Betting the Scot (The Highlanders of Balforss)

by Trethewey, Jennifer

  She’d swallowed her anger and asked him, “Why? Why should I do this for you after what you’ve done?”

  “Marry him, Caya, and I promise on Mother’s grave, I will never gamble again.”

  She had wanted to tell him damn it and to hell, but of course he would remind her of the promise she’d made to their mother to take care of him. This was her brother, her only family. She loved him. How could she let him go to prison?

  What choice did she have?

  “I’m doing this because Mother and Father would wish it, and because I love you. But if you break your promise to stop gambling, we’re quits, Jack. Do you understand?”

  Despite her fear of traveling so far from home, despite her aversion to marrying someone she’d never met, Caya had agreed to the union. So, here she was, three weeks later, sitting in a crowded pub surrounded by rowdy Scots, waiting to meet and marry a stranger named O’Malley.

  Caya felt an emptiness in her heart, a wanting for something different, something more than home and family. Was it comfort, security, love? Or something she dared not name? She glanced across the room at the man with the black hair. He was still staring. There was no hint of menace in those dark eyes, nor did he make any rude overtures. Yet, he held her captive with his unwavering gaze, so warm, so familiar, and so…full of longing. Was he yearning for the same thing as she? Her heart tripped an irregular beat inside her chest. She should turn her back, ignore the stranger. But she couldn’t look away.

  …

  Jack used the tip of his little fingernail to tease a few stray bits of lamb from his teeth. He let his gaze roam around the room. Dock workers, fishermen, farmers, and merchants, the peasantry of Scotland. He was not likely to find his own kind in this establishment. His sister clapped a hand to her heart and gasped. What had frightened her this time? She’d been on edge the entire voyage, jumping at every sound.

  “What’s the matter now?”

  “That man. He’s still staring.”

  “Perhaps if you stop returning his look, he’ll stop staring at you.”

  “I can’t help it. He looks at me as if he knows me, yet I’m sure I’ve never met him.” She tore her eyes away from the stranger. “Do you recognize him?”

  Jack stole another glance at the dark Scot who was troubling his sister. Given the size of the fellow and the intensity of his gaze, he understood her concern. “Never met him before in my life. I can tell by his dress he’s a man of no consequence, a Highlander of lower stock. Pay him no mind.” That should assuage his sister’s fears. He needed her calm when they met O’Malley in the morning. He didn’t want the flighty girl spoiling the deal he had with the man.

  Caya’s brow loosened. “It’s late. I think we should get some sleep.”

  “Give us a coin and go on ahead without me. I’ll have a brandy before my bed.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him.

  Devil take her. Why had he agreed to let her hold the money? “You have a few coppers left. One brandy, Caya. I’m restless.”

  “You promised.”

  He knew damn well what he’d promised. He’d promised to find her a suitable husband, but did she thank him? No. Criticism was his only compensation for all his efforts.

  “One damned brandy.” If he ground his teeth any harder, they might crack.

  She tossed two coins on the table. “There. Enjoy yourself.” Her words sounded as if she’d snipped them off her lips with garden shears.

  Caya shot to her feet, triggering a sudden chain reaction. Chairs scraped and clattered as patrons rose and tensed. In an instant, the entire tavern fell deadly still like a herd of cattle sensing danger. All focused on the three Scots standing like towers of stone, hands on the hilts of their knives, glaring at Jack. What? More accusations?

  A room full of wary eyes darted from Jack to the tall trio, back to Jack. He assured himself no one would dare harm a man of his station. No cause for alarm. He rose cautiously and turned to his sister, frozen in place like a rabbit. “Good night, my dear.” He brushed a kiss on her cheek.

  The hum of the tavern patrons resumed, the one kiss having altered the atmosphere. He waited until Caya disappeared up the stairs, then approached the monoliths. After all, one must constantly remind the lower class of their place.

  “How do you do, gentlemen?” He gave the slightest bow. “My name is Jack Pendarvis. As you probably deduced, my sister and I are new to Wick.”

  All three giants relaxed the grip on their knives. An odd exchange took place between the redhead and the black-haired one who had been staring at Caya.

