Bertram tapped the long gun he kept at the foot of his bench. “Campbell, ye know I’m never alone.”
“Of course—but I’d prefer to avoid another incident.” He tipped his hat, pointing to his hair. “One more shock to the system tonight, and I’ll be gray as a ghost by the dawn.”
“Take the lady inside,” Bertram said. “I’ll secure the carriage. Then I’ll be in.”
Mac escorted Rose into the pub. Beneath the lights of the tavern, her hair gleamed with copper and gold. The drab hue she’d worn as a disguise had been washed away, revealing her lush, natural hues. Dressed in a curve-hugging red ensemble, she was a true beauty. Damned shame her eyes glistened with tears she tried desperately not to shed.
The barkeeper acknowledged him with a nod. His gaze settled on Rose.
“Your usual, Campbell?” Gus asked, unspoken questions in his eyes.
“Aye. And the lady will have…” he said.
“Sherry, please,” she said, whisper-soft.
Mac scanned the place, alert for any unfamiliar faces. Satisfied they weren’t being watched, he turned back to Gus and lowered his voice. “Any idea where Colton is roaming tonight?”
“Not hide nor hair of him.”
“Can you see to changing that?”
“I’ll get right on it,” the barkeeper said, taking his meaning. He summoned a surly looking young man from the storage room.
Mac pulled Gus aside. “You’re sure he can be trusted?”
“The lad’s my son—Freddy’s honest as they come.”
“Good enough.”
As Bertram rambled inside, Gus sent the young man after Colton.
“Good God, Bertram, I had not expected to see yer craggy face here,” Gus said, jovial as usual. “Shouldn’t you be sitting at home by the fire, warmin’ those creaky old bones of yours?”
“I’ll have ye know these creaky old bones could still put a boot up yer arse.” Bertram glanced at Rose and cleared his throat. “Blast it, I forgot there is a lady present.”
“And a lovely one, at that.” Gus handed her a generously filled glass.
“Thank you,” she said, lifting the ruby liquid to her lips.
Mac took his own drink and led them to a table while Bertram stayed at the bar, exchanging good-natured barbs with Gus.
“I must leave.” Tears pooled in her eyes, but she blinked them back. “I cannot bear it if anyone else dies…because of me.”
“God above, Rose, you cannot blame yourself for what happened tonight. At this point, we don’t know what happened to Crabtree. But if the investigator’s death is tied to the bastards who attacked you, he was killed to silence him.”
“I think you’re right.” She laced her slender fingers together, staring down at her hands. “His message implied he’d discovered something…a connection with a highly placed source.”
“He might’ve been telling the truth. If that’s the case, we need to find out what he knew. But there is another possibility.”
“What…what do you mean?”
“He might have intended to lure you into a trap.”
“No…that’s not possible.”
He let out a breath. Bugger it, the sadness in Rose’s eyes was hard to take. But offering empty words of comfort would do no good.
“Crabtree might’ve engaged in a deliberate deception—it’s possible he was working for Merrick, or whoever in Hades is behind this scheme.”
She gave her head a miserable shake. “Mr. Crabtree would not have done such a thing.”
“Can you be sure of that?”
“How can I be certain of anything, MacAllister?”
The pain in her voice was like a dull dagger to the underbelly. She’d been through so much, and still, her concern was for others.
He’d lost her once.
Damned if he would do it again.
Whatever it took, he would ease her pain.
He would see her through this quest for justice.
And he would protect her.
No matter the cost.
He clasped her hand in his. “I am a man of my word, Rose. We will see justice done. You can trust me, and I will keep you safe. Of that, you can be certain.”
Mac stood by the bar as Matthew Colton strode through the tavern toward him. The man’s grim expression betrayed he’d already received word of the hired investigator’s murder.
Colton was not known to mince words, and this night was no exception. “What the bloody hell happened?”
“Crabtree never made it to his meeting with Rose.”
