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Rowena, snuggled on her father’s lap, pulled her thumb out of her mouth. “Me too.”
“No drams for little girls,” Ainsley said. “Graeme, will you pull the bell for tea?”
He complied and then went to fetch a whisky for his grandfather. By the time he returned, the girls were already chattering like magpies, describing all they’d seen on their drive through town.
Graeme settled in to listen to several overlapping conversations. As always, Kendricks were a noisy lot, but the lively scene felt surprisingly peaceful to him. He realized that he’d not had peace in a long time.
Not that he was truly looking for it, not with his life. His life was exactly as he wished.
After the tea things had appeared and everyone had been served, Angus turned his attention back to Graeme. The rest of the adults fell silent, also placing their focus on him.
“Now, lad,” his grandfather said in a shrewd tone, “why don’t ye tell us why yereallypopped up on our doorstep like a bolt out of the blue?”
Chapter Eight
The royal yacht was due in three days. The wet, blustery weather was already complicating security plans, as was the complete lack of credible information regarding potential threats to the king. Graeme didn’t feel close to being prepared.
For now, all he could do was focus on overseeing the arrival of the steam packet transporting most of the king’s luggage from London. It made sense to keep a close eye on the arriving supplies, which included dozens of crates of ceremonial silver and plate, and even food. If someonewastrying to assassinate the old fellow, tampering with the specially chosen food supply could do the trick.
Royal joined Graeme on the landing as the steam packet approached the Leith docks.
“I sent the coachman into the shelter of the warehouses,” his brother said. “No need to have the horses standing about in this wind.”
Graeme glanced up at the angry gray clouds scudding overhead, the reason they’d traveled here by carriage. “Bloody inconvenient, this weather.”
“Not as inconvenient as the bloody crowds,” Angus said as he stomped up. “Idiots, the lot of them, prancing aboot in silly outfits, pretendin’ to be true Highlanders.”
The throngs pouring into Edinburgh did worry Graeme. But Sir Walter Scott, the chief architect of the king’s visit, was actively encouraging a large turnout for the festivities, as were the Edinburgh authorities. That was exactly why Graeme needed his family’s help. The local constabulary would be too challenged with managing the massive event to investigate any nefarious activity.
Of course, family assistance also meant having Angus in the mix, with the usual unpredictable results. Grandda had insisted that his number one job was to help Graeme and keep him fromfalling into the shite.
“I’m as wily as an old fox, ye ken,” he’d said. “If there’s anything afoot, I’ll be sure to hear aboot it first.”
The notion of Angus conductingspy work, as he liked to call it, was alarming. Still, it was less problematic to bring him along than to let him wander about on his own.
Royal watched the steam packet fight the heavy chop as it neared the pier.
“So,” he said to Graeme, “we’re to be on the lookout for evil assassins, but we really have no idea who they might be or why they wish to kill the king. And we’re to stop any potential plots, even though we have zero information to guide us.”
“I’m aware that it’s ridiculous and frustrating,” Graeme said, “but annoying commentary will not make the task any easier.”
Royal laughed. “Laddie, maybe thereisno actual plot. Vague rumors are hardly unusual, given George’s lack of popularity.”
King George had been roundly disliked both during his time as Prince Regent and now as monarch. His profligate ways, numerous mistresses, and selfish behavior were strong black marks against him. The recent debacle of the queen’s trial had only increased the general animosity and heightened the fraught political climate. All sorts of people thoroughly hated the king, including more than a few Highlanders.
“Aye, we could be in for trouble when old King Fathead arrives,” Angus said. “After all, what self-respecting Scot wouldna want to pop off thatSassenachtwiddlepoop?”
That trenchant comment did nothing to improve Graeme’s mood. “Please keep your voice down, Grandda. I would prefer you not be arrested for sedition.”
“And don’t forget that King FatheadisVicky’s father,” Royal added. “Your arrest would embarrass the family.”
“That old ninny never did a bloody thing for the puir lass,” Angus protested. “And ye ken as well as I do that theSassenachroyals are nae but trouble for true Highlanders.”
“May I remind you that His Majesty—whom you will be meeting in a few days—is your king, too,” Graeme said. “And if you embarrass Vicky by spouting off about evilSassenachs, I will be forced to murder you.”
Angus bristled. “I subscribe to a higher power than anySassenachking.”
“Really? Who?” Royal asked.