  “I’m Alex Sinclair,” the red-haired one said and added, “These are my cousins, Magnus and Declan Sinclair.”

  The one introduced as Declan said, “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Pendarvis.”

  Of course, he was. Commoners were always pleased when gentry like himself took an interest in them. A glimmer of an idea formed in the forefront of his mind. “Jack. Please call me Jack. I was about to order a brandy. May I join you?”

  “Thanks. We’ll have a wee dram,” the one named Alex said.

  It was cheeky of the bastard to assume Jack had offered to pay, but he had to admire the man’s gall. Alex was the tallest of the three and, as he acted the spokesman, perhaps the most astute. Magnus, the fellow who resembled a bear, looked like a dimwit. Though sharp-eyed, the one called Declan was likely a simpleton as well. He’d been warned most Highlanders inherently lacked intelligence.

  Jack signaled the barmaid and ordered a brandy and three whiskies. All four sat at once.

  The simpleton, Declan, grinned at him like a fool. “Where ye frae?”

  Was the dullard incapable of speaking proper English? “I beg your pardon?”

  “Where are you from?” Alex interpreted.

  “Ah. Cornwall. I’ve brought my sister to Wick to be married.”

  The simpleton’s smile faded. Jack sighed. Mingling with the rabble was a mistake. He should finish his drink as soon as possible and excuse himself from their company, but the promise of easy money was too much for him.

  “Who’s the lucky man?” Alex asked.

  “A herring merchant named O’Malley. Have you made his acquaintance?”

  The three Scots shook their heads. No surprise. O’Malley was a man of worth. These fellows were most likely sheep farmers. But they did have the well-fed look of men with money—money that would be better off in Jack’s pocket.

  The barmaid brought their drinks, and Jack raised his glass. “Cheers.”

  The others raised theirs and toasted in unison. “Slainte.”

  Jack swallowed his brandy whole. The familiar warmth settled in his belly, and a sense of satisfaction coursed through his veins. He broke into his most charming smile.

  “Gentlemen, are you familiar with a card game called Napoleon?”

  Several hours later, Jack had amassed a sizable stack of coins. He’d judged the Scots to be rubes, and he’d been right. It seemed that all three men, no matter how hard they tried, could not master the strategy the game required. Yet, they happily placed their bets round after round. He was careful to lose once in a while, just to maintain their interest.

  The tavern room was empty but for the four of them and one sleepy barmaid leaning an elbow on the bar, her cheek sliding off her fist. He supposed he should pocket his silver and say his good nights, but the hand Magnus had just dealt him was an excellent one. His luck was running rich, so he wagered every farthing on the table.

  And lost.

  He couldn’t believe it. He checked his cards again. An accident. A fluke. Dumb luck. Sweat broke out across his forehead. Declan, the simpleton, had won. The idiot Scot sat across from him, smiling, his eyes black as onyx. The shit actually thought he’d outsmarted him. Anger rolled up Jack’s spine like the incoming tide.

  “Sorry, man,” Declan said, still grinning. “Looks like the game is over. You’re out of coin.”

  “Not quite.” Jack stood, finished his fifth or sixth br
andy—he’d lost count—and signaled for another. “Excuse me for a minute, gentlemen.” He bounded up the stairs, borrowed a candle from the hallway sconce, and slipped into the room he shared with Caya, careful not to wake her. He shook the remaining coins from her purse into his palm. Not enough. It would take him hours to get his money back with only four coppers. He needed something of greater value. He could be whole again in two, maybe three, good hands.

  The bedclothes rustled, and he froze in place without breathing until he was certain Caya didn’t wake. Then he opened her traveling bag and rummaged through her few belongings until he found the small wooden box with ivory inlay. Inside, their mother’s jade ring, Caya’s treasure. The only thing of value he hadn’t already…

  He tasted sour bile in his mouth and swallowed. Hell. She’d been his mother, too. The ring was half his. He had every right to use it as he pleased. Besides, he didn’t intend to lose it. He’d use the glittering bauble to dazzle the Scots and win back his money. Then he’d replace the ring afterward, and Caya wouldn’t be the wiser.