“He’d uncovered something,” Rose said in a low voice. “I’m convinced of it.”
“We need to find out all there is to know about the late Mr. Crabtree,” Mac said.
“Understood,” Colton said. “Any chance you were followed here?”
“There’s always the possibility, but I suspect they would’ve made a move by now. The blighters have not been subtle in their previous attempts.”
“I’ll assign another agent to surveil the house as a precaution.” Colton settled his gaze on Rose. “This has been a difficult day for you. I suggest you get some rest.”
“I’m not sure such a thing is even possible. I keep seeing Mr. Crabtree in my mind’s eye…the poor man.”
“It’s not your fault, Rose,” Mac reassured her. “I’ll see you back to the house.”
“I’ll follow the coach in my phaeton,” Colton said. “If anyone is following you, I’ll know.”
“Thank you,” Rose said in an unsteady voice.
Tension filled every cell of Mac’s body. He needed to get Rose to Quinn House, back to the temporary sanctuary of the veritable fortress.
“Colton, don’t let your guard down,” he said.
“You know that won’t happen,” Matthew said. “Tomorrow we’ll begin our inquiries at the morgue. Not a pleasant start to the day.”
Chapter Fourteen
In the silence of the carriage, the ride from the Hawk’s Nest Tavern to the Quinn residence seemed to stretch on forever. Burrowed against the padded leather seat, Rose studied MacAllister. He’d been unusually reticent since they’d left the pub. At the moment, he’d peeled back the curtain at the window, alert, scanning the darkness. Since she’d first encountered him the night before, he’d displayed a ready confidence, a hardened toughness one could acquire only through experience.
Ribbons of gaslight streamed into the coach. A hazy sliver fell upon a small, jagged scar below MacAllister’s left ear, drawing her gaze. He’d been wounded at some point, quite ferociously from the looks of it. Had his work for the Colton Agency led him into danger?
He was a handsome man. There was no denying that. His features were not perfect in a classical sense—much more rugged and bold than one would find in an old master’s painting, but MacAllister’s strength of character was reflected in his expression, in every rare smile.
Odd, really, how after all this time, the old feeling of comfort settled over her. Being with MacAllister had always felt right. From the moment she’d laid eyes on him she’d been drawn to him. He had not seemed a stranger to her, even upon their first meeting when he’d been a guest for the winter holiday.
He’d been rather serious even then, a brilliant student who’d devoured books with a passion and was driven to explore the world beyond the page. Unlike Angus, who’d developed a keen interest in the mechanical world with its gears and wheels and engines, MacAllister was fascinated by people. Their struggles. Their achievements. And their crimes. He’d spoken of his yearning to travel and explore, his keen interest in the stories of both the ordinary and the infamous. He’d made no effort to hide his dream of leaving the quiet of the Scottish countryside for the intriguing chaos of the city.
Releasing the curtain, he leaned back against the seat. Extending his long, muscled legs, he turned his gaze to her. Had he sensed she was watching him?
“You’ve changed.” Two quite ordinary words, spoken quietly, but they s
eemed like a crack of lightning to Rose’s ears.
“Time has a way of doing that,” she responded with a faint tilt of her lips.
“You’re stronger…stronger than before.”
“Is that a compliment?” she asked.
He continued to study her. “Yes.”
“If you knew me…really knew me…you would question that assessment.” She drew in a low breath. “I don’t believe I’ve ever been more terrified in my life. Not even when I fled Scotland. At least then, I didn’t know it would never end.”
“Fear does not diminish your strength. You’ve willed yourself to face it.”
“I don’t know…if I can continue on this path. So much death. So much fear.”
“You’re not alone in this, Rose.”
“Why are you doing this?” She regretted the question as soon as it left her lips. Wasn’t it obvious? MacAllister was part of this enterprise working on behalf of the Home Office. Was this a duty to him and nothing more?
