What the Scot Hears

by Amy Quinton

  She picked at and pulled off strips of peeling paint from the door while she waited for her potential savior to consider her request.

  Mere seconds, felt like an hour.

  “Alas, my lady. I fear I cannot. He said he would return soon enough and that you could…ahem…” the voice trailed off.

  Clearly, the man realized he probably shouldn’t finish that sentence.

  Blast MacLeod, that loggerheaded, plume-plucked, scut! How dare he?!

  Amelia beat the door with her fist, then stood back and crossed her arms as she considered her situation.

  Her guard sounded young. Well of course, he was. What grown man would sit on the dirty floor of a drafty old inn, likely all night long, to guard a lady’s room? Either someone with little smarts to recommend him…or someone desperate enough to need the coin.

  Hmmm…

  Amelia suspected the latter, and that gave her the advantage.

  “I’ll double…no triple…whatever he paid you if you will set me free.”

  No answer.

  Amelia applied the sweetest, gentlest voice she could employ. “Come on, my good man. We both know MacLeod’s bark is worse than his bite. He doesn’t really want to see me detained, not really.”

  “He was v-very s-specific and m-most insistent, Mrs. Chase…” The boy cleared his throat, his voice having cracked on the word ‘specific’. Aahh, he must be thirteen or thereabouts, she guessed. Even better.

  “Well, of course he was, my young friend. But you see, he and I like to play practical jokes on each other. In reality, he has this warm fuzzy side of him he lets few people see…” Amelia could practically hear the boy’s expression of disbelief through the door, and she had to choke down a laugh, “He’s really a big softy beneath that gruff exterior. Honest to God, ‘tis true. I promise. We’ve been playing jokes like this on each other at every stop since we left London. It was supposed to be my turn for a prank tonight, but I cannot very well return the…the ah…favor if I’m stuck in here, now can I?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Amelia smiled. She had him now.

  Fifteen minutes later, Amelia stepped inside the inn’s stables with a mind to arrange for her carriage to be readied for departure. Her hindered exodus from her room meant she’d missed Dansbury by a matter of moments…something she was more than willing to lay at MacLeod’s feet the next time she saw him.

  And there would be a next time, of that she had no doubt, for it seemed they both had similar objectives: Dansbury.

  Setting aside thoughts of retribution, for now, Amelia looked around for someone in authority to assist her. The stables were dark, but well-ordered and filled with the smell of horses, hay, and oiled leather.

  A boy she recognized from when she’d arrived the day before walked up the center aisle, struggling under the weight of a large saddle. Red hair poked up from an unfortunate cowlick on the back of his head. She knew from yesterday that his face was dotted with freckles and his demeanor was as cheerful as sunshine.

  Amelia smiled in greeting. “Ah, Timmy, how are you?”

  Timmy looked at her oddly.

  “Timmy?” she queried.

  He stepped closer, then gasped and dropped the saddle. “Oh! Milady. How can I help you?” He pulled off his hat and tugged at his forelock as an afterthought, as if unsure how to greet her.

  Then he jerked and glanced down at the saddle on the floor before his booted feet. Amelia and Timmy both stared at the ornate saddle, she in bemusement, he in mute horror.

  She distracted him by saying, “I’d like my carriage readied for departure post haste, young man.”

  Amelia reached into her reticule to retrieve a coin and was surprised when she looked back up to find the boy standing there, saddle still lying on the floor at his feet, squeezing the life out of his cap with his grimy hands. The boy’s face held a look of utter dismay.

  “Timmy? Is there a problem, son?”

  “Well, I-I don’t rightly no.” He pulled at his forelock once again, obviously nervous. “Yer husband came down an hour ago and took yer carriage to the next posting inn. H-He let your driver go, with a bonus for the… uh…change of plans…said…uh…ye wouldn’t be needing your carriage for a few days…. Milady…er, Ma’am.”

  Husband? She had no husb… Amelia smirked. Ooooh, MacLeod! You scoundrel!

