“I ken it might be.”
A long stretch of silence. A roar rose from the gathered crowds at Kilmeny Hall.
“Well.” Cuthie rubbed at his graying beard. “Ye dinnae say.”
Kieranknewthat sound in Cuthie’s voice.
It was speculative. The tone he used when he realized a wealthy gentleman was too deep in his cups to notice someone dealing cards from the bottom of the deck. Or when a rum merchant might be too daft to haggle a price properly.
In short, the sound of a man who saw an opportunity and exploited it.
Kieran had to do something. To stymie whatever plan Cuthie concocted.
He stood, pushed his way out of his dark corner, and walked toward the men.
Massey saw him first, flinching in surprise and taking a half-step back.
Cuthie followed Massey’s gaze but, as he was made of sterner stuff, he didn’t react. The older man did nothing more than smile as Kieran approached them. A sinister sort of grin that set gooseflesh skittering down Kieran’s skin.
“Kieran MacTavish.” Cuthie’s grin spread like an oil stain across his cheeks. “I guess that answers our question about Ewan.”
Kieran longed to bury his fist in Cuthie’s jaw. To wipe that smug expression from the captain’s face and unleash his pain on the older man’s body.
“How does it feel to be the husband of a murderess?” Cuthie continued and then snapped his fingers. “That is . . . if Miss Eilidh Fyfferemembersbeing your wife.”
“I suppose it doesnae matter if she remembers or not,” Massey chuckled, but then Robert Massey had always been a toad-eater.
“Aye.” Cuthie grinned. “Once Jamie swings for her crimes, ye’ll be a free man, MacTavish.”
One of the officers shouted something to the other in the stableyard. Cuthie turned his head toward the sound.
Kieran swallowed back the words scalding his throat, shaking the tension out of his fists. But his body still hummed with suppressed violence. He wanted Cuthie battered and bleeding. He wanted the man on his knees, begging for mercy.
Kieran took a deep breath. In. Out.
Attacking Cuthie would only create trouble for himself. It would do nothing to help Eilidh.
“As long as ye tell the truth before the Judge Admiral and God tomorrow,” Kieran said, “I think all will be well for Miss Fyffe.”
Cuthie snorted. “The lass will hang, MacTavish. Ofthat, I have no doubt.”
“Ye dislike us so much that ye will perjure yourself to point a finger at Jamie?” Kieran asked.
“Cuthie! Massey!” the officer called from outside. “We go this way to our rooms.”
Massey poked his head out the inn door. “We’re coming.”
“Perjure myself?!” Cuthie laughed, his gaze darting to the side. “There will be noperjuryin my testimony, boy. Massey and I know what we saw.”
“I would think long and hard about what did or did not happen to causeThe Minervato sink, Cuthie,” Kieran said. “Remember, ye directly assaulted both Andrew and Rafe. We would hate for those crimes tae be brought into the light.”
Cuthie’s smug expression didn’t waver. “We both know that we stand at a truce with that. I don’t mentionyourmutiny, MacTavish. And Lord Hadley holds his silence about my supposed slight.”
“But that silence could end at any time.”
“And ye would possibly hang alongside your wife.” Cuthie pointed out.
“Aye, butyouwould be in Newgate. Or worse—”
