Page 101 of The Scot Who Loved Me
“Yes. Consider me prepared.”
“Good. There are seven more.”
He ducked back to the cabinet to the sounds of her heavy boots clomping in the dray. Anne was on her knees, dragging bags from the cabinet and shuffling them along the carpeted floor.
She angled her body oddly, digging about her waist. “Bad night to wear new stays.”
From Aunt Maude and Aunt Flora, foldingthemselves into Denton House as occasional servants to Cecelia and her diversionary Spruce Prigs to the steady Fletcher sisters. All worked like cogs in a clock.
Thechink, chink, chinkof coins was the only noise they made. One bag after another was carried across the room and sent out the window.
“One left.” Anne leaned on the cabinet door and levered herself upright.
Will closed the cabinet and pocketed the key. If the study appeared undisturbed, Ancilla’s attention would be on the Spruce Prigs and not the Jacobite gold. He lifted the final bag with ease and went to the window. Mary Fletcher’s hands were reaching for it when the bone-freezing cock of a pistol broke the quiet.
He turned to meet the pistol’s owner, the bag still in hand. Anne did the same beside him.
“That’s what you’re up to,” a male voice said from the doorway.
Rory MacLeod strode in, a well-traveled flintlock pointed at Will. His chest, to be precise. He made a big target and any lower the shooter risked hitting the bag of gold. Coins would explode in a mess. MacLeod stopped a foot from the other side of the desk, casting a curious glance at the cabinet.
“Mr. MacLeod, what a surprise.” Anne took a half step to the left, shielding Will.
MacLeod gave a single nod, impressed by her bold move. His gaze wandered higher to Will’s face. “Never had a woman do that for me. You are a lucky man.”
Will stepped around Anne and strode to thedesk where he dropped the bag with a loud, decisiveclink.
“I am.”
Anne rushed forward. “You will let us go, Mr. MacLeod.”
To which he snorted and waggled the flintlock. “I’m the one with the pistol, Mrs. Neville. I’ll give the orders.”
The room was dark, but Will caught movement in his side vision. Anne. She didn’t have her knife. He knew this because his hands had been everywhere on her... unless she strapped it to her left thigh. He’d been too busy hitching petticoats on her right thigh to notice a weapon on her other leg, and panniers were the devil’s own curse to a man with seduction on his mind.
“You don’t need this gold,” she said.
“And you do?”
Not a knife. Anne was gripping Ancilla’s crystal ink pot. A heavy thing. It would do damage. MacLeod’s flintlock would do worse.
“Let’s calm down.” Will raised his hands in a show of peace.
“I am calm. It’s your lady friend who’s about to throw that thing at my head.”
Anne lifted the makeshift weapon. “It is at your peril, Mr. MacLeod. Never bring a flintlock to an inkwell fight.”
MacLeod’s smile cracked unevenly, its cheer matched by his low chuckle. “You’re a rare piece, Mrs. Neville. Wherever did he find you?”
“Lothian Street in Edinburgh. My father’s doorstep to be exact.” She was clipped and efficient,his Anne. “I hope to go back there someday . . . after I deliver this gold to the people who need it most. Highlanders, if you must know.”
“Regular Robin Hood are you?”
“I am afraid you’ve missed the mark again, Mr. MacLeod. Robin Hood was a man, while I am a woman.”
“I’ve noticed.”
Will did not care for the sensual note in MacLeod’s voice.