Long, strong fingers raked through his hair, as he tended to do when he was deep in thought. Amazing how the small, seemingly insignificant memories were embedded in her mind.
“You think my involvement is tied to my responsibility to the Home Office?”
“If the Colton Agency is tasked with investigations on behalf of the Crown, it is a logical conclusion.”
“It is also the wrong conclusion.” He glanced out the window, eyes narrowing as he peered into the near darkness.
“Then why—”
Without warning, the carriage came to a sudden halt.
Rose’s heart stuttered.
What is happening?
MacAllister muttered an epithet under his breath. Bounding from his seat, he shielded her with his body. His heat and power washed over her. With an instinctive protectiveness, he’d positioned himself to be the target. The reality stunned her, and she gulped a breath to calm her rampaging pulse.
Bertram’s sandpaper-rough voice cut through the night. “Take yer rotten hands off that woman.”
“Bugger off.” Another man, his harsh tones filled with contempt.
“By hellfire.” With a smooth motion, MacAllister reached for the revolver holstered beneath his jacket. “I need to find out what is going on.”
“Please, be careful,” she whispered.
“When I move away from you, drop from the bench to the floor,” he went on coolly. “Keep your head down.”
As he shifted his body toward the door, she swept her skirts to the side and followed his instructions. Positioning herself low, she retrieved her pistol from her velvet bag and prayed she would not have cause to use it.
As MacAllister left the carriage, she peeped from the window, staying low.
A lumbering ox of a man stared up at the driver’s bench. His beefy hand dug into a squirming young woman’s arm. Beneath the streetlamp, the dull white linen of her petticoat could be seen beneath a ragged tear in her dress. Smears of rouge and eye paint streaked her face while her pale curls streamed over her shoulders in disarray.
“Release that woman,” Bertram ordered, reaching for his long gun.
MacAllister stilled the driver with a brisk shake of his head. He marched up to the towering man. “Let her go.”
The brute stared down at MacAllister. “Who are ye to tell me what to do?”
“I’m the man who’s going to make you regret manhandling a woman.”
“Bug—”
MacAllister’s fist plowed into the big man’s midsection.
Oof. The blow landed with a thud, followed by another. Releasing the woman, the brute doubled over, unable to catch a breath, gasping for air.
Stunned, the woman began to bolt, but the tangle of her skirts tripped her and she landed at MacAllister’s feet. He helped her up, waiting patiently as she smoothed her skirts with the palms of her hands, summoning as much dignity as she could muster.
“Thank ye,” she said, swiping away a trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth. “I was on my way home from the tavern…I’m a barmaid at the Ox & Crow, sir.”
“This lout will not give you any more trouble.”
She tugged at her torn skirt. “If ye hadna come along…I can’t bear to think of it.”
“May we offer you a lift to your residence?” MacAllister asked, keeping an eye on the dazed man.
“Thank ye, but I’m nearly at the door. If ye’d be so kind as to keep an eye out while I make it the rest of the way, I’d be in yer debt.”
“Of course,” MacAllister agreed.
“I do thank ye both,” she said, gazing up at Bertram. “A good night to ye. Ye’re good men.”
The barmaid hurried away, making short work of the distance between them and the building where she evidently lived. With a quick look back, she entered the door and closed it behind her.
The big man on the ground stirred. Pulling himself to his feet, he regarded MacAllister with bleary eyes. Evidently, he had not learned his lesson.
“I’ll tear yer soddin’ head—”
“Think again,” MacAllister said without raising his voice. This time, his fist plowed into the lummox’s jaw.
He went down hard.
Brushing off his hands as if to rid himself of filth, MacAllister stared down at the unconscious man. “Next time, you’ll think twice before hurting a lass.”
“Ye should’ve let me shoot him,” Bertram grumbled.
“Good God, man, do you have any idea how much blasted paperwork would be involved with that?” MacAllister scowled down at the unconscious man. “After we see Rose to Quinn House, summon a constable for this bastard, will you?”
