“I’m going back to Scotland,” he returned, striding out of the room with Rory on his heels. “I swore an oath to kill a man. Time for me to see to it.” He’d known ten years ago, damn it all, and he’d fled. He’d followed his brother’s orders rather than stay put and keep an eye on damned Dunncraigh. And now somehow the duke had removed Ian from the equation. And so now the duke and anyone else involved would pay in blood, if he had to burn down the bloody Highlands to do it.
Chapter Two
“Ye,” Callum barked, jabbing a finger at the thin young man with the crisply starched cravat who stood on the dock. “Crosby and Hallifax?”
“I said to put another rope on that net!” the lad yelled up at the sailors who loaded heavy barrels into a net. “Nae a soul gets to drink any of that fine whisky if it spills all over the docks!” That dealt with, he faced Callum. “Can I help ye? I’m in the middle of someaught. These barrels need to get racked at the warehouse before they all turn to vinegar.”
“Are ye Crosby and Hallifax?”
The fellow frowned. “I am their representative, aye,” he replied, then took an abrupt step backward, nearly falling over a pile of buckets, as Waya loped down the gangplank to join them on the dock. “Sweet Mary! Is that a—”
“A wolf,” Callum interrupted. “Aye. Take me to yer offices.”
“I…” He cleared his throat. “I can point ye in the correct direction, but I’m to count whisky barrels and oversee their unloading. Kentucky Hills Distillery is our largest client, and I willnae—”
“Fuck the whisky,” Callum retorted, pushing against four damned weeks of nothing to do but pace the deck ofThe Roosterand decide whether a rifle ball or a knife would be better suited to end Dunncraigh. As eager as he was to bury the man, though, and as sure as he was that Ian MacCreath hadn’t drowned, he needed to be even more certain who, exactly, had murdered his brother. He could name at least four additional suspects even without having been in Britain for ten years. All of which meant that he needed information. Quickly and accurately. “Crosby and Hallifax. Now.”
The younger man blinked. “I’ve a duty, sir. Inventory figures, profits, and losses dunnae record themselves. I’ve nae missed an ounce in a shipment in two years, and I willnae do so now. So allow me to point ye on yer way, or go find the offices yer own self.”
Callum tilted his head. Most of his profits came from America these days, but the Highlands couldn’t get enough of his used barrels for him to keep them stocked. All that, however, remained beside the point. He had a task to see to. Nothing else mattered, up to and including Kentucky Hills Distillery and its shipment of whisky.
“Perhaps we need an introduction,” he said, taking a step closer and offering his hand. “Callum MacCreath. The man who pays a large portion of yer salary.”
“I… Oh. Oh, sweet Mary and Joseph.” The fellow fumbled and dropped his clipboard, bent to pick it up, then thought twice about that and straightened again to grab Callum’s hand and attempt to shake it off his arm. “Mr. MacCreath. I had nae idea ye were on yer way here.”
“I didnae expect to be,” Callum returned, retrieving his hand and whistling Waya back to heel when she began stalking a crowd of seagulls after a fish head. Beyondthe wolf a woman screeched and fell into the arms of her companion. No one had seen a wolf in the Highlands for over half a century. He meant to make good use of that particular fact. “Now walk.”
“Of… of course. This way.” Handing the clipboard toThe Rooster’s first mate, the young man headed off the crowded dock, weaving through the hordes of people and crates and animals that congregated at the harbor. “I’m Kimes. Dennis Kimes,” he said, looking back over his shoulder.
As they continued up the street a light rain began, the deepening mist obscuring the far side of the harbor and the tops of the masts behind them.Ah, Scotland. Icy pricks dug into his skin through his coat, but Callum refused to acknowledge the cold. Every Highlander knew the weather was as it was, and even after ten years away his blood hadn’t thinned enough for him to give in to the shivers.
“What brings ye back here, Mr. MacCreath, if ye dunnae mind me asking?” Kimes ventured, turning a corner to move directly away from the harbor and up the slight hill. A selection of houses and shops, but mostly shipping offices, lined either side of the street. Men hurrying about with shoulders hunched against the rain gave first Waya and then him second looks. A few of them crossed themselves. Good. He knew damned well the impression a big man with two-colored eyes and a black wolf at his heels would make here. Let them notice, and let them wonder if he was the devil himself. They’d all know soon enough who he was.
“Death brings me here,” he returned. “Death and mayhem.”
Silence. “I… I dunnae ken what to say to that,” Kimes stammered, nearly tripping over a small dog that took one look at the wolf and fled into an alley.
“There’s naught to say. Tell me about Crosby and Hallifax. Which do ye trust more?”
“They’re my employers, sir. I trust them both, as I wouldnae work for thieves or liars.”
Callum refrained from countering that everyone was a thief or a liar, or more likely, both. “Who’s kinder to widows and orphans, then?”
“That’s an odd question.”
“It’s my question. Answer it, if ye please.”
“Mr. Hallifax then, I suppose. He once gave his coat over to a shivering old lass, and he nearly always has pennies for beggars.” Kimes stopped before a door like every other door on the street, if perhaps slightly cleaner. The shutters of the windows just past it were open, but the curtains inside stood half drawn. “This is it, Mr. MacCreath. Shall I show ye in?”
“Aye. And introduce me to Crosby.”
The lad pushed open the door. “Aye. But—”
“Dennis, what are ye doing here?” a loud voice interrupted. “Ye’re to be counting Kentucky Hills barrels. The ship came into harbor this morning. Did it nae dock?”
Callum stepped inside to take in the sight of a short, rotund man with long wisps of hair above either ear, both sides trying to meet at the top of his otherwise bald head. A half-dozen other men sat at scattered desks or carried stacks of paper about, while two open doors at the back showed slightly better kept desks and lanterns.
These were the men he’d written after he’d acquired the property in Kentucky, the ones who’d answered him in the manner he cared to hear. They’d helped to make him a wealthy man in his own right, and he’d made them wealthy in return. And he’d never thought to set eyes on them.
