“No.Tourist.”Still with the phony accent.“Love Iron & Ash.”
Shouts rose.Someone yelled a RECO slogan that swelled into a chant: “No more Americans!No more Americans!No more Americans!”
A couple of drunks charged the bandstand, grabbed the microphones, and shouted anti-monarchy slogans.Sir Rodny Corn and his crew bolted from the stage and into the dark.No surprise.That’s exactly how he served in parliament.
“Down with the monarchy!The Blues must go.What gives them the right to lord over us?”
“The law, igits,” a voice declared.“Hush yerself.Want music.”
Across the quay, the drunken lot, emboldened by music and night air, began to rumble.RECO versus devotees of Queen Catherine and the House of Blue.
“Your leader Hamish Fickle don’t got half the class what the queen’s got.”
Another shouted, “Queen traitor!American shill!”
Let them duke it out.Michael needed to reach Scottie before the mob’s momentum shoved her closer to the quay.One misstep and it was over the side with the lot of them.The drop was at least forty feet, depending on the tide, into crushing waves.
“Scottie.”He sliced his voice beneath the noise and pushed through the human wall around Scottie.Perspiration beaded along his temple.He’d been here before with a Blue royal in danger.“Excuse me, coming through.Step aside.”
A raw, terrified scream cut through the commotion.The crowd surged forward with a few scattering, clearing Michael’s path to the quay’s edge.There he found Scottie, flat on her belly, hanging over the weather-worn concrete while a woman clung to her arms, clutching her screaming child.Far below, the cold waters churned.
“Don’t drop, please,” the woman wailed.“Please.Don’t drop.”
“I won’t.”Scottie’s reply was firm and steady, devoid of panic, as she held the woman’s arm with both hands.“But be still.”
Michael yanked a couple of gawking lads by their coat collars.“Anchor my legs.”He dropped down next to Scottie.
“Grip slipping,” the woman moaned.“Me daughter—”
“Hold on, hold on.Gents, lower me down.”Michael took the woman’s arm, his hands just below Scottie’s.“Now.Pull us up.Pull.Us.Up.”
Sirens and flashing lights announced the arrival of the Dalholm Rescue Squad.
Stretching as far as he could, Michael secured the child and handed her to a rescue worker.Then he and Scottie hauled the woman to safety.Paramedics swooped in and carried her to the ambulance as she sobbed.“Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Michael rolled onto his back for a shaky breath before coming to his senses.He had to get Scottie out of here.Grabbing her hand, he bent to her ear.“We need to be away.Now.”
“Okay, but I want to check on the woman and her daughter.”Scottie turned for the ambulance but didn’t move.“I’m shaking…that was terrifying.”
“How did you even catch her?”Michael said, his own nerves still twitching.
“I don’t know… I just reached out.There was this force—” With a deep breath, Scottie pushed through the onlookers to peer into the ambulance.“Hey—are you all right?”
“Scottie,” he said, low and urgent as the mob began to regroup, “if they realize who you are, I’ll need the whole of Her Majesty’s armed forces to hold this line.Move.”
“But I just want to make sure—”
“I know.And your compassion will get you killed.”
Chapter Six
Scottie
Her legs were rubber as Michael steered her away from the quay.Her heartbeat still kicked against chest, and she couldn’t seem to draw in enough air.
“In here, miss.”Michael ducked into the Belly of the Beast, steering Scottie into a shadowed corner by the blazing stone fireplace.
She plopped into a chair, glancing around the nearly empty pub and nervously pushing her hair back from her face.
