Page 49 of The Scot Who Loved Her

“There is no disputing that she shot me,” Malcolm drawled. “As for the other, I have no comment.”

W laughed. “You’ve always been a man of few words, Raven.”

“Aye. And it appears for now, I’m at an impasse as far as Marian Aston is concerned, but I will continue to keep in contact with the young woman who was willing to share her thoughts in case anything relevant comes up.”

“Good idea. What’s next?”

“Besides keeping tabs on Helvellyn and Paisley, I’ve been following a dock swab from the pubs in Leith. He was interested in robbing the ship, but most of his friends told him he was mad for even thinking of it. The idiot’s been poking his nose about, a little too fascinated. Nothing so far, but I’m holding out hope for something soon.”

“Good a lead as any.”

Malcolm nodded, then said his farewell, headed toward the docks where he planned to meet with Jeremiah. No one cared about doing anything in front of a child, especially if that child looked like a wee street urchin.

“My lord.” Jeremiah widely grinned as Malcolm handed him a fresh roll filled with bacon and eggs. “I’ve go’ some news for ye.”

“Let’s hear it.”

Jeremiah bit into the meal, his eyes practically rolling into the back of his head. The number of times Malcolm had begged the lad to come be a part of his household was far too many to count. Jeremiah liked being out here on the street. But one of these days, Malcolm would get through to him. Until then, he was pleased to see the lad enjoying the food.

Jeremiah wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “There was some movement from the ship ye were having me watch.”

“Go on.”

“Lots of crates. And the Englishman was back. They loaded them onto some wagons and took off. I tried to follow, but one of the bastards kicked me out of the way.”

“Ye should no’ follow so close.”

“I know, but I was excited.” Jeremiah took a ferocious bite of his roll. “This is so good,” he said around a mouthful.

“This is excellent information, Jeremiah,” Malcolm said.

“I think I need a codename.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Jeremiah is so…” He shrugged. “Normal. I think I want to be Hawk.”

“Well, ye do have good eyes for our prey.”

Jeremiah nodded matter-of-factly. “Aye, my lord.”

“Hawk it is.” Malcolm reached into his coin pouch and pulled out enough to feed the lad until he saw him again. “Fly now.”

The lad took off at a run, laughing all the way.

Stealing into the shadows, Malcolm headed for the same pub he’d been watching the swab at for days. It was busier than usual and the chatter more animated than on other nights. As it turned out, there were many muskets and pistols that had just been put out on the black market. Several of the men present were in charge of running the money and weapons between the buyers.

Malcolm didn’t believe in coincidences. There was no way these men were suddenly flush with work, selling weapons that Malcolm had been tracking, on the very same day that Jeremiah had seen crates come off the ship.

He approached the men chattering too loudly and leaned his elbow on the bar. “I might know a man who’s looking to buy,” he said, his words slightly slurred. He took a mighty gulp of his ale for good measure.

The men stopped talking, turning to assess him. Malcolm kept his shoulders hunched. He didn’t want to appear as tall or intimidating as he actually was.

“Are ye listening in on a private conversation?” asked the dock worker, his shoulders squaring as he puffed his chest, trying for intimidation he lacked.

If it were going to come to blows, Malcolm would have to hold back. He’d break this man with one punch, and he needed his plan to work. Killing the man would put quite a damper on that.

Malcolm laughed and took another sip of ale. “No need to get your drawers bunched up, friend. I thought we could both make some money.”

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