He nodded and slowed their pace. “Laird Bellingham is the one who insisted on the meeting. As Calder says, he is a poor excuse for a Jacobite because to hear the man talk, he only joins in because he is bored. But he has money and spends it freely. For that reason, the Cause welcomes him.”
“Laird Bellingham, the moneybags,” she repeated. As they reached the stairwell, she released his arm and entered the passage first, since it was too narrow to walk side by side. “Next?”
“Laird Devon. Quiet man who canna handle his drink. If he is ever captured, all they need do is get him sotted. He will sob out everything he has ever done since the day he was weaned.”
“Laird Devon the drunk.” She descended the steps slowly, struggling with the fullness of her skirts. “Grissa insisted on extra petticoats. This is ridiculous.”
“Aye, but ye look grand, m’lady.” He took care to step close to the wall to keep from stepping on the short train trailing behind her. “Laird Drummond is the last of the trio, and perhaps the most intelligent and beneficial to the Cause. Cunning man, and I wouldna turn my back on him.”
She halted and gave him an incredulous look. “Then why in the devil are ye meeting with him?”
“His benefits far outweigh his risks.”
With a roll of her eyes and a snorting huff that left no doubt about her opinion, she resumed her descent. “Men are ridiculous.”
“I heard that.”
“I meant for ye to,” she said without slowing. “Is anyone else attending this circus?”
“Circus? Why would ye reference a circular arena?”
She increased the speed of her descent as they passed the second landing. “Is anyone accompanying the three men ye already described?”
He could tell she gritted her teeth by the way she spoke. She needed to calm herself, but telling her so would only vex her more. “I am certain they more than likely brought solicitors, advisors, attendants. Some such lot. Why?”
She stopped so quickly that he nearly trod on her. Her worried glare back at him made him realize the foolishness of his last statement.
“Aye, I know what ye are thinking. Any of those people could work for Walpole.”
“Exactly.” She took his hand and fixed him with that look that always melted him. “Every stranger entering this keep, every questionable person, needs watching by people ye trust with yer life. This is not a time to be lax just because these men have come to yer home rather than lured ye somewhere else. They are even more dangerous here.”
“I am not a fool, my dove.” Pride a bit bruised, he tried not to take insult from her warnings. “We will find our way through these dangerous waters together, aye?” He kissed her hand, then stared deep into her eyes. “But I must also ask that ye dinna underestimate me. Trust me when I say I am not a lamb among wolves.”
“I know.” The torchlight at the bottom of the stairwell revealed her unshed tears. Her dark eyes glistened like pools of onyx. “Ye have made me love ye. I canna lose ye now.”
He caught and held her, closing his eyes and burying his face into her silky curls. “I love ye with a fury, my precious dove. Nothing will ever part us. I swear.”
She clutched him even tighter. “I will hold ye to that,” she whispered. “And remember what Robbie said about making me angry.”
Unable to keep from chuckling, he drew back and kissed her forehead. “Aye, I do. My precious dove becomes a raging lioness when she loses her temper.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Inow understandwhy Commander MacDonald didna wish to leave.” Laird Drummond offered a polite nod, but a predatory gleam shone in his beady eyes, adding a chilling effect to his smile. “It is a pleasure to meet ye, Lady MacDonald.”
“The pleasure is mine,” Mila said, fighting to hide her true feelings from the enemy. While the other two lairds had presented themselves as smarmy fools, Laird Drummond appeared to be the alpha of this dangerous trio of wolves. “I hope yer journey was pleasant. The Highlands are lovely this time of year.”
“Quite,” he agreed with a distracted air as he repeatedly swept his gaze across the large room.
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from asking if he was taking inventory of valuables or measuring square footage. Thankfully, Teague took over the conversation, freeing her to observe the rest of those assembled. It was going to be a long evening with this treacherous group. She envied Robbie his place in the entry hall with Auley and a few of the other lads. They had their own secret society of sorts. Robbie had taught them all sign language, and the scamps used it to communicate with each other and leave everyone else guessing. At least they seemed to be enjoying the festivities.
Taking care to keep her surveillance as low-key as possible, she eyed the man Teague had failed to mention. Master James Cranson, Laird Drummond’s solicitor. The man not only reminded her of a river rat, but also seemed entirely too familiar with Lizzie. Strange behavior for someone who supposedly had never been to Éirich Castle before.
As luck would have it, Laird Drummond’s assessing eye lit on the massive liquor cabinet behind the head table. Procured from France, the mahogany treasure detailed with exquisite gold-leaf decorations on the doors appeared to pull the man across the room. He stroked its polished surface like a lover.
She caught Teague’s attention and motioned for him to join her in a quiet spot away from the crowd.
He cast a watchful glance around the room, then pretended to steal a kiss. “What is it, m’love?” he whispered while nuzzling her ear.
