“Nae. Ye had to see to getting the bairn back,” the butler returned stoutly. “And as I wasnae outside to look after her myself, I reckon a bite or two is nae more than I deserved.”
Rebecca strode up to the butler. Despite his startled expression she gave him a sound embrace. “Do not blame yourself because evil men do things we could not fathom,” she stated.
“Aye,” Callum agreed, straightening. “Rebecca has the right of it. The lot of ye give us a moment, will ye?”
With a nod Pogue extricated himself from Rebecca’s hug and motioned the other half-dozen servants present to vacate the kitchen. In a moment the two of them were alone but for the wolf and the low whistle of a boiling kettle of water.
“It’s nearly time, lass,” he said, gazing at her as he offered Waya a small piece of meat.
The wolf sniffed it, looked up at Callum, then delicately took it from his fingers. The same wolf that had nearly cost two men their arms today. And the Maxwell still thought him a drunken boy. They had no idea what they’d done. The thought comforted Rebecca a little. They had no idea who Callum MacCreath was.
“I’d be obliged,” he went on, “if ye’d dress in something light-colored. White, or yellow. I ken ye dunnae like doing that yet, but it would—”
“Why the devil do you care what I wear to meet the men who stole my daughter?” she broke in. “I certainly don’t.”
“Because the rest of us, the men, will likely be wearing dark colors. I want ye to stand out.”
She studied his face closely as he straightened. “So I don’t get shot by accident,” she said slowly.
Silence. “Aye.”
Rebecca strode up and dug a finger into his chest. “You promised me that you wouldn’t do anything—anything—to put Margaret at risk! Do not—”
He grabbed her hand. “Do ye think I mean for the two of us to walk onto that pier with nae a soul to see what happens? Of course I’ll have men about. So will Dunncraigh. And if someaught happens, I’ll nae see ye shot by accident. Put on a damned light-colored gown.”
If it hadn’t been her daughter, if the stakes hadn’t been so very high, she likely would have run to do as he bade. Instead she yanked her fingers free and put her fists on her hips and lifted her chin. “Not until you tell me what you’ve planned.”
Callum continued to look at her, something very like admiration crossing his lean face. “So ye’re nae the lass who’ll do as she’s told any longer, are ye?”
“No, I am not.”
“Good.” He pulled several folded sheets of paper from an inside pocket of his black coat. “Then I’ll ask ye to sign this.”
That wasn’t at all what she’d expected. “What is it?”
“Yer shares of Sanderson’s. I need ye to sell them to me.”
Her heart thudded. With the subsequent ringing in her ears she couldn’t be certain she’d actually heard what she thought she’d heard, but even as she tried to fathom why in the world he would bother with that whenshe meant to marry him and he could have it as her dowry, she understood. He was trying to take her out of the equation again, to remove her from danger.
“Tell me why.”
“Lass, ye—”
“I trust you,” she stated, over whatever he’d been saying. “I trust you to have mine and Margaret’s best interests in mind. What I do not trust is for you to have yourownbest interests in mind. Tell me why you want me to sign my company over to you. Other than to redirect Dunncraigh’s attention to you, and to force his hand.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Isnae that enough?”
This was who Callum MacCreath was, she realized. A man who would always put himself, his own safety and well-being, behind that of her, Margaret, and everyone else who’d earned a place in his heart. His mind, his being, simply didn’t function any other way. Taking the papers from his hand, she went to the small table in the corner of the kitchen, found a quill and ink, and signed her name to the bottom of the last page. Turning, she handed it back to him. “I would risk everything for you,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I can’t fault you for feeling the same way about me.Thatis why I signed this.”
With a swift kiss he took her hand again and pulled her toward the main part of the house. “Then let’s get ye dressed and see this finished.”
Chapter Twenty
Callum stepped down from the coach first, slung over his shoulder the satchel containing Ian’s ledger, George’s journal, and the Duke of Dunncraigh’s ledgers and contracts, and put out a hand to help Rebecca to the cobblestones.
A light mist dampened his face, putting a small halo around the lamps lining the street and reducing the harbor to a gray shadow of occasional masts and bobbing ship lights. Men could be anywhere and everywhere, both his and the duke’s. Good. The more, the merrier.
Rebecca thought she knew what he meant to do, and he left it at that. He’d pushed Dunncraigh to this point, and he would answer for that. Tonight he had two goals: retrieve Margaret and keep Rebecca out of Stapp’s fat hands. And above all, make certain they would remain safe from this point on. Nothing else mattered.
