Page 50 of The Scot Who Loved Her

The dockhand eyed him up and down, probably seeing what he could rob him of. “How do ye figure? I’m no’ giving ye my stash.”

“I’m no’ asking ye to give it to me, mate. But if I supply a buyer, we can split the coin.”

“I’m no’ splitting—” But he was cut off by a man who elbowed him in the ribs.

“Who’s the buyer?” the other man asked, clearly interested.

Malcolm grinned, then let out a loud belch. “Rich bastard. Likes hunting.”

The men grunted. “The rich prig we’re working for might like that.”

“Aye, all the nobs do is hunt and feck.”

Malcolm slurped his mug, pretending he didn’t care. “Want me to set up a meeting?”

“Now hold on, let’s no’ get ahead of ourselves. The guv said we should be asking him first before we do that. Just in case.”

“In case what?” Malcolm tipped his ale a little longer this time, avoiding eye contact as if the question weren’t fully loaded.

“In case he does no’ like the buyer,” the man replied as if it were the most obvious answers.

Malcolm shrugged, exaggerating it enough to make it look as though his elbow slipped on the bar. A drunk man was better than a sharp one when dealing with these lads. They wanted to think they had the upper hand. “Money is money. Why would he care?”

“Who knows with these English prigs? We just want our cut.”

Malcolm scrunched up his nose and spat on the ground. “English? Who said anything about those bastards?”

The dockworker was all too happy to explain that the man who’d given him the job of hawking the weapons was an English nobleman from the sound of things and that he wanted the guns sold fast, but only to certain buyers that he vetted first.

Helvellyn.

“Sounds complicated,” Malcolm said.

The men all grumbled their agreement. They’d sold stolen things before off ships, but smuggling weapons and selling them underground was a whole new endeavor for a lot of them. They were nervous, untested, which for Malcolm worked perfectly.

“Let’s arrange an appointment with the guv, then,” he suggested.

The dockhand thought about it for a while, then finally said, “All right. Meet me here tomorrow. Same time.”

Malcolm grinned and lifted his ale mug high, weaving a little on his feet. “To swindling bastards!”

The drunkards all cheered, raising their glasses to that. Malcolm slugged back the rest of his ale, which was already empty, but he made a big show of it, as he’d made a big show of everything.

“We are going to Aberdeen,and ye must join us,” Giselle was saying.

Olivia was out for another day’s shopping with her new friends, Caroline, Jaime, Giselle and Bronwyn. They were all inspecting the rainbow display of ribbons inside a shop.

The moment they said “Aberdeen,” her mind sparked. “Why so far?” Olivia asked.

Giselle shrugged. “House party, of course. We’ll be staying for two weeks.”

House parties were all the rage in England, and she supposed that wouldn’t be any different in Scotland.

“I’m not sure if my mother would go all the way to Aberdeen.” Or rather that she would let Olivia go. Marian had been removed from Edinburgh and sent to Aberdeen the moment they’d arrived, which only meant that her mother wouldn’t want her to go there because they might somehow be able to see each other. And her mother likely wouldn’t risk sending Marian back to Edinburgh. By the time Marian arrived, she’d have to turn back around and return to the coast.

“I will talk to Lady Helvellyn,” Jaime said with a conspiratorial wink. “Sometimes, a little help from a duchess goes a long way.”

Olivia smiled, grateful. “You wouldn’t mind?”

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