The first in a long list of frustrations was to find Cameron vacated from the flat he had rented. That he hadn’t left until last night, when Roslynn had escaped him the day before, was interesting. He was either confident that she wouldn’t alert the authorities of her kidnapping or just plain stupid. Whichever, he had smartened up by last night and had changed locations. And since it was too soon for him to have found out about Roslynn’s marrying, Anthony doubted the chap had given up to return to Scotland, which was why he had spent the rest of the day making inquiries at every lodging and tavern in the vicinity, albeit fruitlessly.
All he had was Geordie Cameron’s description from his landlady, but this fitted the fellow at the bar. Tall, carrot-red hair, light blue eyes, presentable, and oh, yes, very good-looking, according to Mrs. Pym. Anthony couldn’t see the eyes yet, and whether the chapwas good-looking or not was a matter of opinion, but the rest agreed with him, even to the halfway decent togs he was sporting. The man had a companion, perhaps one of his hirelings, standing there with him, a short chap with a woolen cap pulled so far down over his head, his features were obscured even from a side angle.
They were talking together, at any rate, and James’ suggestion to listen in on the conversation was reasonable, despite the fact that Anthony’s patience was worn thin. After all the trouble he had been through today, he was no longer just looking forward to thrashing the fellow, but pleasantly contemplating an alternative of a more permanent nature. Missed his lunch, missed his dinner, missed making love to his wife all day. He bloody well hoped she would appreciate his efforts on her behalf.
He followed his brother across the room to a table already occupied by two rough-looking men and felt a small bit of his humor returning as he watched James stop there and stare the fellows into hastily vacating their seats. “Amazing how you do that, old man.”
James grinned innocently. “Do what?”
“Put murder and mayhem in those two little green orbs of yours.”
“Can I help it if the chaps thought I meant them bodily harm? I didn’t, you know. I am the most peaceable fellow this side of—”
“Hell?” Anthony suggested with a wry smile. “It’s a good thing Connie’s not here, or he’d choke on that fairy tale.”
“Put a lid on it, puppy. We need a drink if we’re not to look any more inconspicuous than we already do.”
Anthony turned around to locate a barmaid and got more than he bargained for. The wench was curvaceous without being plump, amazingly pretty for such a rough establishment, and had set herself down on his lap, wrapping soft arms about his neck in blatant invitation. It was done too quickly for him to discourage her, and he was so surprised by her action that he drew a blank for a moment on how to get rid of her.
James took pity on him, however, vastly amused at Anthony’s dilemma. “You’ve chosen the wrong lap, dear girl.” His dry tone brought the barmaid’s head around to him, and at her bemused look, James grinned. “You see before you one of the world’s most pitiable creatures—a married man—also one very preoccupied this evening. Now, if you’d care to bounce your pretty little backside over to this side of the table, you might get a rise for your trouble.”
The maid giggled at James’ crudity, words she was used to but not expecting from such an elegant-looking nabob. Yet she gave a last wistful look at Anthony, the one who had first boggled her eyes when the men walked in. He was worth at least another try, though the other one was just as appealing, now she’d had a better look at him.
She ignored Anthony’s frown of displeasure, caused by James’ words, and wrapped her long blond hair around his neck to pull him closer to her, while below the table, her buttocks wiggled in his lap provocatively. “Sure ye don’t want some, luv. I’d be ’appy—”
His wits returningtooquickly, Anthony lifted her up and set her on her feet, giving her a little shove in James’ direction. “Another time, luv,” he said notunkindly, but his eyes were narrowed when he met James’ amused gaze.
James wasn’t in the least perturbed. He caught the girl around the waist, caressed her backside with promise, whispered a few words in her ear, and sent her off with their order for two ales.
“Caught your fancy?” Anthony sneered.
“Whether this is your man or not, dear boy, I’m done for the day. I might as well have some compensation for my trouble, and she’ll do nicely.”
Anthony finally smiled. “Yes, I suppose she will. But you’ll recall whose lap she preferred.”
“Your recent victory has apparently gone to your head, lad. I hate to bring you back to earth, but you obviously need to be reminded that all you can do is look from now on—while I on the other hand can still sample to my heart’s content.”
“You don’t see me bemoaning my state, do you?”
“Remember those words when you do. Women are to be savored for the moment. Anything longer is a threat to a man’s sanity.”
Anthony smiled serenely, even though those used to be his own sentiments as well. James didn’t notice. His eyes had drifted to the two at the bar in such intimate conversation, particularly to the shorter fellow, and he frowned, looking at the cutest little backside to ever grace a supposedly male anatomy.
Anthony was distracted as well a moment later when the redhead, no more than six feet away, raised his voice a little. The thick Scottish brogue was unmistakable, reminding him forcefully of why they were here.
“I’ve heard enough,” Anthony said tersely, swiftly rising to his feet.
James grabbed his arm, hissing, “You’ve heardnothing. Be sensible, Tony. There’s no telling how many of these chaps in here might be in his pay. We can bloody well wait a little more to see if he might leave the premises.”
“Youcan wait a little more. I have a new wife at home I’ve kept waiting long enough.”
Before he took another step, however, James sensibly called out, “Cameron?” hoping for no response since Anthony was no longer in a reasonable state of mind. Unfortunately, he got ample response, both characters swinging around at once and searching the room, one fearful, the other assuming an aggressive stance. Both pairs of eyes lit on Anthony as he shook off James’ hand and closed the distance in two steps, but he had eyes only for the tall Scot.
“Cameron?” he asked in a deceptively quiet tone.
“The name’s MacDonell, mon, Ian MacDonell.”
“You’re lying,” Anthony growled, catching the man’s lapels in his fists and jerking him forward and up, until their eyes were at a level only inches apart.