  Of course, she kept her thoughts well-hidden and graced the young man with a benevolent smile. “Oh, that’s quite all right, Timmy. It must have slipped his mind that I needed to use the carriage one more time this morning. Let me ask you? Is my husband’s horse still here?”

  “Of course, milady!” He smiled wide and his green eyes sparkled with delight, a sure sign of his returned good nature.

  Amelia couldn’t prevent the wicked smile that crossed her lips. “Perfect! Please saddle his horse; I need to borrow it for a quick errand this morning…it’s a surprise for my wonderful, thoughtful, darling husband…and I have several coins here with your name on them should you make it quick,” she added in a sing-song voice.

  Timmy pulled at his forelock a third time, and practically performed a jig in his boots. “Yes, milady! Of course, ma’am!”

  “Good man. Thank you.”

  So, MacLeod thought he could get the best of her, did he?

  Ha! We’ll just see about that…

  Amelia stepped out of the dim stables, into the rear courtyard of The Quiet Witch Inn, holding her hand up to her forehead to shade her eyes from the brilliant morning sun. It was a fine day to set off by horseback. She had the inexplicable urge to dance her own jig for she was nigh giddy with anticipation for the adventure that awaited her.

  In all honesty, she was far more interested in daydreaming about MacLeod’s reaction when he discovered her and his horse gone. She imagined steam blowing out of his ears and out the top of his head. The imagery would feed her revenge-minded soul with life-sustaining amusement…for a little while, at least.

  Until their next meeting, the thought of which added an extra spring in her step.

  The stable yard was bustling with activity this morning as regulars stumbled home after a night spent drinking and subsequently sleeping it off in the taproom. Proper guests saddled their horses or loaded their wagons as they made themselves ready to depart. This inn was quite aways off the usual path out of London, hence no fancy carriages or coaches were present nor expected, not even the mail coach.

  Amelia stepped through and around all the hubbub and made her way inside the inn, careful not to step in any steaming piles of excrement gifts left by the many horses being led about along her way. She also kept her mouth closed and forced herself not to stop to talk to the more interesting guests milling about in the yard as was her habit.

  She needed to get out on the road posthaste if she wanted to make significant progress before MacLeod returned and learned what she’d done.

  Oh, she wanted nothing more than to rub her hands together in unsympathetic glee. What she wouldn’t give to be there when he discovered how she so perfectly foiled his plans.

  Amelia stepped inside The Quiet Witch and paused, waiting while her eyes adjusted to the dim interior. She squinted and found the bar relatively empty in contrast to the hurried activity outside, and in particular contrast to the rowdy crowd here the night before. Dust still coated every surface and cobwebs, every corner. She rather suspected that dust and those exact cobwebs had seen the last turn of the century.

  Amelia wove her way between empty round tables, their surfaces pitted and scraped from years of abuse, and headed toward the main desk at the back of the room. A hefty mustachioed man was standing behind the counter, his beefy hands on the bar.

  “Checking out?” asked the innkeeper, his large wet lips nearly spraying her with saliva.

  She shuddered. “Yes, I am, but I would like to pay for the room to be held another night, if you please. My husband shall be returning in a few hours to collect my luggage, for I cannot take it with me.”
/>
  “And you are Mrs. Chase?”

  “Yes, yes, I am.” She set her reticule on the bar before her, clasping it with both hands as she spoke.

  “An’ you say Mr. Chase will be along by noon?” Ha! She could just imagine MacLeod’s response to being called Mr. Chase.

  But she corrected the innkeeper all the same. “Weeelll, actually he goes by Mr. MacLeod. It’s a long story, you see…”

  “Ma’am I don’ care fer yer reasons. I don’ ask questions, so long as I’m paid what I’m owed,” he interrupted.

  How rude…

  “Fine, then.”

  “Right. One night plus one half day…that will be…ten crowns.”

  “Ten crowns! Are you crazy? You, sirrah, are taking advantage of my situation.”

  The man smiled, rotten teeth peeking out beneath his full mustache. “Ten crowns, or I put your luggage out on the side of the road by nine o’clock.”

