Rogue of the Borders

by Cynthia Breeding

  Shane looked at his quartermaster, not sure what to say. He knew Donald wondered why they’d loaded the kelp before it was completely dry. The holds would need a good scouring when they returned to rid it of the smell. He could hardly admit it was mischievous faeries he worried about and not fiends.

  Or that his attraction toward his wife was getting harder and harder to control.

  “With Albert nae attending the office, I wanted to get references for the clerk we hired. Reneau claims he worked here at Le Havre.”

  “He probably did if he was able to arrange this shipment as well as cases of wine and champagne to drop off in London.” Donald squinted against the sun. “Do ye have reservations about him?”

  “’Tis just a feeling. He shows proper respect, but his eyes are cold.”

  “But Albert likes him?”

  “Albert likes the fact the man kens how to keep books. I doona think Albert would have agreed to act as temporary butler, even for Janet’s sake, if he dinna think the accounting would be in good hands. I just find the timing of Reneau’s appearance odd, coming just before David got attacked.”

  “It could be coincidence. If Albert likes the man, ye have nae to fash about. Besides,” Donald added, “ye have your wife there to keep an eye on things as well.”

  Which was a really sore point with Shane. While he could understand Abigail wanting to use her education, he did not approve of her working so close to the docks. Nor did he care for the idea of her working with Reneau. The man had not flirted with her—at least not in Shane’s presence—but the situation did not sit well. Shane had told each of Ian’s footmen that whoever accompanied Abigail for the day was to remain with her at all times. He had also given strict orders that they be fully armed, and to make sure she stayed in the office and didn’t go out on the piers. He wished them luck with that, realizing how headstrong Abigail was. Still, having an armed bodyguard would keep the ruffians that roamed the area at bay. He hoped. Shane muttered a curse under his breath. A part of him wanted to stay in Edinburgh to protect Abigail himself. The other part of him wanted to put as much distance between them as possible.

  And now the damn faeries had intervened.

  Pushing aside his personal problems, he helped the men unload the bales and then took the bill of lading inside the office on the wharf.

  “I am looking for the dock master,” he said.

  “Antoine Padget, at your service,” the man behind the counter replied as he picked up the papers Shane had laid down. “Ah, Mr. MacLeod. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. In his post, Mr. Reneau said your kelp makes the finest ash. I shall look forward to continuing to do business with you.”

  Shane assessed the man. Medium height, stocky but not fat. He appeared to be in his late forties, with a few grey streaks through his brown hair. Shrewd, dark eyes gazed steadily back. “Ye ken Reneau personally?”

  “I ken—? Ah, know. Yes. I trained him to be my bookkeeper—after he finished school, of course. He has a fine head for numbers.”

  “’Tis good to hear.”

  “He did mention in his letter that he is working for you.”

  “’Tis just temporary. My clerk was injured and is healing.”

  Those dark eyes narrowed slightly. “I see. Well, I am sure you will find him more than capable.”

  Shane nodded and finished his transaction. Padget hadn’t told him anything new. Albert would never have hired Reneau if he weren’t capable of doing bookkeeping. What Shane wanted was more personal information.

  However, he wasn’t able to collect much. As Donald saw to the loading of the goods they would be taking to London, Shane wandered along the quay, asking questions. It seemed all anyone knew was Richard Reneau had arrived in Le Havre six months ago, had taken rooms at a boarding house owned by a woman reputedly the mistress of Padget and had begun looking for work. Other than that, he kept to himself.

  The information sounded like Reneau had lived a quiet, sensible life. Still, the hair at Shane’s nape prickled. Something just did not feel right.

  Abigail smiled as Jacob, the youngest of the footmen, shuffled from one foot to the other, looking out the office door toward the action on the quay. He was obviously bored with standing guard over her when there was no reason to do so. Nor did Abigail need a keeper. All she had done the past three days since Shane had left was file paperwork and invoice bills for Richard to send out.

  “If you would like to take a walk, I will be fine,” she said.