  An hour later, blood pounded in Jack’s head. He had lost both coin and ring. The tavern had become suffocating. He tore at his stock, feeling like he couldn’t catch his breath. His anger at the brainless Scots drove him like a fever.

  The idiot Declan leered at him again. “Thanks for the ring, man.”

  “One more hand,” Jack growled.

  “Ye dinnae have any blunt left.”

  “One more, damn you. All or nothing.”

  “What will you wager?”

  He met the Scot’s shaded eyes and held his gaze. A wave of uncertainty washed over Jack. He dismissed the sensation, shoving it to a dark corner of his mind. The Scot thought this game was about risk. There was no risk. There wasn’t even luck involved. Napoleon was a game of skill and intelligence. The Scot possessed neither.

  “I wager my sister.”

  That wiped the grin off the idiot’s face. Magnus groaned and fell back in his chair, shaking his head.

  Alex asked, “What about the man she is to marry? O’Malley?”

  “Makes no difference to her. She’s never met the man,” Jack said. “Besides, she’ll do what I tell her to do.”

  Magnus tilted his head. “You sure you want to wager your sister?”

  “Is that even legal?” asked Alex.

  “I’m her guardian. I decide whom she weds. If Declan wins, he gives me his word he’ll wed my sister. If I win, I take everything. The money, the ring, and that distillery you mentioned.”

  “Dinnae do it, cousin,” Magnus said.

  Declan stared without blinking. Gone was the idiotic grin he’d worn all evening, replaced with a stony countenance that Jack found unsettling. The man seemed larger, more intimidating, his eyes darker, threatening. Then the Scot nodded to the deck.

  Jack drew the cards together, shuffled, and dealt. When he fanned the tattered cards with his fingers, a glorious rush of excitement coursed through his body. A winning hand. He’d known he’d win big tonight. He was unable to suppress a smile. Declan, on the other hand, looked as grim as death. Most likely, the simpleton guessed he’d already lost his whisky business. He had him where he wanted him. Scared and stupid.

  “Afraid you might lose?” Jack tossed out a card. A throwaway card. A lure.

  Declan won the first trick and led the second hand, just as Jack had planned.

  Jack won that and the next four tricks. A tiny thrill tickled the back of his neck each time he scooped up the cards, tapped them together, and piled them in his winning stack. He was planning what he would do with his takings when he reached for the next trick and a large hand swept the cards away.

  “My trick,” Declan said.

  Chapter Two

  Declan had a split-second choice to make. He could take the next trick, play out his winning hand, and walk away with his wife. Or he could throw the game and lose. Lose his money, his whisky business, and the woman he was supposed to marry. But which was the right thing to do? Obey his conscience or follow his dream?

  He tossed the seven of spades on the table. Jack reached for the cards, but Declan swept them up. “My trick.”

  “Wait.” The cocksure Cornishy man didn’t believe him, thought he’d drawn all the trump cards from Declan’s hand. Big mistake.

  He spread the cards for Jack to examine, then watched a sick awareness cross the man’s face. Pendarvis had made a fatal miscalculation.

  Declan won the next trick.

  And the next.

  And the next.

  Magnus and Alex tossed their cards in with sounds of resignation.

  “I’m out,” Magnus said.

  “Me, too,” Alex sighed.

  Declan laid down his last three cards and, in a flat voice, said, “I have all the rest.”

  He sat motionless during what seemed like a long silent minute, wondering why he wasn’t happy. He’d won. He should be elated, and yet he got no satisfaction from the man’s defeat. Declan rose on shaky legs, utterly exhausted. The stench of the sodding fool’s reeking body reached him from across the table. He needed fresh air. He also needed to leave the tavern before he did physical harm to the man. What kind of sick bastard would gamble away his own sister? Then again, what kind of sick bastard would gamble for his wife?

  Jack Pendarvis held his head in both his hands. He made no move, simply stared at the pile of cards lying on the table.

  “I suggest you take yourself to bed,” Declan said, barely controlling his rage. “You’ll have some explaining to do when your sister wakes.”

  When he made to leave, Jack shouted to his back, “You cheated me, you filthy Scot.”