“Ye think he’ll still be there?”
“It’s possible.” MacAllister rubbed his fist. “But if he isn’t, it shouldn’t be too difficult to find a big ox wandering about with a broken jaw.”
MacAllister returned to the carriage.
“Most impressive,” Rose said almost casually.
He shook his head. “It was a damnably foolish thing to do.”
“How so?”
He tapped the roof of the conveyance, signaling Bertram to proceed. “My task tonight centered around you and your security. If this had been a trap, I might have compromised your safety.”
“That is a chance that had to be taken,” she gently disagreed. “If you and Bertram had not gone to that woman’s aid, she might well have ended up bleeding in a gutter.”
“Nevertheless, I should’ve thought it through.” MacAllister drummed his long fingers against the bench. “Instinct is instinct. There’s nothing to be done about it now.”
“When you placed your body over mine to shield me, was that also a matter of instinct?” She watched his expression carefully.
“To an extent,” he said. “But there was another factor at play.”
“How so?” She didn’t dare look away from his expressive eyes. They said so much more than his words.
A teasing gleam lit his warm brown irises. “Simply imagine the report I’d have to file if you came to harm under my watch.” He pretended to shudder at the thought. “I think I’d rather take a bullet.”
She felt her brows lift. “You’re telling me it would be easier to be shot?”
He looked to be deep in thought. “I have been wounded—only once, and that was enough to convince me to avoid repeating the experience—but I’ve never had to complete that many documents, either. The matter does pose a dilemma.”
“That is why you used your own body to protect me?”
His mouth dipped down at the corners, still deep in thought. “Am I that unconvincing?”
“MacAllister, you’ve always been a poor liar. You possess utterly no talent for fabrication.”
The slightest of smiles touched his lips. “Angus declared me honest to a fault.”
“I never saw it that way. Well, except for that one time—when I asked how I looked in my new frock and you declared it…how did you phrase it?” She bit back a grin. “Oh
, that’s right—you said the dress reminded you of what Queen Victoria might wear to dance the can-can.”
His lips twitched, as if he struggled to hold back laughter. “It was intended as commentary on the over-abundant modesty of the gown, nothing more.”
“Is that so?”
The laugh escaped, hearty and genuine. “That dress was hideous. All of those blasted ruffles—they concealed the essence of you.”
“The essence of me…I suppose that’s the closest you might come to poetic verse.”
“I’ve never claimed to be a bloody poet,” he said. “But I am a man who knows a beautiful woman when he sees one.”
“Is that an attempt at flattery?”
Slowly, he shook his head. “No, Rose. It’s the simple truth.”
He reached for her. Clasping her hand in his own, he drew his thumb over the back of her hand. So very gentle. His restrained tenderness made her heart ache for more.
“MacAllister, you are a confounding man.”
“It’s a trait I’ve long cultivated.” He smiled. “What would you do if I kissed you?”
Her heart stuttered. Blast the man, looking at her like that, shredding every defense, every objection with a mere grin.
“I believe we have already covered that.” She moistened her lips, even as her throat went dry. “Rather well, I might add.”
Once again, he shook his head, as his thumb traced light circles over her sensitive skin. “That was different.”
“How so?” She couldn’t resist inquiring.
“The first kiss—outside the theater—was intended to be a diversion. The second, to prove a point.”
“And this one?”
“Well, this would be simply because I want to taste your sweetness.”
She blinked. If only she could come up with some witty rejoinder, some brilliant quip.
Instead, she settled on the seat beside him and cupped her free hand to his stubble-covered cheek.
“MacAllister, you are in need of a shave.”
“Am I, now?”
“Definitely.” She felt her smile broaden. “But I rather like it. I can’t quite reason it out, but I do.”
“Not everything in life requires an explanation. Some things simply are…the way they are.”
When a Lady Kisses a Scot Page 11