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Chapter Five

Easter Road between Edinburgh and Leith

Just short of eleven o’clock

21 March 1721

His attention riveted on Easter Road, Camden hunched further into his saddle. It was a bloody miserable night for arresting traitors. Rivulets of rainwater dribbled from his nape into his already sodden collar. But he’d experienced worse, and the dampness proved a mere annoyance to a Highlander such as himself.

He worked his astute gaze over his men strategically placed along this section of the road. He knew from experience, they were as keenly alert as him.

Unlike him, to a man, they thrived on the thrill—this living on the edge of danger. And also, unlike him and Bryston, not a man amongst them could claim honor motivated his actions. These dastards required a strong, uncompromising hand to keep them in line.

If all went well, when this assignment culminated, the mercenaries would receive the balance of their payment and seek another employer with a heavy purse. Camden had put his foot down about working with such unpredictable and unsavory men in the future. Trained agents were one thing, but unreliable curs who’d as soon bite the hand that fed them as any other hand…

Nae, he was through with the lot, no matter what Sir Walter said.

In truth, as he’d never sought the dubious honor of spying on the King’s behalf, he seriously considered another direction for his life as well.

Precisely what that looked like, he couldn’t say.

He’d no desire to leave Scotland—permanently, at least. Oh, Graeme would claim to need Camden’s help in overseeing his lairdship and their clan, but the truth was, his brother was more than capable of the task himself.

Younger sons often found themselves in predicaments like Camden’s. He had no desire to enter the ministry or the military, nor did he particularly wish to travel the world for years. Nae, his heart was now and would always be in Scotland.

So, exactly, what the hell would he do with his time if he did resign?

And that brought him full circle to why he hadn’t, as yet, done so.

Christ, his rambling musings scrambled his brain.

Swiping at a droplet trailing down his nose, he furrowed his brow, every sense tuned into the surroundings once more. In truth, he’d expected Etherington’s coach by now. Another inspection of the track revealed only an empty black expanse, unbroken by a single sliver of moonlight.

Perhaps Etherington had taken the Wester Road, after all.

He mentally shrugged. It mattered not, as long as he was captured.

Bryston was just as capable as Camden of apprehending the English conspirator and escorting him to the inn. As planned, they’d meet in the wee morning hours, and Etherington could explain himself to Sir Walter Makepeace.

After the revolt led by the Earl of Mar, Robert Walpole had personally selected Makepeace to head up the intelligence ring established for one purpose: to prevent any further uprisings in Scotland. And more importantly, to prevent further loss of life.

Lightly drumming his fingertips on his thigh, Camden hardened his jaw, his thoughts once more on Bethea.

He wouldn’t wait to return to Trentwick Castle to speak with Keane about Montieth’s interest in her. In fact, it might be worthwhile to have that devil’s spawn also investigated.

After all, why, precisely, was Etherington even invited to his ball?

Hadhe been invited?

Perhaps not, which begged the question, why would Etherington overstep propriety and impose himself? It wasn’t as if he held a lofty title, and none would dare object to his presence.

Except, to Camden’s knowledge, Montieth hadn’t raised a fuss, and he knew the answer to why Etherington was present. To obtain a very valuable list. A list incriminating every Scottish conspirator, signed in their own hands.

Idiots, all.

Last month, Bryston had proposed Montieth as a possible collaborator. Sir Walter, however, had immediately dismissed the notion. He’d emphatically claimed the earl all but kissed King George’s arse each time he saw him. Montieth had never openly associated with anyone suspected of disloyalty to the Crown, either.

Until now.