The Scot and I (24 page)

Alex was rigged out in a new set of clothes, too. While she had languished in luxury, he’d been out and about, taking care of the horses, conferring with the landlord, giving her time to have her bath in private. His plum-colored coat and skintight trousers were more suited to a dandy than a secret service agent. She swallowed a giggle.

He’d forced her to drink a small glass of whiskey when they first arrived, to stave off the interminable bouts of shivering that had taken hold of her. Maybe that was why she wanted to giggle.

“This is an out-of-the-way place,” she said, “yet it’s crowded with guests. Why is that?”

“They’ve come for the local games, you know, athletes competing for a place in the Braemar Gathering.”

“What if someone recognizes you?”

He flashed her a smile. “I don’t have the kind of face that people remember. Besides, I haven’t been in Feughside in years. I left to go to school and rarely came back.”

She wasn’t going to tell him that he had the kind of face a
woman
would remember—not handsome exactly, but with straight dark brows, intelligent blue eyes that missed nothing, and a strong mouth and chin. He would think she was using her so-called winsome ways to take him in. As though she would! As though she could! This man was impervious to females.

“Stop frowning,” he said, “and eat your dinner.”

She picked up a drumstick and made a show of eating it.

Seventeen

A rap on the door announced the maid with a pot of tea. She was very young, with very pink cheeks, and could hardly raise her eyes to acknowledge their presence until Alex pressed a coin into her hand. Then she wished them a happy life together, bobbed a curtsy, and bolted from the room.

Mahri didn’t want to giggle now. “What,” she said ominously, “have you told the landlord and his wife about us?”

He answered casually, “That we’re newlyweds. It was the only way I could be sure of getting a room. You saw their expressions when they first saw us. We looked like a couple of tramps.”

“You could have told them that we are brother and sister.”

“That wouldn’t do. They would have turned us away. On the other hand, everyone wants newlyweds to have a bed on their first night of marriage, especially after they’ve been set upon by brigands and robbed of all their worldly goods. That’s what I told them, by the way.”

“What about your fat purse?”

“Now that was a stroke of genius on my part. I told them that the brigands missed it because it was hidden in an intimate item of my wife’s clothing. Newlyweds and a fat purse—what could be more appealing to a hardheaded, romantic Scot?”

The more she frowned, the more he grinned.

She bit ferociously into a crust of bread and chewed on it as she thought things through. Finally, she said, “I prefer to have a room of my own.”

“Don’t we all? But that wouldn’t suit in our case. If there is trouble—and I’m not expecting any—I want you close by. I don’t want to risk life and limb chasing you down again.”

She took that to mean that he was afraid she might try to run away. She wouldn’t, of course. For one thing, she didn’t know the area, and she didn’t know what might be waiting for her around the next corner. For another, she wanted to find out what had happened to Dugald and the others. Alex seemed confident that they’d got safely away, and they’d meet up at his place. She couldn’t leave till she knew everyone was all right.

So they had to share this small room, because he didn’t trust her. “There is only one bed,” she pointed out.

He cut into a piece of ham and chewed on it before answering her. “True, but it’s large enough for two people.”

Her nostrils quivered. “Never, in my whole life, have I shared my bed with a man.”

One corner of his mouth curled up. “As I am well aware.”

It seemed to her that he was referring to the punitive kiss he’d forced on her in the Cardnos’ kitchen. She searched her mind for a suitable retort. Nothing came to her, so she said truculently, “Pass me my knife. I want to cut up this slice of ham.”

“Mahri,” he said shaking his head, “in your hands, a dinner knife is a lethal weapon. I’ll cut your meat for you.”

That was the final insult. She surged to her knees. “You stupid, muddle-headed imbecile!” she railed. “You’re clever with codes and numbers, so I’ve heard, but I can’t see it. Secret service agent?” she scoffed. “A plank of wood could work things out better than you. As I tried to tell you, I didn’t leave willingly with Murray. I hoped to draw him off so that the rest of you could get away. I couldn’t empty my revolver because I might have hit innocent bystanders. I got off one shot, then I was hit on the head and abducted. The reason they locked me in the cellar was because I attacked the gypsy.”

“I might believe you,” he said, “except that there was no bar across the trapdoor. You could have left anytime you wanted.”

She drew in a broken little breath. “When the shooting started, someone came to get me, Murray or one of his minions; I don’t know who. Then he ran off. He must have unbarred the door.”

She stopped. What did it matter what he thought? Picking up her fork, she speared a chunk of ham and bit into it.

Her anger, no, her outrage, and the incipient tears she was too proud to give in to acted on him powerfully. His suspicions began to seem absurd. She wouldn’t have put them all in danger. She might run from him, but betray Dugald? Betray Gavin? And Juliet and her mother? Mahri was loyal to a fault. She had yet to learn that sometimes a person was forced to choose sides.

He had his own weaknesses to contend with. He didn’t give his trust easily. He’d been so filled with rage at her apparent betrayal that he hadn’t been thinking straight. What had she called him—a stupid, muddle-headed imbecile? She had a point.

He had the strongest urge to take her in his arms and tell her that he was sorry for misjudging her. But they weren’t done yet. One thing, one insurmountable problem, made him steel himself against her. She was still shielding a gang of terrorists whom he was sworn to bring to justice or wipe off the face of the earth. Once Durward arrived on the scene and took charge of the investigation, he, Alex, might not be in a position to protect her. He was thinking of Ariel. He had always suspected that his own people had had a hand in her death. Traitors were rarely tried for their crimes. They simply met an untimely end.

He wasn’t going to let that happen to Mahri.