  Declan half turned. “Nae. You’re just a very poor player.”

  Jack started to rise, but Declan shot him a deadly look, one that made most men think twice, and Jack dropped back into his chair.

  Declan stepped into the night and breathed in the blend of smells unique to Wick Harbour: the North Sea, cured herring, baking bread, burning peat. The rain had stopped, and nighttime sounds were gradually fading in anticipation of the dawn. The streets were quiet. A faintly putrid whiff of the slaughterhouse reached him, and he swallowed hard.

  What had he done? He’d won a woman—his wife—in a game of chance. Well, not so much chance as calculation. He and his cousins hadn’t fleeced someone so thoroughly since their days in the army, when they’d worked their game on any soldier doaty enough to try them.

  They didn’t cheat. Not exactly. Ever since he was a child, Declan had had a habit of counting things—cows, sheep, fence posts. He found it kept his busy mind occupied. Later, he’d discovered that his counting, though annoying to some, came in very handy when playing cards. Just like on the battlefield, he and his cousins were an unbeatable team. Declan would keep track of the deck and discreetly signal to his cousins when to bet. Alex and Magnus had only to play the role of frustrated losers. Running their game had always been great fun.

  Not so tonight. No joy in winning tonight. Tonight, he may have done something bad.

  From behind him, he heard Alex’s footsteps. “What’s wrong?” His cousin clapped him on the back. “You should be celebrating. You’ve got your wife.”

  “Aye, but not this way. I shouldnae take her this way.” Did he sound as miserable as he felt?

  “How was it in your dream?”

  “I dinnae ken. She was already my wife.”

  Magnus lumbered out of the tavern to join them. “The reekin’ stoater’s gone off to bed. Ye ken he and the lass will try and run for it before morning?”

  “Aye, and we’ll be waiting. They’ll not get far,” Alex said.

  Declan rubbed his forehead. A pain centered behind his eyes sparked white flashes in his brain. “Jesus. She’s going to be heartbroken when she finds out what her ass of a brother’s done.” He looked to Alex. His cousin always knew what to do in bad situations. “She’ll hate me. I cannae marry her if she hates me. Shall I give her back?”
<
br />   “To that bastard? Never.” Alex’s tone lowered to a deadly growl. “He doesnae deserve to be her brother. It’s obvious he cares nothing for the lass. She needs someone to see to her safety. You’re the man for her.” Alex placed a hand on Declan’s shoulder and gripped hard. “If she doesnae see that right away, she will. Give her time.” He released him and chuckled. “Remember how long it took Lucy to see the good in me?”

  “I wouldnae use your marriage as a comfort,” Magnus rumbled. “It’s been three years, and Lucy still wonders why the hell she married you.”

  Leave it to Magnus to make Declan smile at the worst of times, but another concern killed his humor almost immediately. “What about the man she was supposed to marry? The herring merchant?”

  “O’Malley? An Irishman? Pah.” Alex waved off Declan’s question. “Pendarvis said she’d never met the man and wasnae keen to marry him.”

  “Nae, but what if he comes looking for the lass?” Magnus asked.

  “The choice is hers,” Declan said. “If she wants the Irishman, I’ll not stand in the way. But if it’s me she chooses, I’ll no’ let anyone take her.”

  “Dinnae fash, cousin,” Alex said. “You’re the best man for the lass. You know it. I know it.” Alex took a deep breath and looked up to a second-floor window, where lamplight flickered. “Soon enough, Miss Pendarvis will ken it, as well.”

  Declan did his best to shake the cloud of doubt obscuring his future. He believed in his dreams. They’d never let him down. Yet—was he doing the right thing?

  Declan sighed, preparing himself for what was to come. “Magnus, will you bring the dray around? They’ll be leaving the tavern soon.”

  “I’ll cover the back door,” Alex said, and disappeared into the shadows.

  Alone for the moment, Declan lifted his face to the pink and yellow predawn sky. “Lord, you ken me for a sinner, and I wouldnae ask you for my sake. But for the sake of the lass, dinnae let her heart break when she finds out what Jack’s done.”