“There be a store ’alfway ’tween ’ere and the port, m’lord.” His eyes flashed with recognition and he whispered, “M’lord, the army is ’ere in search of Jacobites.”
Iain nodded and kept his voice low. “Where?”
“They’re going from door to door, sir. Searching all the alleyways and warehouses. They’ve searched here already and was on the other side of the dock last I heard.”
Iain’s brows furrowed more.
“Thank you,” Abby said, smiling at the boy.
Color shaded his freckled cheeks as he bowed. “Thank ye, m’lady.”
Iain guided Abby along the buildings. He chuckled. “I think ye have another admirer, m’lady.”
Abby smiled. “Anotherone? I never knew I had any.”
“Aye, ye do.”
She cocked her head and raised her brows. “You?”
“Aye. Now no more talk. We need to gather supplies.”
He had tried to sound lighthearted, but Abby winced at the worry tingeing every word. Oh, she understood he wanted to confront Thomas on his own terms. That was whyhis eyes often darted from side to side, peering into the distance, and scowling as if he could smell the soldiers. He confused her by all but saying outright he admired her when at other times, he snubbed her to the point of bringing her close to tears.
She hoped they could get the time device from Thomas. Then once she’d disappeared before his very eyes, he would have to believe her. Of course, that wouldn’t do her any good. She’d be home with her brother and sisters, probably pining away for her Highlander until she died.
Abby gazed at his profile. His lips were drawn tight, and his jaw twitched. He still had her hand in his, but the warmth had dissipated. There was a cold fury emanating out of his very pores. He yanked on her hand, nearly pulling her arm out of its socket, and whisked her and himself around the side of the inn.
His hard eyes alighted on her upturned face. He scowled a warning to be quiet.
He didn’t need to caution her. She wasn’t stupid.
Was he regretting having to drag her around with him and regretting his promise to get her treasure? She was slowing him down; she knew that.
Three soldiers marching shoulder to shoulder stomped down the road. Two more followed in their wake.
Abby stayed perfectly still and held her breath until no more heavy boots sounded.
Iain tugged her to go, but she held back. “Maybe you should go ahead without me?”
Hot fury flashed in his eyes, and then they filled with what Abby could only guess was fear.
“Nay.”
Fear? Of course, he would fear the English.
He tugged her hand. “Ye wouldna last an hour here on ye own.”
Together, they skulked down the street close to the buildings. The sun was setting, and shadows had Abby jumping so often, Iain must have thought she was being bitten by something.
Someone shouted behind them, “Laird Iain MacLaren.”
Iain snapped his head back. “Damn.”
Pulling Abby with him, he set off at a run. Guns fired. He and Abby ducked and scampered around a building, not stopping until they had traversed the smelly and muddy dirt—at least, Abby hoped it was mud—to the other side of the building. Iain stretched his neck and looked around the corner.
Abby bent under his arm and looked too.
Sir Thomas Sutherland stalled at the alleyway. “I know you are there, MacLaren. Go get him, men.”
