“Our usual place.” Ewan shifted on top of the coach, his body indicating his plan to object. “Our. Usual. Place.”
“Very good, sir.”
The coachman watched as Boyd closed the door and climbed to his place on the back of the coach. He urged the horses on, and Iain waited as the coach proceeded for several blocks before turning towards the New Town and home. Then he turned himself in the opposite direction, towards the Old Town and its unsavory people and places.
When the rage bubbled inside him like this there was no way to completely tame it other than drinking and fighting. Fucking sometimes helped, but this rage was a dangerous one and he could not rely on or risk that physical release would even take the edge off of it. So, the establishment tucked into a close near the bottom of the High Street was the perfect place for him right now.
Between its sordid, wild pub on the street, the dark private chambers below where the fights happened or the cramped spaces above stairs where other physical tussles happened, the Cock’s Spur was nothing to look at from the outside. But the magic happened once you entered it and, as Iain pushed open the door, he knew he’d made the correct decision. A cup was waiting for him by the time he reached the worn wooden bar.
Iain slammed it back, not caring what it was, because George, orKingas he was called here, gave him what he needed. Iain tapped his fingers on the counter and the cup was filled. He took it in one mouthful, ignoring the terrible burn of the rotgut tearing its way down. Two more followed without pause.
Sometimes the excellent whiskies or brandies or wines that he could afford now just did not do what he needed. Sometimes though only gin, or this rough whisky—distilled God knew where, by God knew whom—fit the bill. His next signal was ignored.
“Tess above or the fights below first?” King asked as he took the cup, gave it a quick wipe with a dirty cloth and placed it on the shelf behind him. At his raised brow, King continued. “Ye hiv that look aboot ye, Iain. The one that says ye need to fuck or fight yer way to oblivion.” Another man would never have said such a thing aloud, but then not many others had known Iain as long as King had. “She saw ye come in.”
The bartender nodded over Iain’s shoulder. Glancing back, he found Tess watching him. Her body arched under his scrutiny, pushing her large nipples against the flimsy fabric of the dress she wore. Tess was known to like a bit of the rough fun and was usually his choice when he needed that. She pushed her long, auburn locks over one shoulder giving him a better view of her voluptuous body. Her hand stroked over her breast, across her belly and stopped when it reached the cleft of her thighs. He imagined the curls there that did not quite match the shade of the hair on her head and smiled. Her fingers played there as he watched, understanding her purpose and her need.
“Fights,” he said to King. He tossed a rather large gold coin to her as he passed.
“Mayhap later?” he whispered as he passed her. The pout made Tess’s lips tighten, reminding him of the many talents of her mouth and the relentless pursuit of pleasure they’d always enjoyed. It would be a distraction now, but...
“Definitely later.” He gave her a rough kiss and spoke the promise against that mouth before walking through the door in the corner that led down to the fighting pits.
Day or night, there were fights here. And betting on outcomes or injuries. Iain unbuttoned and let his greatcoat slip off his shoulders. A servant trailing him gathered it up and waited on the rest. Walking stick, neckcloth, waistcoat, shirt and even the daggers he kept inside his boots followed until he wore nothing but breeches. Those were the rules here—and they were hard and fast. Breaking them resulted in a brutal punishment, swift and worse than any beating in the fights, which deterred many men from trying to keep an advantage other than their wits and their fists and their feet. He tipped the lad enough to ensure his belongings would be kept safe. Iain did it in spite of knowing his would always be here.
But with each bit of refined and expensive clothing he removed, a piece of this façade he wore and lived fell away, too. He stripped down to his core—the part of him that knew only kill or be killed. The feral part that understood the ways of predators and that was on watch for any attack. The uncivilized center that lived and breathed every moment of every day, just waiting to be needed.
Iain knew his way and followed the noise of the crowd to the current bout. These chambers were below the street, in old, long-buried buildings and spaces in the oldest parts of the city. As Edinburgh expanded over the years, before they aimed north and built the New Town, buildings were built on top of others. Even built on top of streets and closes. That resulted in these hidden places, some long forgotten, where activities best done out of sight could be accomplished. A roar told him a challenge had been decided. Pulling the final door open, whispers became shouts as people noticed him and his readiness to fight.
The roar echoed through him, his heart pounding in anticipation of the coming fight. Everything around him blurred into a strange silence and the only thing he heard now was the sound of his breathing. His hands tightened into fists and his body began changing the way he moved, spreading out his feet to gain a better-balanced stance. When he reached the cleared circle at the center of the crowd, Iain was ready. Pausing only to have his hands wrapped in strips of cloth, he nodded his readiness to the man deemed the referee, while never looking at his opponent. It mattered not at all to him. One was much like another when the fight began.
Kill or be killed. The fury within him fueled his senses, preparing him to attack.
Oh, he would get as good as he gave and his body would suffer, but it was the only thing that allowed the anger to ease.
The fight was called and Iain remembered nothing until he woke in the fair Tess’s chamber, a private one used by the owner when he visited. The taste of blood coated his tongue. His ribs ached. His jaw felt swollen. When he moved his hands, to reach for the glass being held out to him, they were stiff and would not do as he wished.
“Here now, love,” the lovely Tess whispered. “Let me help ye.”
Emptied of the burning rage, he lay back and allowed her tender ministrations to ease the aches and pains that were making themselves known. A swallow from the glass brought a smile to Tess’s face, one side of her mouth curved up as she held the glass at his lips. “Yer eyebrow wi’ need some stitching.”
He reached up with fingers finally loosening up and tipped the glass until the contents poured into his mouth. Though she was quite skilled with needle and thread, it was going to hurt.
“What time is it?” he asked as she took the glass away.
“Nigh on half-past three.”
“Well, then, get to it,” he said, patting her hip and sliding his hand around her shapely flesh and lovely arse. “I fear I can stay no longer.” Tess turned and stared at him, as though he’d startled her in some way.
“The gent is back in place then?” She lifted her leg, exposing her bare thighs and the glistening flesh between them to his view. Playing her game of temptation, she straddled his legs and traced her fingers along the bruised flesh of his belly to tease his nipples. They tightened, as they always did when she applied her skills to a sensitive place. “Is there something I could do to change his mind?” He recognized the humor and the arousal in her gaze.
“I fear not, lovely Tess.” Struggling against the pain, he lifted her free of him. “He has several people who are not as accommodating as you are with their time. So, with apologies, no.”
She did not argue then. Instead, she closed the silken robe over her beckoning breasts and cleft and tied the belt around her waist. It took but a few moments to bring the supplies she needed closer. Good girl that she was, Tess had gathered everything before he came back to himself. They’d been through this before, and would be again, he had no doubt.
His head spun, the room spun and his vision went dark. And when he looked up at her, he did not see Tess with her curves and luscious softness. He no longer looked into blue eyes or noticed the curling locks of auburn tossed over one shoulder as was her wont to do.
Emerald green eyes stared back at him. The voluptuous body, fed well on his coin, disappeared and a slim, petite woman replaced it. Long, mahogany hair lay loose around that delicate face. And the hint of a smile tempted him to touch her lips.