  Jacob’s eyes lit up, but then he shook his head. “Mr. MacLeod said I was to stay with ye.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. I am hardly in danger here,” she said as she gestured around the square room. “I am sure Mr. MacLeod meant you were not to let me walk about unaccompanied and that I should not walk home alone. I doubt he would mind—in fact, he would appreciate—you checking on how the loading of those smaller ships is proceeding.”

  Jacob’s brow furrowed. “Do ye really think so?”

  “Of course.” Abigail had caught the look of longing Jacob had for the ships tied along the quay. Of the three footmen who took turns guarding her, he was the one who most enjoyed talking about sailing and faraway places. She could empathize with him, since she remembered how much she had enjoyed the trip up from London. Not all the docked boats belonged to Shane, but all of them were going to faraway places. “I think I saw two foreign boats arrive yesterday,” she said. “Perhaps you would like to go look at them?” When she saw his look of hesitation, she added, “Shane would probably like to know what cargo the competition is hauling.”

  Jacob looked lingering down the long pier. “If ye think so…”

  “Mon Dieu,” Richard said as he looked up from a ledger he was working on to glare at Jacob. “Avancez. Go. Your incessant pacing is driving me quite mad.”

  Jacob frowned at him and Abigail intervened before a conflict could escalate. None of the footmen particularly liked Richard, but there was no reason to increase tension. “There is only one door to the office. You will be able to keep an eye on it while you are on the dock. I promise, I will stay right here.”

  “Ye are sure?”

  Richard mumbled something that Abigail was pretty sure was French vulgarity, but she ignored it. “Yes, I am sure. Go and get some fresh air. And report back what you find.”

  Jacob nodded and bounded out the door. Abigail watched him, wishing she could get out and see what those ships held as well, but that would be pushing her luck. She sighed and picked up a stack of papers to sort.

  “Why does your husband think you need a bodyguard?” Richard asked.

  Abigail looked up, surprised. Richard spoke to her as little as possible and then only when it pertained to business. When she’d first begun working, he’d asked lots of questions, but her answers must have bored him. She’d decided he resented having a woman work with him.

  “He does not want me to be put in harm’s way.”

  Richard studied her. “You would be safest at home then. Most wives—”

  The door opened and a tall stranger entered, keeping Richard from finishing his sentence. Abigail knew what he was going to say—most wives were content to stay home and not mingle in the affairs of men, especially business affairs. She reined in her rising temper and smiled at the stranger. “Can we help you?”

  “I sure hope so,” he said, a slight flatness to his voice that labeled him as an American. “I’m Captain Robert Henderson of the New Orleans, which docked last night. I’ve got a shipment of Louisiana cypress wood that needs unloading.”

  “Let me help you with that,” Richard said, all but pushing Abigail aside. “Who is the shipment for?”

  The captain’s eyes, green as a cat’s, narrowed slightly at the movement, but he handed over the paperwork.

  “MacPherson,” Richard said, referring to the owner of a local furniture shop. “I will send a runner letting him know to bring his wagons around. Meanwhile, I will walk you over to the dock master.
He can arrange for the longshoremen.” Richard turned to Abigail, just barely keeping the sarcasm out of his voice. “I am sure you can manage for a few minutes while I am gone?”

  “Of course,” Abigail said stiffly, refusing to acknowledge the subliminal message. “You take as long as you like.”

  Captain Henderson tipped his tricorn to her. “Ma’am.”

  She thought she detected a note of sympathy at Richard’s belittlement of her, but she might just be imagining it. As they walked out on the pier, Jacob came running, nearly knocking Richard off his feet. They glared at each other.

  “Stupid oaf,” Richard said.

  Jacob put his hand on his dirk and straightened his shoulders. The captain looked amused and took a step back.

  “Jacob!” Abigail called.

  His hand lingered over the handle of his dirk and then he let it slide back into its sheath. “Are ye all right? I came back as quickly as I could.”

  “Quite all right.”

