He reached for the new tankard and gulped the entire contents without taking a breath. To be drunk was better than entertaining those thoughts.
“You look like a man who has the weight of the world on his shoulders,” a deep voice with more than a hint of the Highlands to it commented from his right.
James squinted at the stranger, worried for a moment that they had indeed been followed, but then dismissed the notion. They’d had a good head start and no one knew which way they travelled. He’d told his staff they were heading up the North Road but he’d lied. It was too obvious and he wanted to travel closer to the coast.
“Nothing another ale won’t fix,” James replied, with another gesture to the serving girl. This would definitely be his last. Traveling the next morning after a hard night would add to his discomfort.
“May I join you?” the newcomer asked even as he pulled up the stool next to James.
“Why not?” Drinking really was a lonely business and Hobson was sleeping upstairs in the room next to Daniella’s, still slightly green from the bad pie.
He groaned when he thought of Daniella. He hoped she didn’t get it into her head to pick the lock. He straightened and put his mug down. Could the chit pick locks? He wouldn’t put it past her. Just where in the hell had she found out about virgin auctions anyway?
“So are you heading to London or away?” the stranger asked. He had his own tankard now and gulped almost as much as James did.
“Away.” His answer was curt. He knew more than a thing or two about discretion.
“Do you have an estate up the coast?”
“You ask too many questions,” James commented while looking down his nose at the lad. Any more than one was too many.
The boy couldn’t yet be two-and-twenty but he spoke with the voice of a man. His blond hair and striking blue eyes were at odds with that heathen accent. Most Scots looked more like Daniella, with flaming hair and green eyes the colour of spring pastures.
James groaned again and took another swig of ale.
“That look can only be associated with a woman,” the Scot commented with a sympathetic chuckle.
“Bloody chit is going to be the death of me.”
He laughed again. “But worth the trouble I’m sure.”
“Not this one.”
“Your wife?”
James shook his head. He realized he liked this nosy stranger. The man had an air of friendship about him. James was a very good judge of character. The war had done that to him.
Playing the Butcher had done that to him.
“It can’t be that bad, friend.”
It was. If only the man knew where he’d been, what he’d seen and done. Even now after leaving the Butcher well behind in France, he sat there, a kidnapper of defenceless women.
He snorted again. Daniella was a lot of things but defenceless was not one of them.
“Your sister then? I have seven of the creatures and they are certainly pushing my poor da into an early grave.”
“Seven?” James had thought being one of three children growing up tedious but seven? “How many of you are there in all?”
“Eleven children my ma and da can lay claim to. Seven lasses, four lads.”
“No wonder you are heading to London. How do you stand to be in a house with that many siblings?”
The stranger chuckled as he took another drink. “We don’t have houses in the Highlands. We have castles. Big ones. A boy can get lost if he wants not to be found. And then there’s the riding and swimming and exploring. It’s a brave life.”
“I’m Trelissick.” He offered his hand in greeting. They hadn’t left a crumb at this inn yet and if the talkative lad was traveling back towards London, he might come in useful. James had to put his plan back together and quickly.
“Patrick McDonald.”
“So is it business or pleasure that takes you to the capital, Patrick?”
“I’ve been and I’m returning home now, in fact, Trelissick. It was business. I was to find a bride in London and bring her back to the Highlands.”
“A bride? Good God, why would you want to do that, man?”
“Good lasses are scarce in our parts.”
“Unless you count your sisters.”
“It is frowned upon to marry your own sister.”
A bark of laughter slipped through his lips and went a long way to raising his spirits. “So you went to London to find a wife. Drastic. Are you in need of an heir?”
“One day, yes, but not yet. I promised my mother I would attempt to settle down. She suggested I take a trip to London. Who was I to decline her generous offer of a lazy tarriance?”
“So what’s next?” James liked that he could take his mind off his own worries and empathize with someone else’s misfortune for a change. It had been six months since his mother and sister had disappeared. Six long months of worry and getting nowhere. He wished she’d been there to nag him to settle down.
“Now I go home,” Patrick said with a nod.
“You didn’t find a wife then?” James wished he wasn’t on his way to being foxed. A strange emotion passed over the other man’s eyes but then was gone. James was too slow this evening to attempt to read what was there.
“I did.”
“What happened? You can’t just begin the story at the end and not tell the rest.”
“I’m afraid I was a horse’s arse and didn’t recognize love when it was crying all over my shirtfront. By the time I did, the lass didn’t want me anymore.”
“Cocked it up well and good by the sounds.”
Patrick nodded.
“Why didn’t you stay and fight for her?” God, he sounded like a romanticist. He was drunk.
“I tried. But it was too late. Now it is all a huge mess. Distance might help me see what my next move should be.”
He was right. James knew why his plan had fallen apart. He was too involved. Too