  Amelia scowled at him, then looked down as she fumbled around in her reticule for the requisite amount. Honestly, the man had some nerve taking advantage. It was a wonder he remained in business with practices such as his; he was slovenly, gone to fat, lazy, and a complete crook…not to mention the state of disrepair present in every inch of this bar and the rooms above.

  Were she not in a hurry, she would stay behind and give the man a piece of her mind until he capitulated and suggested a more reasonable amount…and with an apology to boot. Not to mention she was going to have to find a way to get more money…and soon…at this rate.

  But, alas, time was not on her side at the moment. She needed to be on the road posthaste.

  Thus, Amelia begrudgingly forked over the coins and the room key she’d retrieved from her ‘guard’ this morning. “Thank you,” she said, with more than a little bit of sarcasm coloring her tone. “No, never mind. I don’t thank you for relieving me of so much.”

  Still, she was grateful to be leaving this place behind, even though she wasn’t entirely sure where she was headed.

  “Ah, ma’am, one minute…I have a message here for ye.” Now, he finds his manners, of course.

  “For me?”

  “You did say your name was Mrs. Chase?”

  “Yes. I did.”

  “Then yes, I do.”

  He handed over the note, leaving a smudged print on the outside of the paper with his dirty thumb.

  Ugh.

  “Thank you.” Manners were as natural as breathing.

  But the man didn’t respond, he’d already disappeared between two swinging doors, presumably toward the kitchens.

  Amelia broke the seal with haste, tearing the parchment a bit in the process…curiosity getting the best of her patience.

  Dansbury is headed to the Sorceress and Lusty Hound Inn. I’m confident you will find your way there.

  K

  Excellent!

  Sure, she wasn’t entirely certain who the note was from, but it mattered not. She had had no real idea of where she needed to go next, so a questionable direction was better than no direction at all and that was all that mattered.

  Amelia raised her fist to the air. Take that, Alaistair MacLeod! She reached over to the bell on the bar and rang for the proprietor with an overzealous amount of relish.

  He reappeared through the swinging doors, clearly unamused. “What now?”

  Amelia ignored the surly tone of his voice. “How do I get to the Sorceress and Lusty Hound Inn?”

  The man stood there and crossed his arms.

  Amelia waited with excited anticipation for a minute, then rolled her eyes. “Oh, all right…” and pulled out another coin.

  He took it without even looking at it and answered, “Follow the road north. After about five miles, turn east on the B road. You’ll find it eventually.”

  Amelia was unimpressed. “Sir, if you haven’t noticed, there is rarely any sun shining through the constant cover of clouds in this godforsaken country, and I have no compass. So tell me, which way is north?” She didn’t really despise England but some of her citizens were really beginning to piss her off.

  “Where were you before you showed up here?”

  “London, but…”

  “Don’t go back to London.” He answered, then stormed off.

  Amelia called after him, “You could have just said turn right!”

  Ridiculous man.

  Now that she knew where to go, Amelia went off in search of her quill and parchment, all but crowing with glee over the provoking note she would leave for her dear, thoughtful husband.

  Chapter Five

  MacLeod sauntered into the dimly lit stables of the Quiet Witch Inn sufficiently pleased with himself. He’d taken care of the Inconvenience named Mrs. Chase, at least for now. Aye, Mrs. Chase was a complication, whose actions, whether innocent or not, put several lives in danger.

  Including her own.

  But more to the point, who was Mrs. Chase? He’d worried that question in his mind for hours. Was she involved with the Secret Society for the Purification of England, the men behind the attempts on Dansbury’s life? He doubted it. Could she be Dansbury’s sister? It was possible…hell, many a man had their secrets, particularly family secrets; he and Dansbury wouldn’t be the only ones…

  Aye, she could be entirely innocent or remarkably calculating. Regardless, given her actions, she was certainly up to no good, but how up to no good was she? His gut told him to keep a wary eye on her. Her actions screamed her guilt. Sure, Dansbury could take care of himself, but Dansbury had enough on his hands dealing with Lady Beatryce.

