazing how well those innocent, peacock-blue eyes could read him.
“And wearegoing to have a full discussion of Old Bill’s warning,” she said. “I didn’t understand much other than the part in which I’m the likely target of a plot, not the king.”
Royal threw Graeme a startled glance. “What? Why?”
“Because of the Clearances, apparently,” Sabrina said before Graeme could answer. “And something murky about smuggling.”
Grant sighed. “Of course it was murky. Murky is all we do.”
“Let’s just get safely away, shall we?” Graeme said. “Grant, can you escort Emmy home and compensate her for any damages?”
The young woman waved a hand. “Och, ye’ve done enough by helping Tilly and Charlie.”
“I’ll see you home, just to be sure,” Grant said.
“And we’ll also make sure Bill doesn’t bother you again,” Graeme added.
“I reckon the old bastard will be clearin’ town. He’ll be wantin’ to avoid more trouble with the Kendricks,” Emmy said.
Grant flashed Graeme a quick smile. “I’ll take care of it. Just get yourself home in one piece, all right?”