“We walked into a trap today,” he said quietly. “You know that, don’t you?”

Her head came up, and her gaze collided with his. “Of course I know it! Murray and his minions were on the train with us from Ballater. I hope you’re not accusing me. You didn’t tell us your plan until this morning, so no one at the Cardnos’ house could have set things up.”

“One other person knew my plan, the person who supplied me with uniforms and the safe pass for the train. He is the queen’s private secretary, and his name is Mungo Miller.”

She repeated the name softly. “I’ve heard that name recently.” She thought for a moment. “When they were taking me to that awful cottage, one of my abductors mentioned his name, and the others sniggered. What does it mean?” When she saw his expression, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. A moment went by. “You think he betrayed you?”

“I hope to God I’m wrong, but I think he may be dead.”

He was sorry that he’d been so blunt. Her eyes were wide and disbelieving. He wanted to put her on her guard, not scare the life out of her. “I may be wrong,” he went on, trying to allay her fears. “You know your abductors better than I do. Are they killers?”

“I don’t know, but it wouldn’t surprise me. Murray especially.” She shivered. “They were all afraid of him.”

Since the hand holding her fork had developed a tremor, he steered the conversation into a less harrowing channel. “You mentioned a gypsy,” he said. “Who was he?”

She spoke to her plate. “Archie. I didn’t know his name, but he reminded me of a gypsy, so that was what I called him. Then I heard Murray call him Archie.”

“You’d recognize him again?”

“I never forget a face.”

He was impressed. Neither did he, but he’d been trained to remember faces. “Why did you attack him?”

She lifted her chin and looked at him with what he took to be a challenge in her eyes. “I didn’t like the game he wanted to play with me, so I went for him. I didn’t hurt him, because I was tied to a chair. I will say this for Murray: he didn’t like it either. I think he may have broken the gypsy’s nose. Then Murray locked me in the root cellar.”

Alex remembered the broken chair and the rope he’d seen at their hideout, and he wanted to kick himself.

She had stopped eating and was staring vacantly at her plate. He didn’t like to see her beaten like this, but there would never be a better time to wring the truth out of her.

The thought of wringing the truth out of her made him grit his teeth. Only the desire to keep this brave, tenacious, and strangely vulnerable young woman out of harm’s way gave him the determination to persevere.

He reached for her shoulders and drew her toward him so that she was kneeling at his feet. The fact that she didn’t struggle was a sure indication of her fatigue. It was like reeling in a spent fish.

He kept his voice gentle but firm. “I believe everything you’ve told me, but you’ve left a great deal out. Some things I know, but some I’m guessing at, and you won’t enlighten me. How can I help you when you continue to mislead me?”

She blinked up at him, trying to concentrate on his words, when all she wanted was a nice, soft bed.

When she didn’t answer, he went on, “Here is what I know. Contradict me if I’m wrong. You’re a member of Demos.” There was no response. “You wrote the letter that warned us of the assassination attempt on the queen.”

“Much good it did me,” she responded bitterly. “I thought the reception would be canceled, but the powers that be let it go forward.”

He was speechless. At long last, she was giving him answers. Of her own free will, she was cooperating with him. It didn’t matter that he already knew the answers to his questions. This was a milestone. She was learning to trust him.

“So,” he went on finally, “you broke ranks. You betrayed your comrades.” He cursed himself. Wrong choice of words.

Her fatigue began to ebb. “I betrayed their plot to assassinate the queen. I didn’t betray them.”

“Is Ronald Ramsey a member of Demos?”

Now she was fully alert. “I suppose so, but I’d never seen him before the night of the queen’s reception.”

He knew that she was lying. Her eyes gave her away. “I think he murdered Dickens,” he said.

All the color washed out of her face.

He twisted the truth a little. “It must be either Gavin or Ramsey. They were the only ones near Dickens’s office at the crucial time. I know it wasn’t Gavin. He’s not a member of Demos. Ramsey is. Do you see the kind of people you’re protecting?”

She wrenched free of him and rubbed her arms where his fingers had grasped her. “You want me to go to the police, is that it? Why would anyone believe me? I am—was, a member of Demos. The police are just as likely to believe that I killed Dickens.”

“Or I did. You’re my alibi, and I’m yours. We’re both in this up to our necks. We’re both on the run. The difference is that you know what you’re running from. If I’m to help you, and myself, and Gavin, I need to know what I’m up against.”

He took a quick breath. “You have something Demos wants. What is it?”

Her eyes were wide and unblinking. “I don’t know where you got that idea.”

“Don’t you? Then think about this. You weren’t rescued tonight by your comrades. They didn’t greet you with open arms. They captured you, terrorized you—if what you’ve told me is true. Help me, Mahri. Tell what’s going on.”

Her throat worked, but no sound came; then she raised herself on one knee, then to her feet, and walked to the window. Arms folded across her breasts, she stared blindly out on the stable block. She was silent for so long that he thought she wasn’t going to answer him. When she spoke, her voice sounded a long way off, as if she’d put a great distance between them.

“My brother recruited me to Demos. I never met any of the other members of our cell, not to begin with. I was a courier, carrying messages from one dropping-off point to another. Bruce was my only contact with other members of my group. I was young, sixteen to his eighteen. I thought I was doing something patriotic. Bruce fired my imagination.” She turned her head to look at him. “And we Scots had good cause to be dissatisfied with our lot.”

She seemed to expect a response, so he said neutrally, “What made you change your mind?”

“I got older. Bruce got older. We approved of Demos’s aims but not the methods it used.”

His tone was dry. “You mean planting bombs? Recruiting mercenaries? Assassination?”