“If ye value yer manhood, let go! If not, ye will find yerself on the floor bleeding out, and ye will let go then.”
He paled and through the haze of too much ale that had made him bold, or perhaps it was the point of the blade that sliced through the coarse wool of his trousers with my solemn threat, he decided to release me.
I did not wait to hear his curses or the laughter of others in the tavern, but pushed my way past and out onto the cobbled stones of the Close.
“I ain’t never seen nothin’ like that!”
Kip stood wide-eyed just beyond the entrance.
The bloody little imp had apparently taken it upon himself to watch after I entered the tavern. He was quite impressed, while I was determined to leave as quickly as possible. He followed, with a string of questions.
Where did I learn that? “Would ye have cut off his...?”
I stopped as we reached the bottom of the Close.
“Enough!” I told him.
“I ain’t never seen nothin’...” The lad’s eyes suddenly widened as he stared at something behind me.
Or someone.
“Bloody hell, Lily! Wot the devil do ye think yer doin’ here?!”
Considering other recent exchanges, the choice of words, and the sound of that voice, I was fairly certain who the curses in both English then Gaelic belonged to.
“Mr. Munro,” I greeted him. “A not-pleasant surprise.”
I was treading in very shallow water here, and I knew it. Still...
“Wot the devil areyedoin’ here?”
He was not having any of it.
“Have ye no sense? A young woman comin’ here unescorted? Alone?”
He was beginning to repeat himself. It was a conversation we’d already had.
“And who is the wee beggar?”
The ‘wee beggar’ in question stood wide-eyed at the entrance to the Close and would have fled if Munro hadn’t grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. Obviously, having had similar experiences, Kip fought back, arms flailing amid a string of equally colourful curses.
“I didn’t do nothin’! The lady takes care of herself!”
He eventually managed to free himself, or possibly Munro simply let him go. He raced off down the street, hurling a last curse over his shoulder as he disappeared.
I took advantage of the distraction as Munro stared after him, and quickly set off for Market Street. My intention was to find a driver. I was not surprised when one pulled to the curb just ahead, as Munro caught up with me afoot. If a man could snarl...
“Get into the coach!” he ordered.
I stopped and slowly turned around.
“I’ve learned something that could be important about the man you described after we left the morgue, and there is more...”
The anger disappeared, replaced by something else, something that darkened that intense blue gaze.
“Aye, there is more,” he unexpectedly acknowledged. “Now please, get into the coach, Lily.”
Not a curse or an order, but a polite request. I would have preferred a curse.