  Richard gave Jacob a churlish look as he walked off with the American captain and Abigail gave in to a childish wish that Jacob had knocked Richard right off the dock and into the water.

  Still, having Richard absent gave Abigail an opportunity to look at the ledgers he so carefully kept stacked in the drawer of his desk. A tiny pang of conscience flitted through her mind, but she pushed it aside. This business belonged to Shane. Her husband. She had a right to look at the books.

  At least the drawer wasn’t locked. Jacob watched her sit down and remove the ledgers. Then he gave a curt nod and turned his back to her, keeping an eye on the door.

  Abigail flipped through the current month’s accounts quickly. She had to admit Richard was a careful bookkeeper. The debits and credits all lined up in neat columns with no sloppy overlapping of digits. At the bottom of each sheet were tallies indicating both profit and expense. She flipped back several months to get an idea of how great a volume of business Shane was doing. Since Britain was no longer at war with either France or the United States, business had fully resumed. She widened her eyes, though, as she saw how truly successful Shane’s line was.

  Then she frowned. All of these months’ bottom lines were higher than the current month. She turned back to the original page. Not all of the entries had been posted yet, but it looked like there might be at least ten percent less profit.

  “Reneau is coming back,” Jacob said.

  Abigail closed the ledger and put it back in the drawer, careful to place it exactly as she found it. She would question Albert about it later.

  Although Jacob had ceased glowering by the time they left for home, Abigail knew he was still angry with Richard’s highhanded treatment of both of them. Just weeks ago, she would have dismissed Jacob’s reaction as querulous. Scots loved to fight and it didn’t take much for them to consider a remark an insult, which was probably a reason the English still referred to them as barbaric. Since she’d been north of the border, however, Abigail had seen that quick temperament more of a rallying point. Family—and by extension, the outlawed clan system—meant everything. She’d seen it at Ian’s place and felt it with Shane’s cousins and even the twins. With each passing day, she wanted to belong to that family too, and more than just in name for ninety days. Would Shane come around to accepting her? She wished she knew. At times she could sense some camaraderie between them, an easy give and take of conversation, especially when they were discussing books. A few times she had even thought desire had burned in Shane’s eyes. Had the passionate kiss they’d shared not proved that? Yet Shane remained resolute. He would not sleep with her. He would not consummate the marriage. And she didn’t understand why. Her jumbled, tumultuous thoughts kept her awake at nights.

  In contrast to her chaotic thoughts, total silence assailed her as she stepped into the townhouse. No one was in sight. The eerie quiet strangely made her ears ring after the noise on the streets. Kyla had the day off, but where was everyone else?

  Jacob drew his dirk, motioning for her to stay behind him.

  “Surely there is no need—”

  “Shhh!” he whispered and advanced soundlessly toward the parlor.

  Abigail followed him, wondering how he could walk without his boots making a sound or any weapons clanking—and then she almost ran into his back as he stopped abruptly. Peering around him, almost afraid to look, she breathed a sigh of relief.

  Caitlin and Caylin were sitting quietly in front of the fire, reading books.

  But that didn’t make sense either. The twins were rarely ever still, let alone quiet, and Abigail didn’t think she’d seen either of them ever voluntarily read a book. On second look, they were not reading, just holding the tomes, one of which appeared to be held upside down.

  “What is going on?”

  They both looked up, Caitlin’s face paling while Caylin’s turned red. Both pairs of green eyes were wide as an owl’s. They looked at each other and then shifted uneasily in their chairs.

  “What is going on?” Abigail asked again as she went into the room. “Where is everyone? What is wrong?”

  Caitlin gulped. “We did not mean to do it.”

  Caylin nodded vigorously. “It was an accident.”

  Abigail sat down, dread slivering down her spine. “Exactly what was an accident? Tell me.”

  The girls looked at each other guiltily and Caitlin swallowed again. “We only meant to play a trick on George and Johnny.”

  “A trick? What kind of trick?”

