The hard coldness settling in the pit of his stomach, told Slade why Egan had made the offer. Egan’s suspicion of Slade’s designs towards his sister.
CHAPTER 33
The next morning, as dawn’s egg yolk sun broke through threatening clouds on the horizon, Slade slipped out of his shared room with Peter, who had yet to stir. Slade had dressed with military precision and speed in preparation for the day, a little earlier than necessary. He made his way down the narrow hallway with wall sconces holding nearly burnt-down candles.
When he reached the door of the room Fifi shared with Lucia and the maid, he stopped. Was this desire to have a word with Fifi only to relay his suspicions about Egan’s impulsive conclusions, or for an altogether different reason? Despite the bed being comfortable and the room spacious, he hadn’t slept.
Slade gave a light tap, not wanting to wake anyone in the event they were still asleep. Seconds later the door cracked open, and the stern motherly looking maid Martha pushed her head through the small opening.
“Yes, sir?” Martha said.
“Is Mistress Dunbar awake?” Slade asked.
The maid’s brows furrowed. “This is highly unorthodox, Colonel MacLean, knocking at a lady’s door before the sun is fully up.”
Slade offered her a rueful smile. “I apologize; however, I need to inform her of changes in our travel plans.”
Her disapproving expression did not budge. “A note would have sufficed, sir.”
“You are correct, of course. However, since I am already here?” This time he threw her a debonair smile, the one guaranteed to make any tavern wench swoon.
She was unmoved.
“One moment,” she said in a flat tone, narrowing her eyes just before closing the door in his face.
He took a step back and glanced down the narrow corridor as he waited. Thankfully, no one else was up and about.
When the door reopened, Fifi stood at the room’s entrance in one of her typical bluenose gowns, buttoned up to her neck. Slade’s eyes inadvertently dipped the length of her then wished he hadn’t, for the fabric sat with tremendous allure on the slightly voluptuous arc of her chest and hips. Her warm, soft, enchanting scent mingled with a sweet bergamot and orange blossom fragrance drawing him in, doing strange erratic things to his pulse. She was too close, or perhaps not close enough. He cleared his throat, in an attempt to recall why he was here.
Her brows rose as if startled by his speechlessness. “Slade, is aught amiss?”
The shadows under her vibrant hazel eyes suggested she hadn’t slept either.
“Please be at ease. I only wanted to inform you Egan will be arriving soon to escort you to Eileanach,” Slade said.
The tip of her straight dainty nose wrinkled in puzzlement. “But I thought you would be our escort.”
At the very last moment, Slade decided not to relay his suspicions of Egan’s rash conclusions. Why cause her unnecessary worry?
He offered a warm smile. “A simple alteration of travel plans, nothing else.”
Pushing Egan to the back of his mind, he recalled something else discussed at the eventide meal last night and decided to warn her. “Keith and Duncan spoke of Bolingbroke’s men’s attack on the rebel village in Glenfinnan, after you and Lucia left the dining room,” he said.
Fifi stepped into the hallway and quietly closed the door behind her, the shadows on her face darkening. “How much do they know?” she whispered sharply.
“Egan and his men know of the attack on the village, but they are unaware you were in the vicinity.”
Something spiraled painfully into his chest at the agony displayed on her features.
Fifi slumped back against the wall, her shoulders sagging.
“I saw it all. I was there. And I couldn’t sleep, wishing to God I could have done more than just saving one woman and her child. The English continue to try and control the Scots with brute force and murder. If only I can do more,” she whispered.
“You were in the fray?” he said in a disbelieving tone, his worry from last night returning, stronger, almost choking him.
Bloody farthing hell. This was confirmation she was a spy. It also made him realize how exceptional she’d have to be to be recruited by the Movement. Despite his worry, he was impressed as hell. She’d have to be amongst the best. Although, not as good as he was.
He recalled when he’d first met nine-year-old Fifi. She’d been reciting the knight’s oath, dedicating herself to fighting tyranny and oppression, to fight against evil, in good faith and without prejudice. He’d never told her all those years ago he’d caught the last part of her oath before she’d stretched her arms out and ended up slipping from the rock outcropping into the loch. He’dbeen jolted, rendered speechless, and not a little surprised that she’d been more interested in knights than dolls.
