‘And do not try to turn the wretch with your soft looks and words,’ continued Drayton. ‘The lad is rotten to his core and loyal to me.’
‘Because you terrify him,’ hissed Maren. Her hand on the pistol shook violently, and she was sure he would notice.
‘No, because he is greedy and likes coin,’ said Drayton. ‘I understand lads like him because these streets are where I got my start in life. I did not imagine back then, as I ran barefoot and freezing in rags, that one day I would plunder the rich, live a big life, and fondle beautiful women.’ He ran his fingers over her collarbone and down to her breasts. ‘And you are a beauty, Maren, in that snarling way that quickens a man.’
Maren flinched in revulsion. ‘I will do your bidding, but you will not lay hands on me, Drayton.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I don’t belong to you any more.’
He laughed. ‘You are mine, Maren, and you always will be. Don’t you see? In my way, as much as I ever can, I love you, lass. We are two savages together, you and I. You can never be content with that tame life at Penhallion. Your wild soul will wither away as a laird’s wife.’
Maren peeled off his fingers, and he let her.
‘Alright, Drayton. I will bring you information. But now I have to go before I am missed.’
‘Keep you on a tight leash, do they? Go on then. Scurry back to your masters.’
Maren hurried away from him, feeling his eyes nip her back like hot pincers.
‘It’s good to see you again, lass,’ Drayton called after her in a mocking tone.
***
She could not do it, for it was too awful. How could she turn traitor and betray Bryce, a man she was beginning to harbour affection for? Oh, but how could she not? A noose, or worse, waited for her if she was exposed as a spy. Her new life would come tumbling down, and all her lies would be exposed. Had Drayton been lurking in the shadows all these months at Balloch? What did he know about Lawson? He could be in danger too when he returned from his latest voyage to France.
Drayton was her husband before the law, and he had a claim on her, a far greater one than Bryce Cullan. Why had she not used her pistol, put its barrel to his arrogant face and turned it to the bloody mess she believed was him all those years ago?
Because she was a coward. Her nerve had failed her.
Drayton would have spies everywhere, people who could go unnoticed, like the lad who scurried to do his dirty work. For Maren, there was now a crawl to her skin when folk glanced her way. Their gazes were not simply friendly, when they passed her by with a smile, or admiring, or intrigued when their gaze lingered. No. They could be watching, judging and reporting back. It was as if Drayton had gone inside her again and wriggled deep into her flesh, like a maggot into carrion.
Maren took a deep breath and drew from her deep well of tenacity and defiance. Life had worked on her since her marriage to that villain, and she was no longer the naïve, helpless lass who looked to men to support her through the world’s trials. She was no shuddering virgin to be owned and taken. She had learnt the hard way to be her own woman, and she alone would decide where her loyalties lay, who she gave her body to and who had her heart.
There had to be a way to defeat Drayton and purge her life of his devilry once and for all. But first, she had to warn Lawson.
Chapter Nineteen
Balloch wharf was as foul as she had left it, squatting under a grey sky, and rank with odours of the sea – bilge, fish and kelp rotting into the green-grey waters of the harbour. In her haste to get to Lawson, Maren had not considered that he might be plying the waters between Scotland and France and that she might have to wait for his return. But God was kind for a change, and when she reached the wharf after an exhausting ride, his sturdy barque was there, groaning at its moorings. With a sigh of relief, Maren rushed aboard, drawing the attention of several sailors who shouted vulgar comments at her.
She ignored them and plunged into the stale air of the ship’s underbelly. Damp wood, tar, old cooking smells and the sharp tang of unwashed humanity assaulted her nostrils. She had to crouch low to avoid hitting her head on the low ceiling beams, but she wove nimbly between swinging hammocks occupied by sleeping crew –pale pods, ripe with human seed.
Maren barged into Lawson’s tiny quarters to find him crouching over maps and holding a lantern up in the gloom. His mouth fell open, and he rushed over and folded her into his arms.
‘Maren. By God. This is a welcome surprise. I can scarcely believe it is you, lass, though you have looked better. Have you been in a fight?’
‘No, and get off me, you big bear,’ she said, trying to smooth her tangle of hair.
‘You came back to me,’ he gushed.
‘Not for long.’ Maren pushed him off with some effort. ‘Thank God you are still here. I thought you would be in France by now.’
‘No. I was delayed in sailing. What is amiss?’
‘I come with a warning. There is danger, and you must get clear of it.’
Lawson smiled down at her, dark eyes dancing in his wicked face. ‘What danger is so grave that I need rescuing by a lass?