  “I…we…we…thought it would be fun—”

  “Nae fun,” Caylin interrupted. “We wanted to let Johnny and George use their swords—”

  “So they would nae get out of practice,” Caitin added.

  Jacob sheathed his dirk, a sound that made both twins jump, and he walked over to them. “Ye had best spill it, lassies.”

  “Yes, please get to the point,” Abigail said.

  Caitlin looked at the floor. “I went to find Johnny and Caylin went to look for George. We said we’d heard someone moving around upstairs.”

  Abigail frowned. “Well, of course. Shauna and Fiona have rooms upstairs.”

  Caylin shook her head. “They went shopping. Fiona wanted a new bonnet.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Johnny went up the front stairs and George went up the servants’ back stairs. They ended up slashing each other.”

  Jacob folded his arms over his chest and stared at the girls. “’Tis nae possible. They are trained warriors, not green lads.”

  The twins exchanged guilty looks. “Ah…we kind of told each one that we could nae find the other,” Caitlin said, her voice barely audible.

  “Ye did what? By God and all the saints! Are ye completely barmy, lassies? Did ye nae watch your uncle’s men train? Do ye think—”

  “That is enough, Jacob,” Abigail said as the twins started to cry. “And enough of that from both of you as well. Jacob is right. I do not understand why you would do something so dangerous.”

  “We…we thought it would be fun to watch the swordplay,” Caitlin said between sobs. “We did nae mean to hurt anyone.”

  “So where are they?” Abigail asked.

  “At the hospital,” Caylin replied, stifling her tears.

  Abigail exchanged a look with Jacob. “Was it that serious?” she asked Caylin. “Did Albert take them?”

  Both girls started crying again.

  “Is there something else you have not told us?”

  “Janet…Janet was upstairs putting away laundry.”

  “So what—” Abigail stopped as a cold tentacle of dread slid down her spine. “Oh, no. Johnny and George thought she was the intruder?”

  Caylin wailed louder. “We doona ken. We dinnae even ken she was up there.”

  “What happened?” Jacob glared at both of them.

  “Janet…came out of the front bedroom,” Caitlin managed between hiccups. “We heard more clashing and a scream and then all three of them tumbled down the stairs.�
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  “Dear Lord!” Abigail’s hands flew to her mouth. “Is she…did she—”

  “Is she alive?” Jacob cut in.

  The twins turned red-rimmed eyes toward him. “We…we think so,” Caitlin answered and started crying again. “We are nae sure.”

  Abigail jumped up. “I have got to go to the hospital.”

  “I will take ye,” Jacob said and turned to the girls. “Ye will come along.”

  “We…we cannae!” the twins wailed in unison.

  “You can,” Abigail answered, “and you will.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Having decided to put into port in Calais before continuing on to London, Shane hoped his comrades could provide some insight into the puzzling past of Richard Reneau.

  “Having a new client is good for business, non?” Alain asked as Shane seated himself in the Frenchman’s parlor.

  “Aye. ’Tis just a feeling I have that Padget was nae being completely truthful.”

  “Well, if Padget is exporting my family’s brandy, he cannot be totally bad.” Remy grinned as he handed a snifter of cognac to Shane and then sobered. “Pardon the poor jest. We have not survived this long without following our instincts. What about him bothers you?”

  “I am nae sure. I think my concerns lie more with our new French clerk, Richard Reneau, who just happened to be able to arrange for two new clients at once.”

  Alain sat down across from Shane. “You said his references were good?”

  “I was nae able to find out much. Reneau told me he was from Le Havre, yet the townspeople said he only arrived six months ago.”

  “Perhaps he thought you meant where had he recently lived?” Remy asked.

  “Perhaps. I just found it strange that the man showed up on the docks in Edinburgh looking for work and a few days later, my clerk was waylaid and beaten.”

  “It could be a coincidence,” Remy said thoughtfully, “but better to trust your instincts. Le Havre is not that far from here. We can have one of our men go down and discreetly make some inquiries.”