“No, mine,” the third and fourth chimed in.
Fans snapping back up to conceal their lips, they started to squabble. Under the cover of flowing skirts, a few sharp kicks were exchanged. Several arms were pinched. Lady Cluaran waded in with low, sharp words, trying to restore order to her brood. Alasdair shook his head and turned to Stirling, brow raised in question.
“All I ask is for you to hear me out,” Sir Stirling said, his voice low. “In exchange, as I said, I’ll make them go away. For good.”
Intrigued by the request and curious to see such a miracle, Alasdair nodded. The devilish grin he received in reply made him instantly wary.
Sir Stirling stepped up to Lady Cluaran’s side. He leaned down and whispered in her ear. She shot Alasdair a surprised look. Her shoulders drooped. She gave a sigh, offered Stirling a nod, and grabbed two ears. Her brood squealed anew as she dragged them off in search of other prey.
Alasdair was impressed. “What did you say to her?” he asked, once the gaggle left earshot.
Stirling shrugged, but his eyes gleamed with wry humor. “I told her you’re secretly engaged.”
Alasdair fought down shock. “What?” he demanded in low, clipped tones. “Lady Cluaran and her brood are the biggest gossips in Inverness. Before evening’s end, my imagined engagement will be the talk of the town, and in the paper tomorrow. My mother will hear, and demand to meet this fictitious girl.”
Stirling appeared unperturbed. “Then I daresay you’ll need a way to avoid your mother as well, which is what I’m about to offer.”
Alasdair clenched his teeth and smoothed his expression. “Make your offer, then, sir.”
Stirling shook his head, suddenly serious. “Not here. It’s a matter set in motion by the move of a rook.” He favored Alasdair with a long look. “Do you know, I’ve heard this home contains quite the collection of fine French vintages. Disgraceful, really, but what can you do? French wine is the best, they say.” He strode away, disappearing into the crowd with a swiftness to rival Alasdair.
Alasdair’s anger evaporated. Stirling didn’t mean a chess piece, but another sort of rook. A sleek, devious, black-winged bird. A raven.
Elation, more dangerous than anger, surged through him. He hadn’t been forgotten. His years of service weren’t to be rewarded by being cast adrift into a world of sapphire eyes, false laughter and idiotic platitudes.
Alasdair slipped along the ballroom wall. He drifted into the shadowed hallways of their host’s large Inverness home. Though he’d never been there before, in moments, he located the staircase leading down to the wine cellar and descended with care. He reached the base and peered down the hall, through an open door, and into the cellar beyond. Stirling lounged against a shelf at the far back of the room. Ignoring the man, Alasdair tamped down his eagerness and thoroughly inspected the hall leading from steps to cellar, senses strained for any hint of treachery.
“Possessed of a cautious nature, my lord?” Stirling called, voice raised to be heard.
Alasdair finished his inspection and strode down the corridor, then into the chill of the room. Large casks lined the wall to his left, shelves of bottles to his right. Even in the flickering light of the sconces, there was no place to hide, and little chance someone pressing their ear to the upstairs door would make out what was said on the far side of the room. A good choice.
“Say what you’ve come to say,” Alasdair ordered when he reached Stirling.
“I’ve come with word of a task that requires your skills.”
“Are quartermasters so difficult to come by in Inverness?” If Stirling had information, so be it. If not, he would gain none.
Stirling chuckled. “If that’s how you wish to put it, yes, quartermasters are a rare commodity here.”
Alasdair regarded the man in silence.
Stirling snorted. “I was told you’re a bit unsociable. I don’t know if that will do for the mission ahead.”
“And just what would that be, Sir Stirling?” Alasdair watched intently for any dip in the man’s gaze, a twitch of the eye or repetitive gesture. Any sign Stirling lied.
“One of your colleagues, a fellow quartermaster, if you will, has expressed a concern to the Raven,” Stirling said, any vestige of amusement gone. “His assignments are communicated in code, via letters from his father, a former…quartermaster. For some months now, there’s been concern of a spy in the father’s household.”
“I see.”
That they wished him to eliminate someone didn’t surprise him, but with the task now before him, he felt an unsettling reluctance to comply. That life, being an assassin for the king, was one he’d never carried to his home in the far north of Scotland. The icy rivers, craggy hillsides and roiling sea held a pureness he’d long shored up deep in his soul. He didn’t wish it spoiled. Wasn’t that why he’d carried out his orders? To keep Scotland unsullied?
Stirling’s eyes narrowed. “Am I asking the right person, my lord?”
Impressed that Stirling read him so easily, Alasdair nodded. His feelings were moot. If the Raven wished the thing done, he would do it. “You are. Where is this household?”
Stirling held up a hand. “We’ll come to that. I believe I must clarify the mission further.”
Alasdair raised an eyebrow. It seemed simple enough. Find the spy. Eliminate the spy.
