Page 72 of The Swan Syndicate
MacDuff leaned against a post in front of the inn. His bodyguard stood a few steps behind him. He gave Lando a cursory glance then held out an arm for her.
“I thought we’d get a quick meal and discuss our next steps.”
“Excellent. I’m famished. It’s good to have my feet on solid ground.”
He chuckled and led her in. As usual, Lando and the guard stayed outside.
He ordered for them both, and Stella, wanting to down the first mug of ale in one swallow, took a long sip instead. She didn’t see any reason to be dainty but didn’t want to appear nervous, even if she was shaking inside.
They ate while MacDuff shared funny anecdotes of his travels with storms at sea. Stella described her venture across the Channel to France, modifying the story by saying she’d left her cabin, saw the captain’s niece going up the stairs during the storm, and decided to follow her, eventually saving her from falling overboard. It was mostly true.
Once the plates were removed, MacDuff’s jovial mood shifted to business.
“Did you bring something to show me?” His gaze had hardened.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and ran a finger around the top of her mug, his gaze dropping to watch.
“I have a crate waiting in a warehouse.”
“Don’t trust me to take me to your ship?”
“Do you plan on taking me to your ship to show me your cargo?”
His expression softened with a wide grin. He glanced around the room, which was busy but not overly crowded. They were in a corner with three sailors at the next table, more concerned for their food than listening to those around them.
“Can you give me a hint?” He placed his hand next to hers on the table. Close but not touching.
She ran a finger along his hand as she looked him in the eye, leaned in, and lowered her voice. “Just a few rifles, a handfulof cannonballs, and some powder.” When he didn’t show any enthusiasm, she added, “Straight from France.”
His eyes widened, and he grabbed her hand. “You’re teasing.”
“I never tease.” She sat back, pulling her hand away as she took another swallow of ale from her second one of the night. A light buzz made her more comfortable. “There’s also some fine dresses.” She tugged at the bodice. “I thought I’d wear one for you.”
He’d followed her hands to her neckline, and she thanked the stars she hadn’t worn the lavender gown. He reached out to touch the fabric at her wrist. “It’s indeed fine.” His gaze sharpened. “How did you get French arms?”
She winked. “I have connections.” She thought of Sebastian and the smuggling ring he’d run with Jamie. He’d called it a syndicate. He thought it sounded better than smuggling since he was doing the work of the Brotherhood of Monks. The ill-gotten gains from the smuggling went to purchasing artifacts that had been stolen from the monastery during the Reign of Terror. “It’s a syndicate of other like-minded entrepreneurs.”
He sat back and emptied his mug then waved for a server, who quickly appeared with two fresh mugs. He took a drink then leaned his elbows on the table. “I also have a network that trades between Ireland, Scotland, and England. On rare occasions, we have an opportunity to trade with someone coming from France. If you could provide a regular shipment of French weapons—” He smiled. “Or fine dresses, I could make you more money than you thought possible.”
He gave the room a quick scan. “The Irish are hungry for weapons. There’s a building group of individuals who’d like to see French ships at their ports. Perhaps you have some influence in that direction.”
Stella racked her brain. Finn had mentioned the time when Jamie had dropped off Maire and Ethan to search for one ofthe Mórdha chronicles. Before he sailed to London, he’d made a cargo run to Ireland. The crew had seen MacDuff and tracked him to several ports where he’d riled up the locals in search of friendly ports for France. Jamie and Hensley thought he’d given up the game. Apparently not.
She shrugged in response to MacDuff’s query, staring at the ale. When she glanced up, she grinned, feeling the effects of the ale.Stay calm.“I have friends along the northwest coast of France. We make a run every couple of months.” She tilted her head. “How many are in this network of yours?”
Before he had a chance to answer, the door to the inn blasted open, and a man stalked to their table. Stella sat back in surprise as he stood over them. What the hell?
“Thomas?”
“You thought you could run. The viscount has men everywhere looking for you. It was just a matter of time finding the right port.”
He grabbed her arm and yanked her up. She’d barely reached her feet when he picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder. What the hell was he doing here? Had Hensley sent him?
“Let me go.” She wasn’t sure what was happening but decided to play it out. She beat on his shoulders.
His voice was loud and clear as he easily contained her struggles. “You’ll not escape the marriage.”
Marriage? Good grief, was that the best Beckworth could come up with? This whole ploy reeked of his games. “I’m not marrying that man,” she screamed.
