There were mumbles of agreement around the room and many thumped the tables, their eyes alight with righteous zeal. Oh yes, these were rebels all right, but they were not the ones he was looking for. Arrogance and wind, that’s what these men were made of. They would bluster and whine, drink whisky and plot, but they were cowards, the lot of them, and wouldn’t stick their necks out when it really mattered.
But he was here for a reason, and even in the midst of these fools, there might be information to be gleaned.
Niall’s gaze swept across the room again, taking note of the faces. Robert Caldwell, for all his bluster, was known to have ties to certain unsavory groups. And Alistair MacTavish was from a family that had a history of playing both sides of any conflict to their advantage.
They were fools, aye, but fools with resources and influence. And as history had shown time and again, such men were capable of causing great harm.
Niall listened to them all, tallying up their grievances and their boasts, their threats and their promises. He sipped at his brandy, nodding along with their rants, contributing the odd word of agreement here and there. All the while, his eyes flickered from face to face, taking note of every twitch of an eye, every clenching jaw, every suppressed snarl.
His attention, however, was pulled towards a group of men gathered in the corner of the room whom he had yet to meet. A low hum of conversation emanated from their corner, much quieter than the loud boasting and grandstanding of their compatriots.
One man stood at the center of this group, his back to Niall. Unlike the rest of the men in the room, there was no drink in his hand, and his voice, though low, carried a certain weight that commanded attention.
This might be Alistair MacTavish’s house, and he might be the one that had arranged this gathering, but Niall got the impression that it was the man in the corner who held the real power. Niall moved closer and as he did, the man turned around. Niall stopped dead.
“Ah! Niall Campbell!” the man said. “So good of ye to join our little... gathering.”
Niall scrambled to regain his composure. He plastered his usual arrogant smile onto his face and gave a small bow. “Boyd MacAllister. I hadnae expected to see ye here.”
MacAllister smiled, but it didn’t meet his eyes. “Well, isnae life full of little surprises?”
“Ye two know each other?” Alistair MacTavish asked.
“Indeed we do,” MacAllister replied. “His family and mine own neighboring estates out in the country. We’ve known each other since we were bairns.”
“Aye, we have,” Niall replied, fighting for a calm he didn’t feel. Neighbors, aye. Friends? Not even close. MacAllister was the kind of man Niall loathed: a bully who used his power and position to get what he wanted, regardless of who he hurt in the process.
“I didnae think ye were one for politics, Campbell,” MacAllister said. “According to the gossip, ye’ve whole-heartedly embraced the life of drink and debauchery in our dear capital. Ye are quite the talk amongst Edinburgh society.”
Careful, a voice warned in the back of Niall’s head.Careful.
“I find the talk of society often strays far from reality,” Niall responded smoothly, a touch of humor playing at the corners of his mouth. “And as for debauchery, well,” he gave a noncommittal shrug. “One cannot simply live on bread alone.”
Laughter sounded from the group around them, but MacAllister didn’t join in.
“I see ye were late to our meeting,” he said instead. “Anything to do with the ‘Countess of Argyle’?”
Niall almost choked on the brandy. He didn’t miss the slight stress that MacAllister put on the title. MacAllister obviously knew that Charlotte was not the real countess of Argyle as the real one had turned up after she left. He also obviously knew that she’d accompanied him home.
“I dinna know about a countess,” he said with a shrug, pulling on the arrogant mask as easily as donning a cloak. “But she was certainly a lady of unique...talents.” His suggestive tone earned another wave of laughter from the crowd.
MacAllister’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes narrowed. “Is that so? And what might these unique talents be? Perhaps she’s a dab hand at card games?”
Niall allowed himself a small smile. “Well, let’s just say she knows her way around a man’s...coin purse.”
The room erupted into laughter again, and Niall felt his stomach twist. He shouldnotbe talking about Charlotte like this. Yet it was better that these men think that she was no more to him than a notch on his bedpost. If they began to suspect otherwise...
He took another sip of his brandy, using the moment to collect his thoughts and steady his emotions. He could feel MacAllister’s calculating gaze on him, and he knew he was treading a dangerous line. One wrong move, one hint of true emotion, and he might as well draw a target on Charlotte’s back.
The door swung open with a creak. The housekeeper walked in, her arms laden with platters of food. The arrival of the meal provided a welcome interruption to the conversation, and Niall was glad of the reprieve.
As the men’s attention turned to the food, Niall joined in the conversations but said nothing of import, content to listen and catalog what he heard. It was amazing what information people would let slip in a seemingly innocuous comment or innocent conversation.
Niall’s gaze flicked around the room, taking in the faces and making note of everyone present. His superiors would want that information. But he frowned when he saw that one chair sat vacant.
He turned to MacTavish, who was sitting by his side. “Where’s MacAllister?” he asked, his voice sharper than he intended.
MacTavish looked up with a slight furrow in his brow before answering. “He left not long ago. Said he had business to attend to for Lady Murray.”
