“Ye are going to this meeting with MacTavish then?” Joseph asked.
Niall swallowed before answering. “Aye. I must. All his cronies will be there. I willnae have a better opportunity to find out what they’re planning.”
Joseph and Flora shared another long look. “Aye, which is exactly what worries me. If they should suspect ye—”
“They willnae.” They’d been over this already. Many times. “I’ve spent weeks laying the ground work for this meeting, wheedling my way into his confidence and dropping hints. Now I’ve finally got an invitation, it would look more suspicious if I didnae attend.”
Joseph pressed his lips into a hard, flat line and Flora shook her head.
“Ye just be careful,” she said, waving the wooden spoon at him. “This is a dangerous path ye are walking.”
“Aye, I know it,” he said. “But what choice is there?”
Irene MacAskill’s words suddenly echoed in his head.The choice ye make will decide not only the course of yer future, but that of Alba as well.
Why would he think about that now?
He swilled his mint tea around in the cup, staring into its depths, then took a gulp, trying to calm the strange sense of foreboding that settled in his gut.
***
CHARLIE SLOWLY OPENEDher eyes and then wished she hadn’t. Bright sunlight was spearing in through the window and felt like a red hot lance impaling her brain.
She screwed up her face and put one arm over her eyes. Aargh. Why was someone hammering nails into her skull? And why did her mouth taste like something had crawled inside it and died?
Because you drank enough to sink a dinghy last night, that’s why, an admonishing voice spoke in the back of her mind.
With a groan, she moved her arm. There was a strange canopy over her bed. She blinked, trying to figure out what she was looking at. She didn’t remember it being there when she’d checked into her hotel yesterday.
She turned her head, groaning as the nails were driven deeper, and waited for her bleary eyes to come into focus. When they did, she stared.
This wasnother hotel room. There was a tray of cold tea sitting on a low table by a fireplace. A leaded glass window let in lemony sunlight that suggested it was still early. Too early.
Perhaps she was dreaming. Perhaps she was actually still asleep and this was all in her head. She stabbed her arm with her fingernails until it hurt. Ow! Well, that felt pretty real.
She sat up, groaning again as the hammering in her head intensified. The rustle of fabric brought her attention to the bedding she was lying on. It wasn’t the standard hotel-issue polyester blend but a heavy, ornate brocade of gold and burgundy. Eh? What the—?
With an effort that made her brain feel like it was sloshing around inside her skull, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat there for a minute. Her feet hit a cold stone floor and she shivered, despite the thick woolen socks she was wearing. She took a moment to steady herself against the wave of nausea that swept over her.
Then, in a rush, it all came back. The downpour. Taking refuge in the bookshop. Meeting Irene MacAskill. Getting locked in the shop. And then...and then...
And then she gate-crashed that wedding reception, imbibed more whisky than was good for her, and made a total idiot of herself in front of Niall Campbell.
Even through the foggy haze that filled her head, his name rang as clear as a bell. She was hardly likely to forget him, was she? He’d been as attractive as hell and...and...
And I kissed him!
The thought flashed through her head like quicksilver, quickly followed by mortification.
Oh God!
She had kissed him! She remembered now: the taste of whisky on his lips, the feel of his hands against her back, and the shocked look in his eyes afterwards. Oh hell. This was a disaster. She had to get out of here.
Charlie sprang to her feet and instantly regretted it as the room spun around her. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, and willing the nausea to pass. When she opened her eyes again, she noticed a full-length mirror in a gilded frame standing in one corner of the room. As she caught her reflection, she gasped. Her hair was wild and tangled from sleep, and her makeup was smeared all over her face making her look like an extra from some zombie movie.
She groaned, padding over to the mirror and examining her reflection in more detail. Her eyes were bloodshot, her skin pale. It wasnota pretty sight.
From the corner of her eye, she saw a door that she assumed led to an en-suite bathroom. She padded over, her socks silent on the stone floor, and pushed open the door. She was greeted by the sight of a large iron bathtub, a ceramic bowl, a chamber pot tucked discreetly in one corner.