  That left Mrs. Amelia Chase to him. He steadfastly ignored the lift in his chest at the thought of their continued acquaintance.

  So his methods weren’t exactly above board, but he did what he could to keep everyone safe, and even ignorant if necessary, as was required of his job as an agent for the Crown. People were the reason he shunned society. They commanded you to cater to their demands. Forced you to question the logic of sound decisions.

  From his experience, that way lay danger; emotions overriding common sense got you or your loved ones killed…or permanently disabled.

  He unconsciously rubbed at the sudden ache in his chest.

  MacLeod walked back to where he had stabled his horse, Stonewall. The stall was empty and his saddle gone.

  What the bloody hell?

  MacLeod marched back to the tack room and found the young stable hand, Timmy, sitting on the floor against the wall. The lad smiled down at his hands, both overflowing with coins.

  MacLeod had a bad feeling about this.

  “Timmy, lad. Step to.”

  The boy jumped to his feet, his hands clenching his coins in tight fists. Several shillings stuck out between the dirty, protruding knuckles on his skinny little fingers. Timmy looked at him in distress for a minute, then relaxed when recognition dawned.

  “Oi, MacLeod.”

  MacLeod had a verra bad feeling about this. “Timmy, where’s ma horse?”

  “Oi, yer wife borrowed him for an errand or some such…”

  Ma wife? Yes, a verra, verra bad feeling…

  “She left goin’ on about fifteen minutes ago. But…” The boy reached over to a nearby table and picked up a folded piece of paper. “…she did leave you this message.”

  He snatched the proffered note and ground out a gruff, “Thank you.”

  MacLeod turned his back on the boy and tore open the message. His body all but thrummed with anticipation when what he should be feeling was palpable anger. People.

  Alaistair…dearest,

  Thank you, dear husband, for taking the time to see to the return of my carriage and for the use of your fine horse. While you are being so thoughtful and helpful, would you kindly see to the forwarding of my luggage? I did not wish to place such an undue burden upon your fine steed; thus, I left the luggage behind in my rooms.

  I’ve included my new direction below.

  I look forward to seeing you at the Sorceress and L
usty Hound Inn. Until then, safe travels, my love.

  I Remain…

  Affectionately Yours, etc.,

  Amelia

  And then:

  P.S. Right now, I am taking particular pleasure in imaging you scratching that scruffy chin of yours while you attempt to discern exactly how I knew where Dansbury would be headed next.

  MacLeod dropped his hand from his chin, having been in the process of scratching it as he read her note. He would never, ever admit to almost…almost…smiling; she was a cheeky, determined thing.

  But how did she know where Dansbury was headed next? His mind checked off several possibilities, all of them rendering her guilty in any sensible person’s eyes.

  Damn, he was in trouble. Already his mind shied away from believing her truly a threat.

  MacLeod refolded the note and put it in his inside jacket pocket, proving to himself that he would not let a pretty smile cloud his judgement. It was evidence should she turn out to be guilty. That was all. He certainly wasn’t holding on to the note like some lovesick swain.

  Och, the more he tangled with her, the more questions he had.

  MacLeod exited the stables, more anxious than ever to be away, though he’d never own up to the sense of expectancy that settled over his normally well-ordered mind.

  But first he had to see a man about a horse…and then one stubborn, Independent American Woman had better be ready.

  Chapter Six

  The Next Morning at Ridiculous O’ Clock: The Sorceress and Lusty Hound Inn

  Amelia dragged her bone-weary body up the rickety stairs of The Sorceress and Lusty Hound Inn. It had taken the entire day and most of the evening to travel here…all of it on horseback. She was tired, grumpy, and utterly and stupendously filthy. Even pigs would turn their noses—er, snouts—up at her.

  Amelia chuckled at the imagery.

  Of course, as soon as she had arrived, she’d paid the innkeeper an exorbitant sum to have a hot bath prepared for her in her room while she waited in the taproom downstairs; she was NOT going to carry the mud and dust from her travels into bed with her no matter how tired and sore she was.